Darling Beast (Maiden Lane #7)(75)

He bowed over her and bit into the back of her neck, holding her hips still so that he could plow into her over and over again until he felt her shudder under him, contracting around him. She moaned, low and lost, as she came, and he knelt up then, never stopping, never slowing, pounding as she trembled beneath him until he threw back his head and roared his own release into the night.

The stars whirled above them as he slowly sank back over her, panting, wondering if he’d ever again regain his humanity.

Or if he’d lost it forever to this woman.

Chapter Seventeen

Now, though a bull’s visage may be wild and beastly, its eyes are quite beautiful. Ariadne saw a soft brown eye, large and liquid, surrounded by thick lashes and filled with pain. In that moment she forgot fear of the monster and felt only pity. Instead of fleeing, she knelt by his side and began to bind his wounds, and as she did, she wondered what had become of Theseus, for surely it was he who had hurt the monster…

—From The Minotaur

Lily woke late the next morning with a feeling of both elation and dread. Elation because she would see Apollo again. She knew now that their liaison would by necessity be short. Soon she’d have to go back to her own life and he to his—wherever that was. Aristocrats and average persons could not permanently join—at least not happily. Their worlds were too different, the imbalance of power between highborn and low simply too great. Even if he cared for her in some way, Apollo would have to wed a lady of his own rank one day. Lily hadn’t the heart to be a mistress. But knowing that their time together was finite made it all the sweeter. She vowed to enjoy every minute left to her.

But her anticipation at seeing Apollo again was tempered by a feeling of dread. At a house party there was no way she could avoid Richard forever.

She pushed the second thought aside, however, and made sure to walk down to luncheon with Moll.

All the guests were gathered there, it seemed, for it was quite late—nearly one of the clock—and well past the time a working person might break his fast. Of course working people didn’t stay awake dancing past dawn, either.

Three large tables had been set up to accommodate so many at once and footmen were moving swiftly, bringing coffeepots and plates of cold meats, coddled eggs, and rolls. Lily saw Apollo almost at once and shared a secret smile with him. Then she glanced around and found Richard, sitting next to a pleasant-looking woman who had to be his wife.

Lily felt nothing but pity for her.

She ducked her head and marched determinedly with Moll toward a table holding John, the Warners, and, unfortunately, her brother. But it was on the opposite side of the room from Richard and that, at least, made it the best choice. When she glanced up again, Apollo was frowning thoughtfully at him.

Damn. The man was much too perceptive.

“Miss Bennet,” lovely Mr. Warner exclaimed as they approached. He rose at once, followed more slowly by Edwin and John. “And Miss Goodfellow. What a splendid accomplishment your production was last night. Mrs. Warner and I enjoyed ourselves enormously. And you must be very proud of your brother, for I understand he is the playwright.” He turned and beamed at Edwin, who, for once, seemed a bit taken aback by the approbation.

“Indeed,” John said. “Mr. Stump is well known in the theater community for the intelligence and wit of his plays. I’ve acted in two myself.”

“How wonderful,” exclaimed little Mrs. Warner. “You are very talented, Mr. Stump. I vow I would not be able to write a single line, let alone five entire acts.”

Lily met her brother’s eyes and saw a shadow of guilt there. She really ought to be used to seeing him lauded for her own work. Still, it hurt, just the tiniest bit, like a pinched heart.

An odd look came over Edwin’s narrow face and suddenly he threw wide his arms. “Gentlepeople! Might I have your ears!”

The other guests turned, faces startled or expectant according to their personalities.

Edwin was in his element with an audience. He bowed and strutted to the middle of the room. “I have received many accolades for the play you enjoyed last night, but now I must reveal to you the real talent, the real playwright of A Wastrel Reform’d.” Edwin paused for a pregnant second and then turned and bowed to Lily. “My own sister, Miss Robin Goodfellow!”

Even knowing what he might say, Lily was caught by surprise. For a moment she simply stared, wide-eyed, at her brother. Then, grinning, he took her hand and drew her to the center of the room.

The guests rose, clapping, and she could do nothing but curtsy and curtsy again. In the back of the room a footman tapped on Mr. William Greaves’s shoulder and leaned close to whisper something in his ear before Mr. Greaves turned and left the room.

Amid the uproar, Lily looked at her brother. “Why?”

He shrugged, his look rueful. She wondered if he’d already begun to regret his decision to reveal the authorship of her plays. “It was time,” he murmured, close to her ear because the applause was continuing. “And, no matter my own self-interest and pettiness, I do love you, Sister.”

Tears sparkled in her eyes and she threw her arms around her brother. Over his shoulder she could see Apollo, standing and clapping with the other guests, his eyes full of pride.

APOLLO WATCHED LILY blush and smile as she was finally acknowledged for the words she’d written. He wanted to go to her and take her in his arms, to congratulate her himself, but they hadn’t progressed to a point where he could claim her in public—yet. So instead he used the distraction to slip from the room.