Wild Lily (Those Notorious Americans Book 1)(58)

She walked around, touching the blue settee, the backs of the sapphire brocaded arm chairs and the cream-colored chaise longue. The black lacquered chest caught her eye and she paused to admire it.

“Most of the furnishings here date from the period when the family traded in the Orient. That Chinese chest is more than a hundred years old. The chairs are from an Indian maharajah, a gift to my father. Only the upholstery is new. And the wallpaper.”

She continued around the walls, stopping here and there before a framed work. “This man is who?”

“My paternal grandfather. That lady there?” He indicated the portrait on the opposite side of the mantel. “That’s his wife. My grandmother.”

Lily put her hand to the pearls that she still wore around her throat. “Do you have a portrait of your great-aunt?”

“I do. Or rather, you do. She’s in your dressing room.”

Lily beamed at him. “I hoped that might be she. I saw her when I went in to change for supper. She was pretty, wasn’t she?”

“Very.”

“A pity she lived alone.”

“She didn’t want to marry for less than love,” he said and at once wished he hadn’t. That was what he and Lily had just done. And he wasn’t feeling particularly secure about it.

“Do you know if she regretted never marrying?” Lily asked, walking toward the entry to his bedroom.

“That she never said. Instead she wanted me to understand the importance of choosing a mate wisely.”

“I hope you have.”

“I think I have,” he admitted and held out his hand. “Come with me.”

She shook her head, refusing to take it. “I have to know…”

He took pity on her and stepped to her. “What?”

“Do you think we’ll be happy together?”

“I want to be.”

But she stepped back.

“Lily, if you don’t wish to proceed, we can wait. We have years and years together.”

She waved a hand toward his bedroom. “This should happen before that!”

She was so dear. “It will. Don’t worry. I’ll show you to your rooms. We have a connecting door.” He gestured toward it. “You can return whenever you wish.”

“All right.”

Trailing him, she said nothing. So much for his hope to unhook that pretty little frog.

He turned the knob of the door and pulled it open.

She walked through but halted on the threshold—and whirled to face him. “I’m being childish, aren’t I?”

“Be you.” He had to be noble about her reluctance.“Good night.”

Smiling at her, he began to close the door.

But she put a hand to the wood. “I really don’t want to wait. I liked what we did today. In the coach. Can we do more of that, please?”

He hauled her close. She was spontaneous, natural, the qualities that lit his heart and had him taking her in his arms, smoothing her hair from her temples and burying his lips in her fragrant hair. She came to him trusting him, and he detected that beneath the wrapper, she wore next to nothing.

He stroked her collarbone down to her cleavage and that tempting red frog.



Undoing the closure of her robe, he pushed aside the fabric. Cool night air met her skin and she shivered in his arms. She fell back against the wall.

He cupped her jaw, smiled at her with raw desire and put his lips to her cheek. “We can go slowly.”

“I don’t want to,” she confessed. “You’ll think I’m unwilling.”

“I don’t.”

She let her forehead fall to his shoulder. Her hands gripped the lapels of his robe. So often she’d seen horses mate. Cattle, too. And her herding dogs. Their cries, all harsh. The event over very soon.

“Your fears are groundless, my dear.” He tipped up her chin. “Let me kiss you.”

And so he did. With gentle lips, he pressed his mouth to hers. He went slowly, tasting her soft mouth and arching her up against him in a crush. She clutched his shoulder as he trailed his tongue down the cord of her throat and nuzzled aside her wrapper. With a tug, he brushed it to the floor.

She clamped her thighs together, hot and wanting, needing so much more.

He swept her up in his arms and strode to the oversize chair beside his bed. He curled her on his lap and rested her in his embrace. He sent one large hand over the swell of her breast, warm and commanding over the silk of her gown.

She gasped in pleasure, her eyes drifting closed while a violent urge grew molten in her core. She recalled his hands on her in the coach, the thundering sensation he elicited from her, and she starved to have it again from him. Surrendering to that storm inside her, she looped an arm around his shoulders and rose to claim his mouth in a torrid kiss. He responded, spark for flame, groaning.

She couldn’t bear any more and pushed away, then jumped from his arms.

“Don’t go,” he pleaded, confusion lining his brow, bereft.

She shook her head. “No, that’s not what I want.”

He frowned. “What then?”

The silk negligee she’d chosen was nigh unto transparent. She knew it. Had chosen it for that very reason. Brazen. He’d call her that.

“Dear heart,” he whispered as he stared at her, his eyes hot, drawn down her body and back up to her face. “You are exquisite.”