A Wallflower Christmas (Wallflowers #5)(45)

The maid brought in tea, and Lillian sent her back for extra cups. “Who wants tea with brandy?” Lillian asked.

“I do,” said Daisy.

“I’ll take m-mine without the brandy,” Evie murmured.

“I’ll take mine without the tea,” Annabelle said.

Moving to the space beside Hannah, Daisy gave her a fresh handkerchief, and put her arm around her shoulders. “You know, dear,” Daisy said, “you’re our first honorary wallflower. And we’ve brought very good luck to each other. I have no doubt it will extend to you, too.”

SLIGHTLY TIPSY FROM A GLASS OF STRAIGHT BRANDY, LILLIAN SAID good night to the wallflowers, including their newest member. They all left the Marsden parlor to go to their rooms. Wandering slowly toward the master’s suite, Lillian pondered her brother’s situation with a troubled frown.

Lillian was a straightforward, blunt-spoken woman, who far preferred to handle a problem by bringing it out into the open and dealing with it directly. But she understood that this matter must be handled with discretion and sensitivity. Which meant she needed to stay out of it. And yet she longed for Rafe to find the happiness he deserved. Even more, she longed to shake her stubborn ass of a father and command him to stop manipulating the lives of everyone around him.

She decided to talk to Westcliff, who could always be counted on for comfort and common sense. She could hardly wait to hear his opinions on the matter of Rafe and Hannah and Lady Natalie. Guessing that he would still be downstairs with the guests, she headed toward the grand staircase.

As she reached the top of the grand staircase and prepared to descend, she saw her husband standing in the entrance hall below, talking to someone.

Lady Kittridge…again.

“Marcus,” she whispered, feeling a sick pang of jealousy. Followed swiftly by rage.

By God, this was not to be endured. She would not lose her husband’s affections to someone else. Not without a fight. Her hands clenched into fists. Although every instinct screamed for her to storm downstairs and jump between her husband and the blond woman, she managed to restrain herself. She was a countess. She would do the dignified thing, and confront Marcus in private.

First she went to the nursery to say good night to little Merritt, who was snuggled in a lace-trimmed crib, with a nurserymaid watching over her. The sight of her precious daughter calmed Lillian somewhat. She smoothed her hand lightly over the baby’s dark hair, drinking in the sight of her. I’m the mother of his child, she thought vehemently, wishing she could hurl the words like daggers at the glamorous Lady Kittridge. I’m his wife. And he hasn’t fallen out of love with me yet!

She went to the master bedroom, bathed and changed into a nightgown and velvet dressing robe, and brushed out her long sable hair.

Her heart began to thump madly as Marcus entered the room. He paused at the sight of her, the long locks of hair flowing down her back, and he smiled. Here in private, his autocratic demeanor faded away, and the all-powerful earl became a warm, loving, very mortal man.

He stripped off his coat and dropped it onto a chair. His cravat followed, and then he came to stand beside her.

Lillian closed her eyes as his hands came to her head, fingers sliding gently through her loose hair, and his fingertips massaged her temples. She was acutely aware of him, the coiled power of his body, and the dry, sweet outdoors scent of him, like fresh-cut hay. He fascinated her, this complex man with complex needs. Having been raised with the unstinting criticism of her parents, it was no wonder that she occasionally doubted her ability to be enough for Marcus.

“Are you tired?” he asked in that gravel-wrapped-in-velvet murmur, so distinctive and pleasant.

“Just a little.” She sighed as his hands slid to her shoulders, working the tension from them.

“You could just lie back and let me have my way with you,” he suggested, his dark eyes glowing.

“Yes, but…there is something I must talk with you about first.” Damn it, there was a quaver in her voice, despite her attempt to sound calm and dignified.

Marcus’s expression changed as he heard the distress in her tone. He pulled her up to face him, and he stared down at her with instant concern. “What is it, my love?”

Lillian took a deep breath. Another. Her fear and anger and worry were so great, it was hard to force the words out. “I…I should not stand in the way of your…pursuits outside of marriage. I know that. I understand how it is with your kind…I mean, you’ve done it for centuries, and I suppose it was too much for me to expect that youthat Iwould be enough. All I ask is that you be discreet. Because it isn’t easy to watch you with herthe way you smile, and” She stopped and covered her face with her hands, mortified to feel tears springing to her eyes. Bloody hell.

“My kind?” Marcus sounded bewildered. “What have I done for centuries? Lillian, what the hell are you talking about?”

Her woeful voice filtered out from behind her hands. “Lady Kittridge.”

There was a short, shocked silence.

“Have you gone mad? Lillian, look at me. Lillian”

“I can’t look at you,” she muttered.

He gave her a little shake. “Lillian…Am I to understand that you think I have a personal interest in her?”

The note of genuine outrage in his question made Lillian feel the tiniest bit better. No guilty husband could have feigned such baffled anger. On the other hand, it was never a good idea to provoke Marcus. He was usually slow to anger, but once it started, mountains trembled, oceans parted, and every creature with an instinct for self-preservation fled for cover.