Wild Bells to the Wild Sky (70 page)

But Lily's pleasure quickly fled when she saw Honoria Penmorley standing at the foot of the great stone staircase, waiting to greet them as though she were already mistress of Valentine Whitelaw's home. Dressed with her usual discreet good taste in a gown of tawny satin, she came forward, her slender, elegant hand politely extended in welcome, a complacent smile curving her lovely lips while a delicate flush
pinkeye
that flawless porcelain skin.

With a martyred air, she sighed and glanced sadly around the great hall, claiming that she'd had to visit Ravindzara continually since Quinta's absence, for servants and laborers could never be trusted to do their jobs without proper supervision. And from some of the sour looks being sent her way from the servants in the hall, Lily suspected Honoria had carried out her self-professed duty with a vengeance. Lily doubted that Ravindzara possessed any secrets that Honoria Penmorley hadn't ferreted out by now, for she moved through the great hall like one well accustomed to her surroundings. Even Quinta Whitelaw raised an arched brow when Honoria presumed to reprimand a nervous maid who'd accidentally spilled a few drops of ale from a tray of refreshments she was serving to the thirsty riders.

Lily could smile now in
remembrance
of the momentary look of discomfiture that had crossed Honoria's face when she'd seen the visitors accompanying Valentine Whitelaw. Those almond-shaped eyes stared at her for a long moment before recognition entered them, leaving them coolly assessing. Lily felt only briefly ill at ease, then she nodded, meeting and holding the other woman's gaze with a proud one of her own. Throughout the following minutes, Lily felt Honoria Penmorley's eyes lingering on her and she even caught a slightly puzzled expression on Honoria's face when she turned her gaze to her host.

Lily was not sorry to see Honoria take her leave soon after that, returning to Penmorley Hall to greet her brother. Valentine's offer to escort her had been graciously accepted, her apologetic glance around leaving the impression that he'd chosen to escort her at the expense of his duties as host, when in reality he had stated his intention of visiting Artemis. Sir Rodger and Artemis and Honoria returned the following day to bid them a safe journey, for Valentine told them he would be leaving almost immediately for Falmouth.

Lily recalled her last sight of Tristram and Dulcie, Raphael racing around their small figures and barking excitedly, Cappie astride and clinging to his collar. Although Tristram had been
sulky
at first when denied his request to accompany them, he stood with Dulcie in front of the house and waved wildly until she could no longer see them. Quinta and Artemis were standing close to them, with Sir Rodger just behind, his hand resting possessively on Artemis's shoulder. It was odd, though, that it was Honoria she remembered the most, standing there watching their progress along the lane, a secretive smile on her face as she'd turned away to gaze at Ravindzara long before the riders had disappeared from view.

Boarding the
Madrigal
in Falmouth, they'd set sail without further delay. The journey had passed uneventfully, perhaps too uneventfully Lily was to believe later, but while the sails had billowed and the
Madrigal's
prow had swung toward the Indies, she'd felt she had been destined to return to the island.

Unable to resist, Lily's gaze now drifted to the captain of the
Madrigal
. In the balmy, tropical air, he had removed his doublet and jerkin, and his shirt of snowy white linen, the gathered neckline opened to reveal a wide expanse of bare chest, and the long, full sleeves rolled up above his elbows to expose his muscular forearms, made his sun-bronzed skin seem all the darker. His leather cannons fit snugly, the tubelike breeches molding his hips and thighs and revealing the sinewy strength of muscles that rippled with his every movement.

His black hair had grown much longer since beginning the voyage and remained untrimmed. He kept pushing the thick curls, tousled by the winds, away from his lean face. The gold earring he wore glinted in reminder that some, especially the Spanish, thought him little better than a pirate. And Lily knew they had reason to fear him, for when he grinned at something his first mate had said, there was a devilish light in his turquoise eyes.

Lily's lips
trembled slightly when she thought of the coldness
-
-or perhaps it had been more of an indifference
-
-he'd shown her during the voyage. He'd been like a stranger and she knew he was still angry because she had blackmailed him into taking her with him on this voyage. Never had he sought her out, and very seldom had he even been alone with her or engaged her in conversation, and Lily sometimes wondered if it had all been a dream: being held in his arms, feeling his lips pressed to hers in a passionate kiss that had left her breathless and stolen some of the maidenly innocence from her.

He had never spoken of that day at the fair. To him, Lily thought, it might never have happened. And as soon as he'd discovered that Francisca was Lily, he had lost interest. And yet, for her
.
.
.

"You're in love with him, aren't you?" Simon stated,, but it wasn't really a question,
because
the truth was revealed in her eyes when she looked at the
Madrigal's
captain.

Lily looked startled, and for a moment thought to deny it, but then she shrugged. "I have always loved him, Simon. He doesn't know that, nor does he return my love. And he will never know how deeply I love him and always shall," Lily admitted, not realizing how expressively she'd spoken until Simon took her hand in his and raised it to his lips before tucking it beneath his arm companionably.

"I fear I have even lost his friendship, Simon. How he despises me," she said huskily, turning away from Valentine Whitelaw, for it did little good to dream, especially when Honoria Penmorley waited at Ravindzara for the
Madrigal's
captain to return
home
.

"I would not despair, Lily, for I have begun to believe of late that things have a way of working out for the best, even if at the time we think all is lost and we cannot conceive of ever finding happiness again," Simon said, his smile bittersweet, and strangely adult.

Young Simon Whitelaw knew the truth, even if Lily and Valentine did not suspect it. He'd watched them the whole voyage, and being a fairly objective observer, he had witnessed, at first idly, then in dismay, the meaningful glances that had passed between them, both openly and surreptitiously. He suspected what Lily did not, that Valentine had been fighting his feelings for her. Simon knew he was not mistaken, for he'd seen the gentle expression that had entered Valentine's eyes whenever he gazed
upon
Lily, and the caressing gaze had not been fatherly. Simon had watched the way those turquoise eyes had narrowed, following Lily's every gesture, the way her hips moved and the way her bodice tightened across her firm young breasts when she raised her arms to push back a stray curl. Never before had Simon seen such a look of tender passion in Valentine's eyes. But Simon also knew that Valentine was blind to the fact that Lily was deeply in love with him.

And yet something that he had no knowledge of had happened to cause an estrangement between them, to make them defensive and suspicious of each other. They seemed to make a special effort not to catch each other. They seemed to make a special effort not to catch each other's eye, but every so often they had, and then Simon had been embarrassed by the exchange, certain that neither of them had been aware of the unbidden desire that had entered their eyes. He had felt as if he'd committed the unpardonable sin of spying on two lovers embracing. He glanced down at Lily's beautiful face and sighed. The hopes he'd cherished were gone, but then, they had only been
dreams
and would remain his secret. And unless he wished to lose Lily forever, as well as his uncle's friendship, he would have to be satisfied to remain her friend.

"Do you believe me, Lily? I do not claim to be omniscient, but I do believe that fortune is smiling on you. How could it not, when you are so lovely?" he couldn't resist remarking.

Lily surprised him by reaching up and pressing a soft kiss against his cheek, her eyes tender with love for him, as if he were a brother to her.

To Valentine Whitelaw, watching from the upper deck, they looked like young lovers, and he knew a sudden, all-consuming jealousy of Simon, his own nephew. Watching him fondle and kiss her was maddening. If he had thought Lily Christian beautiful when first seeing her riding along the banks of the Thames and then later when he'd held her in his arms in the greenwood, he knew now that he'd seen only a glimpse of her true beauty.

He had come to know all over again the girl who had matured into a desirable and fascinating woman of incomparable beauty. Watching her and listening to her, learning of her views and feelings concerning all manners of subjects, he had found himself falling deeply, irresistibly in love with her. It was Lily, his Lily of the island he found himself aching to hold and caress-
-
and that desire came of an attraction that went far deeper than the physical lust he'd felt for the beautiful woman in green velvet whom he'd come to know as Francisca. Lily Christian possessed a humility and kindness that few other renowned beauties of his acquaintance even had knowledge of. She was a woman of thoughtful intelligence. She was spirited and headstrong. She was a young woman who could hold her own with anyone, and although she'd even challenged him, he admired her for her courage. There was no artifice with Lily, and yet she was a born enchantress with her pale green eyes that glowed with so many emotions. He'd watched the way the corners of her mouth turned up slightly when she was thinking of something amusing, and the way she would stretch like a child, her arms held out, unaware that it drew a man's
gaze
to her soft, womanly curves. And when she would sit on deck, brushing her long dark red hair, she never realized the effect it had on a man, driving him to the point where he would sell his soul to bury his face in its fragrant thickness. With an innocent wantonness, she had seduced him. When he lay in his bunk feeling the gentle movement of the ship beneath him, knowing she was lying close by, he was left with a painful ache in his loins
that
would not be satisfied until he had possessed her.

She stood on deck now, her dark red hair glinting in the sunlight like fire. The
winds
swirled around her figure, lifting long strands of her hair to float about her as if they were alive, molding her gown against the slender length of her thighs and gentle curve of buttock. After leaving the coldness of the North Atlantic, Lily had replaced the heavy green velvet gown she'd been wearing with a lighter gown of creamy silk. Since entering the islands, she
had
shed the voluminous petticoats beneath her gown and freed her breath from the stiffened corset.

Only Lily, whose untamed spirit seemed to guide her every action, would have thrown caution and propriety to the winds and done as she please in order to be more comfortable. Everything about Lily Christian fascinated him. But she was not for him, he warned himself. He was too old and cynical for one as young and innocent as she. And were he to take Lily Christian for his wife
-
-if she would have him, he added with an uncertainty he was not accustomed to experiencing
-
-then how could he ever ear to leave her to sail away for months at a time after he had once lain with her. And yet the sea was a part of his life. If it were not for the
Madrigal's
voyages there would be no Ravindzara to return to. He would not be able to keep Lily in the manner in which he would wish. To love Lily would only serve to bring him heartache, for he knew he would never be content to be away from her for long. She inspired an uncontrollable jealousy, passion,
and love
that he'd never felt so deeply before and which would always keep him aching for her touch.

Valentine shook his head, thinking he must be feverish to be dwelling upon such things, like a lovesick boy who had yet to know the pleasures of a woman's body. But never before had he known a woman such as Lily Christian. He had thought he'd been in love with Cordelia, but the desires she had kindled paled in comparison to the fires that burned inside of him now. He wanted Lily and he knew he could win her if he tried. She was so innocent of passion that he could easily seduce her. She had trembled in his arms before, and her lips had clung to his. She had wanted him. She would be his, if he so desired, but what of her needs? He found himself thinking. Would he be able to make her happy, away as he was for most of the year? She would suffer loneliness and perhaps wish for another to warm her through the long, cold months of winter. And he had little doubt that there would be many who would hope, perhaps even conspire, to replace him in her affections.

Despite her claim that she and her family were none of his affair, she was a part of his life. He felt responsible for her; after all, he had been the one to rescue her from the island. He felt a certain proprietary interest in her that no other man could claim. He might even remind her of the debt she owed him for having rescued her. And she was Geoffrey Christian's daughter; that gave hi the right, as Geoffrey's friend, to concern himself with her well-being. He would have wished Valentine to keep an eye on his daughter. And whether she liked it or not, he was in her life to stay, Valentine decided with a stubborn glint in his turquoise eyes as he watched Simon place an arm across Lily's slender shoulders.