Three Nights with a Scoundrel: A Novel (36 page)

But they were bared enough. Enough to kiss. Enough to taste. Enough to press skin to skin and feel each other’s heat, each other’s need.

He rolled atop her, hiked her shift, spread her thighs—and thrust home with no further preliminary. She was tight and not quite ready for him, but she didn’t complain. She knew how badly he needed this, to join with her. To feel surrounded and safe. To get
inside
.

She wrapped her legs over his hips, and he stroked harder, deeper, as though he would lose himself in her embrace. Or dig a trench for them both in the mattress ticking, whichever came first. Moisture dripped from his brow, splashing her chest. Tears, sweat, or some mixture of both. His movements were desperate, tortured. Pained, and a bit painful, too.

She took it all, ignoring the sharp pinch of pain, wondering if he meant to test her resiliency by doing his devil’s best to break her apart.

Take this
, he challenged with brutal digs of his hips.
And this. And then more
.

She would hold together. She could take whatever he gave. But she also had needs of her own, and truth be told, Lily was growing a bit weary of being the object of concern. If it was proof of her strength he desired …

On his next deep thrust, Lily cinched her legs around his and rolled over, reversing their positions and coming to rest atop him. The pantaloons tangling about his knees restricted his ability to retaliate. Even if he wished to, and from the look on his face, she would wager that he didn’t. She had her captive well and happily pinned.

She sat tall, straddling his hips and centering herself on his monumental erection. With a little smile, she told him, “Be still. I’ll take matters from here.”

Obviously bewildered but not at all displeased, he reached to stroke her thigh. “Lily …”

“Now, now.” She flicked his touch away. “I said, be still.”

Placing her hands flat atop his chest, she lifted herself in a slow, torturous glide before sinking onto him again. His resonant groan tickled her palms.

He clutched her hips, nudging himself even deeper.

“Naughty.” Lily tsked, stopping midstroke to remove his hands from her backside. “Don’t you want to see that I’m strong? That I can manage without you?”

His eyes flared with lust, and she knew he’d finally understood.

A thrill of power surged through her. “Hands out to the sides,” she demanded. “Flat against the bed.”

He complied, stretching his arms to either side.

“You won’t move?”

“I won’t move.”

“Promise. Or I shall have to tie you down.”

Oh
. Part of him leapt at that idea. How very interesting. Well, perhaps another time.

“I promise,” he said, arching his back. “Anything. Just hurry.”

She grinned. This posture gave her a beautiful view of his chest and arms. His muscles and tendons were taut with the effort of restraint. A sculpture of sensual agony.

Devouring him with her eyes, she began to ride him once more, rolling her hips in a steady rhythm. Each downstroke sent delicious friction just where she needed it. His deep moans of pleasure resonated in her bones.

“Do you see?” she said coyly. “I know what you need. And I know how to take what I need, too.”

With a curse, he squeezed his eyes shut.

As her arousal gathered and built, she increased her pace. She let her hands wander over his chest, tweaking his flat nipples and sinking her fingernails into his skin.

He gritted his teeth. “Lily,” he said, lifting his head just a bit. His gaze dropped to the place where their bodies joined. “I want to touch you. Let me touch you.”

“No.” Then with a sweet smile, “I’ll do it.”

She raised her hands to her breasts, long since popped free of her stays, cupping and lifting the globes through the thin covering of her chemise. They were tender and swollen, no doubt because she was with child. Her nipples were so sensitive, just the chafing of the thin muslin shift sent sharp ripples of pleasure to her core. She gave the dark, turgid peaks an experimental pinch.

“God.” Julian bucked beneath her. “You’ll kill me.”

His desperation pleased her beyond measure. Yes, this was what she wanted. To tower over him, rounded and feminine and merciless as a heathen fertility goddess. She was creating a new life inside her. What could be more powerful than that? Never mind protected. She deserved to be worshipped, feared.

Flattening her hands, she slid her palms down her belly, down to where their bodies joined, sending her fingers to burrow beneath the gathered fabric of her chemise. She found that swollen, sensitive nub, covered it with a fingertip.

Then she stilled, resting her pelvis to his, savoring the feeling of having him so deep inside her as she touched herself, circling her finger over her needy pearl. The joy spiraled and spread, and again she began to move her hips, moving up and down on his hard length. She couldn’t look away from his face. And his gaze was riveted to her hand where she pleasured herself. If he’d ever been more transported by lust, she had not witnessed it. His fingers twisted the bed linens as he thrashed beneath her.

Close as she was, she held back. She wanted more. She wanted him to acknowledge her control, beg for his own release.

“Lily,” he pleaded. “God, Lily. I can’t—I’m going to—”

“Yes.
Yes
.” Her peak came in a hot, dizzy rush. It came, and it stayed, going on and on as he broke form, reaching to clutch her hips and pump his release into her depths.

In the aftermath, she collapsed atop him, panting and shivering with bliss. His arms wrapped her snug against his chest.

“We’ll be fine,” she told him, blanketing him with her body and pressing a kiss to his parted lips. “Just fine. Believe me, Julian. Trust in this. I love you, and you love me. All the hurting is in the past. We have our whole future ahead of us, and it will be wonderful.”

Never had she believed her own words more.

And never had she been more wrong.

Chapter Twenty-two

She found the letter in the morning.

My dearest Lily
,

I can only imagine your reaction when you find this. You will wish you had made good on your threat last night and tied me to the bed. I rather wish it, too
.

Dear, darling Lily. Where do I begin?

I have an enemy. Ever since Leo’s death, I have suspected that attack was meant for me. I explained to you yesterday how, as a youth, I became privy to sensitive information at the coffeehouse. Although my attempt to place a wager on that horse race went disastrously wrong, I eventually found other ways to use the information to my material advantage. And if I were ever brought to a reckoning in those cases, neither the law nor the truth would be on my side
.

These past six months, I’ve feared someone had discovered my true identity, finally connected Julian Bellamy with the deaf-mute errand boy. I thought this unknown person had tried to silence me permanently that night of the boxing match
.

Lily, you must believe how ardently I hoped my suspicions were wrong. For a while, I managed to convince
myself that you were right, and Leo’s death was nothing but a random, senseless tragedy. Then yesterday, both my brightest hopes and my worst fears were realized. You blessed me with the news of our child, and within the same hour I received incontrovertible proof that I am a marked man. My life is in danger—and, as long as I remain near you, so is yours
.

I cannot risk harm to you or the babe, nor can I live with the specter of fear overshadowing our joy. I ride out this morning with Morland and Ashworth, with plans to confront Leo’s killers and hopes of identifying my enemy. From there, I will do whatever I must to protect you and our child
.

Believe this: I will do my damnedest to fix this and come home to you. However, I cannot ignore the possibility that I may not return. If I fail to come back, look for my solicitor to discreetly make contact. There are funds set aside. You will never want for anything
.

Lily, by leaving you like this, I break a promise. And thus, I behave in a manner completely unworthy of you. The plain truth of it is, I have always been unworthy of you. You don’t know the half of what I’ve done. But no matter the shame in my past, these weeks with you have been the happiest and proudest of my life. Had we shared only one night together, it would be worth all this and more to have called you “wife” just once and to wear your ring to my grave. I could cover this paper with “I love you”s, and still they wouldn’t be enough
.

I love you
.

There, kindly read that a thousand times over. Then pause to take tea, and read it a thousand times more. Daily, if you will
.

Be faithful to those vows you made last night. You must never doubt my love for you, and no matter what
occurs, you must find a way to carry on. The irony is not lost on me, that even as I break my own promises, I’m insisting you must keep yours. Unfair of me, but true to form. I’m a bastard, a scoundrel, and as you’ve said, an unmitigated ass. Even the damned bird knows it’s true. But above all these, I remain

Yours, always
,

—J
.

“No!” Lily shouted, stepping back from the letter where it lay on her dressing table. “No, no, no! How could you?”

She pressed a hand to the thin lawn of her shift. They’d spent a magical night together. Had she somehow dreamed it all? No. The supper tray was still there, not even yet cleared. He’d made love to her so sweetly, all night through, scarcely allowing her to rest between bouts of passion. She’d thought his exuberant ardor meant he’d finally moved past all his fears and reservations.

But no. It meant he’d been saying good-bye. Making love to her as if last night could be their
last
night, ever. And now he’d rushed out to meet some unknown danger, leaving her behind to helplessly fret.

Damn him.
Damn
him. Lily seldom swore, but if ever there was an occasion to merit blasphemy, this was it. He must have been planning this. Hadn’t he said so yesterday in the gallery? The three gentlemen had made plans to go riding.

“Damn you, Julian,” she said aloud. “And damn your noble words. I’ll be damned if you’ll leave me like this.”

She looked to the clock. Already half nine. Damn, damn, damn. Who could say how long he’d been gone?

Her lady’s maid came rushing in, no doubt drawn by the angry shouting.

“I want a traveling habit, and a warm cloak,” Lily told her. “And I want them now. Don’t bother with pressing.”

While the maid was still curtsying her agreement, Lily rushed past her and wrenched open the door, sticking head and shoulders into the corridor. “Swift!” she bellowed, putting her whole body into the effort.

Within moments, the butler’s silver head appeared at the top of the stairs.

“The carriage, Swift. I want it readied immediately.”

Without even waiting for his acknowledgment, Lily slammed the door shut and went to the washstand, swabbing herself with tepid water and yanking a brush through her love-tangled hair. By the time her maid appeared with a fresh chemise, stays, and petticoat, Lily was read to don them. She grabbed the stockings and garters for herself. “Get the dress,” she told the maid.

The stockings were uncooperative, and the garters were downright incorrigible. “Damnable stockings,” she grumbled, perversely wishing she
did
swear more often, so she would have a broader repertoire of profanity to draw from. “Damnable garters.”

As the clock ticked toward ten, she was fully dressed and simply coiffed. Presentable, if not a picture of elegance. She took one last glance in the mirror, smoothing her damp palms over the pleated amethyst superfine.

“Gloves,” she called. “I need gloves.”

Her maid was right there beside her, holding a pair in either hand for her selection.

Lily took the buff doeskin gloves and ran with them, working her fingers into their tight sheaths as she hurried down the stairs. “Is the carriage ready, Swift?”

“Nearly, my lady.”

“Tell the driver to pull around front. I’ll wait on the steps.” Honestly, Lily had no idea where she intended to go. She just knew she had to go
somewhere
. She could not sit in this house, poring over ledgers and alphabetizing books while Julian was out in the world, courting danger.

She went to the front door and grabbed hold of the handle.
Amelia
, she thought. She would start with Amelia and Meredith. Since all three men had gone out together, perhaps the other ladies would have some clue where they’d headed.

Lily wrenched open the door and bolted through it, only to pull up short on the threshold. Amelia and Meredith themselves stood on the front stoop. Amelia’s hand was arrested midair, as though she’d been preparing to ring the bell.