It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers #2)(89)

“He was French, though,” Daisy argued. “I’m sure he meant the heart as well.”

Lillian laughed and glanced at her sister affectionately. “Perhaps he did. But I don’t want to keep secrets from Lord Westcliff.”

“Oh, very well. But heed my words—it wouldn’t be a true love affair if you didn’t have a few little secrets.”

CHAPTER 22

At a suitably late hour, when some of the guests had retired and others were lingering downstairs in the card room and the billiards room, Lillian crept from her chamber with the intention of meeting Marcus. She tiptoed along the hallway, and stopped short as she saw a man standing against a wall at the juncture of two wide corridors. The man stepped forward, and she immediately recognized him as Marcus’s valet.

“Miss,” he said calmly, “milord bid me to show you the way.”

“I know the way. And he knows that I know the way. What the devil are you doing here?”

“Milord did not wish for you to wander through the house unaccompanied.”

“Naturally,” she said. “I could be accosted by someone. Seduced, even.”

Seemingly inured to sarcasm, when it was perfectly obvious that she was not going to the earl’s room for a chaste visit, the valet turned to lead the way.

Fascinated by his reserve, Lillian couldn’t help asking, “So…is it often that you are required to escort unmarried ladies to Lord Westcliff’s private rooms?”

“No, miss,” came his unflappable reply.

“Would you tell me if it were otherwise?”

“No, miss,” he said in exactly the same tone, and she grinned.

“Is the earl a good master?”

“He is an excellent master, miss.”

“I suppose you would say that even if he was an ogre.”

“No, miss. In that case I would merely say that he was an acceptable master. When I say that he is an excellent master, however, I mean precisely that.”

“Hmm.” Lillian was encouraged by the valet’s words. “Does he talk to his servants? Thank them for doing a good job, that sort of thing?”

“No more than is appropriate, miss.”

“Which is to say never?”

“More accurate would be to say not usually, miss.”

Since the valet seemed disinclined to talk after that, Lillian followed him in silence to Marcus’s room. He accompanied her to the threshold, scratched at the door with the tips of his fingers, and waited for a response from within.

“Why do you do that?” Lillian whispered. “That scratching business. Why don’t you knock?”

“The countess prefers a scratch to a knock, as it is more soothing to her nerves.”

“Does the earl prefer you to scratch at his door?”

“I doubt very much he cares one way or the other, miss.”

Lillian frowned thoughtfully. In the past she had heard other servants scratching their employers’ doors, and it had always struck her American ears as being a bit odd…rather like a dog scuffling to be let in from outside.

The door opened, and Lillian felt a rush of pure gladness at the sight of Marcus’s dark face. His expression was impassive, but his eyes were glowing with warmth. “That will be all,” he said to the valet, staring at Lillian’s face as he reached out to draw her past the threshold.

“Yes, milord.” The valet disappeared with tactful speed.

Closing the door, Marcus stared at Lillian, the spark in his eyes burning brighter, a smile now lurking at the corners of his lips. He looked so handsome, with his austere features lit by the mingled glow of the lamp and the hearth, that a sweet shiver went through her. Rather than his usual tied-and-buttoned attire, he had gone without a coat, and his white shirt was open at the throat, revealing a glimpse of smooth brown skin. She had kissed that triangular hollow at the base of it …she had let her tongue play across it…

Ripping her thoughts from the scalding memory, Lillian glanced away from him. Immediately she felt his lean fingers come up to her hot cheek, guiding her face back to his. The tip of his thumb slid over her chin. “I wanted you today,” he said softly.

Her heart escalated into a rapid thump, and the cheek beneath his caressing fingertips tautened with a smile. “You didn’t so much as glance in my direction even once during supper.”

“I was afraid to.”

“Why?”

“Because I knew that if I did, I wouldn’t be able to keep from making you into my next course.”

Lillian’s lashes lowered as she let him ease her closer, his hand sliding over the length of her spine. Her br**sts and waist felt swollen within the insulating grip of her corset, and she suddenly longed to be rid of it. Taking as deep a breath as the stays would allow, she became aware of a sweetly spicy scent in the air.

“What is that?” she murmured, drawing in the fragrance. “Cinnamon and wine…” Turning in the circle of his arms, she looked around the spacious bedroom, past the poster bed to the small table that had been set near the window. There was a covered silver dish on the table, from which a few traces of sweet-scented steam were still visible. Perplexed, she twisted back to look at Marcus.

“Go and find out,” he said.

Curiously Lillian went to investigate. Taking hold of the cover’s handle, which had been wrapped with a linen napkin, she lifted the lid, letting a soft burst of intoxicating fragrance into the air. Momentarily puzzled, Lillian stared at the dish, and then burst out laughing. The white porcelain dish was filled with five perfect pears, all standing on end, their skin gleaming and ruby-red from having been poached in wine. They sat in a pool of clear amber sauce that was redolent of cinnamon and honey.