His Lordship's True Lady (True Gentlemen #4)(15)
“I’ll meet you in the mews. Give me five minutes.”
Five minutes to sit in peace and quiet, while the throbbing in Lily’s head eased and her sense of impatience with a wasted day ebbed. Tomorrow, she would take Bronwyn to meet Daisy, and that—turning a pair of little girls loose in a nursery full of dolls—held far more appeal than any of polite society’s gatherings.
Retiring rooms were usually on the first floor, so inside and up the main stairs Lily went. The staff was doubtless busy with the guests in the garden, and the quiet in the house was welcome.
Seeing neither maid nor footman from whom to ask directions, Lily took the first turning and ran smack into the Earl of Grampion.
“She’s after me,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Thank God you found me.”
“Who’s after you?”
“The Humplewit creature,” he said, taking Lily by the hand and leading her along the corridor. “She has eighteen hands, her teeth are filed to sharp points, and her prehensile tongue could reach right into a man’s exchequer, there to secure the contents into her permanent possession.”
Footsteps sounded from the opposite direction.
Grampion pulled Lily into an alcove, where the scent of hyacinths blended with fresh greenery. A replica of the Apollo Belvedere wore a garland of ivy around his shoulders as he peered out into the gardens, the stone embodiment of male perfection.
Grampion was a good deal more interesting.
“Dorie Humplewit is a known flirt,” Lily whispered as the footsteps came closer. “You mustn’t think anything of it.”
“I am a known unwed, titled bachelor. Do you know how easily—?”
“Oh, Gram-pee-un! Gram-peeeeeee-un!” a woman called. “Mustn’t be coy, my lord!”
The earl tugged loose a velvet drape so it shielded one side of the alcove, then wrapped his arms about Lily and turned, putting his back to the corridor.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “She mustn’t see you.” His hand cradled the back of Lily’s head, and though he’d taken her by surprise, Lily had sense enough to remain in his arms.
Heavenly choruses, he knew how to hold a woman. Everything lined up as nature intended, and Lily nearly screeched with the frustration of not embracing the earl in return. She kept her arms at her sides, lest any part of her be visible from the corridor.
“I know you’re here somewhere,” Lady Humplewit cooed. “No need to be shy, my lord. We’re both adults and know what we’re about.”
Grampion had wrapped one arm about Lily’s waist. The other held her so her forehead rested against his chest. She was entirely supported, entirely hidden from view, and entirely undone.
He pressed closer, so they were both shielded behind the loose drape. Lily breathed in the scent of him—shaving soap that hinted of cedar, lavender from a freshly laundered shirt, a whiff of starch from his cravat, and mint from his toothpowder.
He was particular about his hygiene, and his height came with a good deal of muscle. He was warm too, a lovely pleasure after the chilly garden. Lily relaxed against that warmth as the footsteps faded.
“Thank God,” Grampion muttered.
And still, he did not let Lily go, and neither did she try to leave his embrace.
*
Lily Ferguson was lovely to hold. The male part of Hessian’s brain, which he’d ceased paying attention to within a year of his marriage, didn’t notice Lily’s curves and softness so much as it consumed them like a beggar devours a feast.
Her shape—diminutive, but unmistakably an adult female in great good health—made a general impression while Hessian reacquainted himself with details of female anatomy long forgotten. The nape of a woman’s neck was exquisitely soft beneath the pad of his thumb, and the back of her head fit his palm as if his hand were made for that purpose.
She could turn slightly and allow a more snug fit of his body to hers, and where his chest was flat, hers was… not.
Soft, full, feminine… Hessian had wrapped the lady close lest his hands wander where they must not.
Lily’s lack of height was a revelation. The first Countess of Grampion had been tall and willowy, exuding an aura of frailty, for all her determination to wed him. Hessian had feared mishandling her and then lost any interest in handling her at all.
He had lost interest in turning Lily Ferguson loose. Small but mighty came to mind, for her shape was quintessentially feminine. She remained quiescent in his embrace as the threat of discovery faded and silence returned.
Hunger was a problem solved with a meal. The feelings plaguing Hessian spoke of deprivation so long entrenched as to wrench normal reactions from his grasp. He wanted to swive Lily Ferguson, and he wanted to hide her away at Grampion Hall through a succession of long, passionate winters.
Which would not do.
Just as he might have let go of her, she hugged him. “You’ve had a fright. Perhaps I underestimate Lady Humplewit’s intentions where you are concerned.”
Lily couldn’t step back because of the wall. Hessian let her go, and rather than drop his gaze to locations a gentleman didn’t study, he put his hands in his pockets and admired Apollo’s toes.
“Lady Humplewit claimed to be in search of diversion, though I suspect becoming my countess would fit that description for her.”