Season For Surrender (A Danby Family Novella Book 2) (4 page)

Lillian paused, her quill hovering above
the sheet of paper on which she balanced numbers to see if the theatre had a
profitable month. This was futile. Her mind was on her future husband and his brooding
masculinity. Goodness! Where had that thought come from? She scowled and threw
down her quill. A foreign sense of hope filled her. Last night, Lord Edgeworth
had seemed good and honorable. Was it possible not all men were like her
father, Lord Derwent and the countless other men who’d tried to bed her?

She squeezed her eyes shut. This was
foolishness. She knew better than to trust a man. Besides, even if she wanted
to, she didn’t think she could. She glanced at the clock on her desk and fought
her nervousness. Lord Edgeworth’s note she’d received this morning said he’d be
here at ten o’clock.

A rap resounded on her door as it
creaked open. Fearing her thoughts about Lord Edgeworth were written all over
her face, she jerked her quill off the desk and scribbled numbers to appear
busy. Beatrice slipped into the room, patting her silver coif with one hand and
holding a dress in the other.

Lillian relaxed, seeing her friend
standing there. Even if Beatrice read some sort of worry on her face, she would
never comment. Since Lillian had rehired Beatrice as the theatre seamstress,
the woman was particularly loyal to her.

Smiling, Beatrice held a dress out. “I
stayed up all night reworking this gown for your wedding. Best try it on now to
ensure no adjustments are necessary. It turned out quiet nice for an
old
gown.” Beatrice gave Lillian a pointed look.

Lillian stood, walked around her desk
and took the gown. She fingered the faux pearls Beatrice had sewn into the
faded silk bodice of the yellow dress and bit her lip to avoid frowning. Her
friend had done excellent work as usual, but the dress was faded and, well…
not
new
. Yet, that was not Beatrice’s fault. She forced herself to smile. “The
dress is lovely.”

Beatrice huffed. “You’re a rotten liar,
missy, but I appreciate you saying it, just the same.” Beatrice ran a smoothing
hand over Lillian’s gown. “’Tis not bad, considering the dresses in your
wardrobe I had to work with. Now, if you’d let me use one of the theatre
costumes―”

Lillian held up a silencing hand. She
wasn’t about to have that argument again. “No. I explained very clearly we
cannot yet afford to replace any of the costumes should something untoward
happen to it on my wedding day.”

“Whatever
untoward thing
could
happen to a dress?”

Lillian cringed but managed to say, “A
permanent stain.” Thank goodness her voice didn’t wobble. The memory of Lord
Derwent ripping her dress from her limbs filled her head in vivid, colorful
detail. It wasn’t just that he’d torn the dress from her body. After the first
time he’d destroyed her clothes, he’d made a game of finding new ways to
undress her the minute she walked though his door.

Silk ripped without any effort at all
when one used a dagger or a sword. Lord Derwent’s teeth flashed in her head.
She bit down on her lip to stop the scream clawing its way up her throat. Silk
didn’t give so easily when one rent it with one’s yellowed teeth. It was too
bad that during their struggles she’d never managed to knock any of Lord
Derwent’s teeth out.

Her lower lip began to tremble, so she
bit down harder. Now was not the time to start feeling sorry for herself. She
was about to ensure the theatre was hers forever, so gaudy old wedding dress or
not, she
would
be happy.

Beatrice pressed a hand to Lillian’s
cheek. “It’s not the wedding you dreamed of as a child, ‘tis it?”

Lillian nodded helplessly. “I’m being
ridiculous. I know childhood dreams are foolish and best forgotten. Any sane
adult understands perfection has no place in real life―well, at least the
life of a commoner like me born to a heartless father and a mother who
abandoned me.” Lillian sniffed. Squaring her shoulders, she said, “Forgive me,
Beatrice. I’m better now. This marriage will save the theatre. It’s not
important that I’m wearing an old dress for the affair. None of what I longed
for as a child is important.”

“I beg to differ, Miss Lancaster.” The
steely, deep voice that came from behind her caused her to gasp.

She whirled around, and the shock of
seeing Lord Edgeworth leaning negligently in her doorway made her sway. She
gripped the desk once more. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to hear you say your
childhood dreams aren’t important.”

Cringing, Lillian stared across the small
room at Lord Edgeworth. His state of dress was nothing short of shocking. He
lacked a coat and cravat, and his white shirt, which stretched across his broad
shoulders in a way that made her stomach flip, was open at the collar and
rolled up at the sleeves to display incredibly muscular forearms. The tan
breeches he wore molded against his well-built thighs and made her wonder if he
would feel as hard as he looked. A blush seared her cheeks, and she trembled
where she stood. “They aren’t.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” he said, pushing
off from the door frame, his long-legged stride echoing in the silent room.

He stopped directly in front of her, the
scent of leather and―she sniffed and frowned―the man smelled of
spirits. “Have you been drinking?”

A bark of laughter escaped him. “No. The
physician doused my arm in alcohol before he sewed me up.

“I’ll just leave you two alone,”
Beatrice squeaked rushing out of the room quicker than Lillian had seen her
move in years.

Lillian frowned and faced Lord
Edgeworth. “Why did you need to be sewn up?”

“I shot a man,” he said without emotion.

“Yet
you
needed care? I’d like
the rest of the story, please.” There always was more, with men.

Lord Edgeworth shrugged, though his gaze
was intense. “He shot me too. End of tale.”

A terrible suspicion took hold of her.
“Please tell me you didn’t shoot Lord Derwent.”

Lord Edgeworth’s jaw hardened as he
looked down at her. “You put me in a precarious position.”

“I what?” Was the man daft? “How have I
put you in
any
position?” Her tone was high and shrill. Good Lord, it
was as if they were already married.

“You told me not to tell you I’d shot
Lord Derwent, yet I very specifically vowed never to lie to you. So do you want
the truth, or shall I lie and break my promise?” He cocked his head to the
side, waiting on her answer.

She searched his face, sure he must be
joking, but he appeared serious. Good Lord. The man had defended her honor
because of the story she’d told him. For a moment, gratitude flooded through
her, making her lightheaded, but fast on the heels of appreciation came fear.
Not for Lord Derwent. The man deserved to be shot, possibly killed so he would
never do to another woman what he’d done to her. Yet she did feel bad wishing
anyone, even someone as vile as Lord Derwent, dead. More concerning than her
bad wishes for Lord Derwent was how her heart felt as if it had just been
cracked open and Lord Edgeworth had slipped inside.

She swallowed. “Is Lord Derwent dead?”
Her voice wobbled. She prayed Lord Edgeworth didn’t notice.

He touched her cheek very briefly and so
lightly she wasn’t entirely certain after his hand dropped away if she had
simply imagined he’d touched her. He shook his head as he stared intently at
her. “He’s alive, but I’m told it’s likely he’ll never have full use of his
right leg again. He may even lose it to infection. And you can be sure he won’t
repeat a word about your shared past. I explained to him that I’d be back to
shoot him in the heart if I heard a peep of impropriety from him.”

Lillian squeezed her eyes shut in shame
and shock. Lord Edgeworth knew she was soiled, yet didn’t seem to find her
lacking. He appeared to find her worth defending. She swallowed the need to cry
or throw herself into his arms. It was a good thing he never wanted to live as
man and wife, because she suspected too much time around him would weaken her
defenses and make her long for a love she didn’t think she was capable of
giving or receiving. When he pulled her into his embrace, she opened her eyes
and cocked her head. “Thank you.”

“No thanks are necessary.” His voice was
husky.

Standing so close to him, she couldn’t
think what else to say. Her mind spun with one thought. In this moment, she
didn’t fear him or his touch, and she couldn’t decide whether it was a good or
bad thing.

He pulled back and looked at her. His
green eyes darkened and hardened. “When I think of what he did to you, I want
to kill him.”

The fury in her husband-to-be’s voice
amazed her. Why, it was as if―no. Surely, Lord Edgeworth didn’t care
about her. He didn’t even know her. And she didn’t want him to care. Did she?
This was nonsense. “I’m glad you didn’t,” she said flippantly. I could never
marry a murderer.”

“What else could you never do?” Lord
Edgeworth’s voice held a seductive quality.

Lillian didn’t like the way he suddenly
looked as if wanted to ravish her. She scrambled back a step while he moved
forward leaving a hairbreadth space between them. All the same, the smoldering
flame in his gaze worried her.

He leaned closer, so his heat enveloped
her. She sucked in a breath when his unshaven cheek brushed against hers.

“What are you doing?” Her pulse
thundered.

He turned his head, their gazes meeting.
“I find I desperately want to kiss you. May I?”

She gulped. “Before the wedding?”

He nodded. “I know you’re scared, but I
swear on my honor I won’t hurt you. I’ll stop the moment you want me to.”

Her stomach flipped. “I thought you said
you misplaced your honor a long time ago?”

“Yes, but you assured me, I hadn’t.
Remember?” His words were tinged with humor.

She had said that. Lord Edgeworth was
not Lord Derwent. She had to get control of herself. This man was to be her
husband. She could allow him a single kiss. “Very well, Lord Edgeworth.”

He laughed low and throaty. “Your
enthusiasm heartens me.”

She glared and squeezed her eyes shut.
“Get on with it.”

Her scalp tingled as he slid his
fingertips into her hair and gently tilted her head back. She expected his
mouth to come crushing over hers, but when his lips brushed the tender flesh of
her ear, shock caused her to open her eyes. He pressed a tender kiss to her
forehead and then cupped her face as he moved his mouth over hers. His kiss was
unlike anything she’d ever experienced―a coaxing whisper that caused her
to whimper for more. She swayed towards him until her chest was crushed against
his hard body. He moved his lips urgently over hers, his tongue pressing at her
teeth until with a ragged sigh, she opened for him.

He tasted of whiskey she'd never known
she wanted but now longed to drink. She reached up and plunged her hands into
his hair to draw him even closer. He sucked her tongue with long, lavish pulls
that made the fluttering in her stomach turn to a battering she feared would
cause her knees to give. She locked them in place to stop the shaking.

The seductive assault on her mouth
lessened. Was he ending the embrace? Suddenly, he kissed a searing path across
her neck. The feather soft touches promised something tender she’d never known.
She moaned and threw her head back. All at once, the bodice of her dress was
tugged down, and Lord Edgeworth’s thick hair tickled her chin as he lowered his
head and kissed the top of her chest. Desire made her sway, but just when she
started to lose her balance his hand came roughly around her waist to hold her
up. A memory she’d shoved to the dark recesses of her mind reared and stiffened
her limbs.

Abruptly, everything wonderful was
replaced by the vivid recollection of when Lord Derwent took her innocence on
that first day with him. He’d pressed her against a wall, locking her in place
with his thick arm. She’d never had a chance against him. Tears stung her eyes.
She shoved at Lord Edgeworth. “Stop it. Stop it. Please, release me.”

Underneath her fingertips, the muscles
of his biceps jumped as he jerked up and freed her. Wincing, he tugged his hands
through his hair. “Lillian, I’m sorry. I meant only to kiss you.” His breath
was ragged and tight.