Marcus was still watching her mouth as she spoke. “Thank you, my lord,” she said. “I trust we may depend on your silence about our game?”
Had Marcus been another kind of man, or had he entertained the merest flicker of romantic interest in either of the girls, he might have made use of the situation with some flirtatious little piece of blackmail.
Instead he nodded and replied firmly, “You may depend on it.”
Another cautious glance established that the flagstone walkway was still unoccupied, and the three of them walked out from the concealment of the juniper. Unfortunately, when they had reached the midway point between the hedge opening and the kitchen entrance, the sudden sound of voices echoed across the smooth slate-paved walkway and bounced gently off the manor wall. Someone was coming.
Daisy took off like a startled doe, reaching the kitchen entrance in a fraction of a second. Lillian, however, took the opposite tack, launching herself back toward the juniper. With no time to consider his actions, Marcus followed her just as a group of three or four figures appeared at the head of the walkway. Crowding with her in the narrow cavity between the juniper and the hedge, Marcus felt more than a bit ridiculous, hiding from guests on his own estate. However, his own dirty, dust-streaked condition was not something he cared to vaunt in company …and suddenly his thoughts were jumbled as he felt Lillian’s arms clutching around the shoulders of his coat, pulling him deeper into the shadows.
Pulling him against her. She was trembling …with fear, he thought at first. Shocked by his own protective reaction, he put his arm around her. But he quickly discovered that she was laughing silently, so inexplicably tickled by the situation that she had to muffle a series of squeaking gasps against his shoulder.
Smiling down at her quizzically, Marcus pushed back a straggle of chocolate-colored hair that had fallen over her right eye. He squinted through a small aperture between the fragrant, thickly needled juniper branches. Recognizing the men, who were slowly making their way along the path as they discussed business matters, Marcus ducked his head to whisper into Lillian’s ear. “Quiet. It’s your father.”
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Her eyes widened, her laughter dissolving as she dug her fingers reflexively into his coat. “Oh no. Don’t let him find me! He’ll tell Mother.”
Dipping his chin in a reassuring nod, Marcus kept his arm around her, his mouth and nose near her temple. “They won’t see us. As soon as they pass, I’ll take you across the walkway.”
She stayed very still, staring through the tiny spaces in the juniper leaves, seeming not to realize that she was locked against the Earl of Westcliff’s body in what most people would have described as an embrace. Holding her, breathing against her temple, Marcus became aware of an elusive scent, a faint flowery overture that he had vaguely registered at the rounders field. Hunting for it, he found a stronger concentration of the fragrance on her throat, where it was blood-heated and intoxicating. His mouth watered. Suddenly he wanted to touch his tongue to her tender white skin, wanted to rip her dress down the front and drag his mouth from her throat down to her toes.
His arm tightened around Lillian’s narrow frame, and his free hand compulsively sought her hips, exerting gentle but steady pressure to bring her closer against him. Oh yes. She was the perfect height, so tall that minimal adjustment was needed to match their bodies in just the right way. Agitation filled him, igniting sensual fire in the pulsing pathways of his veins. It would be so easy to take her like this, just pull her dress up and kick her legs apart. He wanted her a thousand ways, over him, under him, any part of him inside any part of her. He could feel the natural shape of her body beneath the thin dress, with no corset to mar the sleek line of her back. She stiffened a little as she felt his mouth touch her throat, and her breath caught in astonishment.
“What… what are you doing?” she whispered.
On the other side of the hedge, the four men paused as they became animated on the subject of stock manipulation, while Marcus’s mind seethed with thoughts of an entirely different kind of manipulation.
Dampening his dry lips with his tongue, he drew his head back and saw the confounded expression on Lillian’s face. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, fighting to regain his wits. “It’s that smell… what is it?”
“Smell?” She looked utterly confused. “Do you mean my perfume?”
Marcus was distracted by the sight of her mouth… the plush, silky, rose-tinted lips that seemed to promise unspeakable sweetness. The scent of her invaded his nose repeatedly, in luxurious drifts that roused a fresh wave of fantastically lurid urges within his body. He hardened, his groin heating rapidly, while his heart thumped with unrivaled force. He couldn’t think clearly. The effort to keep from groping her caused his hands to shake. Closing his eyes, he turned his face from hers, only to find himself nuzzling hungrily at her throat. She pushed at him a little, her sharp whisper at his ear. “What is thematter with you?”
Marcus shook his head helplessly. “I’m sorry,” he rasped, even as he knew what he was about to do.
“My God. Sorry—” His mouth clamped over hers, and he began to kiss her as if his life depended on it.
It was the first time in Lillian’s life that a man had ever kissed her without asking for permission. She wriggled and strained until Westcliff secured her more firmly against his body. He smelled like dust and horses and sunlight…and there was something else …a sweet, dry essence that reminded her of freshly mown hay. The pressure of his mouth increased, searching ardently until her lips were coaxed apart. She had never imagined kisses like these, deep, tenderly impatient caresses that seemed to sap her of strength until she closed her eyes and leaned into the hard support of his chest. Westcliff took instant advantage of
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her weakness, molding her against him until not an inch separated them, and her legs were parted by the intrusion of his powerful thigh.
The tip of his tongue played inside her mouth in sweeps of warmth that explored the edges of her teeth and the silken dampness beyond. Shocked by the intimacy, Lillian shrank backward, but he followed her, both his hands sliding up to cradle her head. She didn’t know what to do with her tongue; she drew it back awkwardly as he played with her, harried and goaded and pleasured her until a shaking moan rose in her throat, and she pushed at him frantically.
His mouth broke from hers. Conscious of her father and his companions standing on the other side of the juniper, Lillian struggled to control her breathing, and watched their dark shapes through the heavy screen of verdant needles. The men proceeded along the pathway, oblivious to the embracing couple hidden at the garden entrance. Relieved that they were leaving, Lillian let out a shivering breath. Her heart hammered in her chest as she felt Westcliff’s mouth slide along the fragile arch of her throat, tracing a simmering pathway of nerves. She writhed against him, still helplessly riding his thigh, and a brilliant bloom of heat began inside her.
“My lord,” she whispered, “have you gone mad?”
“Yes. Yes.” A velvety drag of his lips back to her mouth… another deeply marauding kiss. “Give me your mouth… your tongue… yes. Yes. So sweet… sweet…” His lips were hot and restless, shifting over hers in sensuous coercion, while his breath rushed against her cheek. Her lips and chin tingled from the scratchy bristle of his unshaven skin.
“My lord,” she whispered again, jerking her mouth from his. “For God’s sake—let go of me!”
“Yes…I’m sorry… just one more…” He sought her lips again, and she shoved at him as hard as she could. His chest was as hard as granite.
“Let go, you oaf!” Twisting wildly, Lillian managed to pry herself free of him. Her entire body tingled from the exquisite friction with his, even after they were separated.
As they stared at each other, she saw the haze of lust begin to dissipate from his expression, and his dark eyes widened with the dawning realization of what had just happened. “Holy hell,” he whispered.
Lillian did not appreciate the way he stared at her, like a man beholding the fatal head of Medusa. She scowled at him. “I can find my own way to my room,” she said curtly. “Anddon’t try to follow me—I’ve had quite enough help from you today.” Turning, she sped across the walkway, while he stared after with his jaw sagging.
By some miracle of God, Lillian managed to reach her room before her mother appeared to wake her daughters from their nap. Slipping through the partially open door, she closed it and hurriedly unfastened the front buttons of her gown. Daisy, who had already stripped down to her undergarments, went to the door and inserted a crimped pin beneath the knob to trick the lever and relock it.
“What took you so long?” Daisy asked, intent on her task. “I hope you’re not angry that I didn’t wait for you—I thought I should get back here and freshen up as quickly as possible.”
“No,” Lillian said distractedly, stepping out of her filthy gown. She deposited it at the bottom of the
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armoire and closed it out of sight. A sharp click signaled Daisy’s success in relocking the door. Rapidly Lillian strode to the washstand, emptied the dirty water into the slop jar below, and poured fresh water into the bowl. Washing her face and arms hastily, she blotted her skin with a length of clean toweling.
Suddenly a key turned in the lock, and both girls glanced at each other in alarm. They headed for their separate beds with running leaps, landing on the mattresses just as their mother entered the room.
Fortunately the curtains were closed, making the light too ineffectual for Mercedes to detect any evidence of their activities. “Girls?” she asked suspiciously. “It is time for you to awaken now.”
Daisy stretched and yawned loudly. “Mmmm… we’ve had a lovely nap. I feelso refreshed.”
“As do I,” Lillian said thickly, her head buried in her pillow, her heart pounding hard against the mattress.
“Now you must bathe and change into your evening gowns. I’ll ring for the maids to draw a bath. Daisy, you will wear your yellow silk. Lillian, you must wear the green with the gold clips at the shoulders.”
“Yes, Mother,” they both said.
As Mercedes went back to the room next door, Daisy sat upright and stared at Lillian curiously. “Why were you so long in returning?”
Lillian rolled over and looked up at the ceiling, considering what had happened in the garden. She couldn’t quite believe that Westcliff, who had always exhibited such disapproval of her, would have behaved in such a way. It made no sense. The earl had never displayed any hint of attraction to her before. In fact, this afternoon was the first occasion when they had actually managed to be civil to each other. “Westcliff and I were obliged to keep out of sight for a few minutes,” Lillian heard herself say, while thoughts continued to click through her mind. “Father was among the group that came along the walkway.”
“Oh Lord!” Daisy swung her legs over the side of her bed and stared at Lillian with an aghast grimace.
“But Father didn’t see you?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” Daisy frowned slightly, seeming to sense that there was a great deal being left unsaid. “It was quite sporting of Lord Westcliff not to give us away, wasn’t it?”
“Sporting, yes.”
A sudden smile curved Daisy’s lips. “I think it was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen when he showed you how to swing the bat—I was certain that you were going to bash him with it!”
“I was tempted,” Lillian replied darkly, standing from her own bed and going to pull the curtains open.
As she jerked the heavy folds of lined damask to the side, a burst of afternoon sunlight invaded the room, causing tiny floating dust motes to sparkle in the air. “Westcliff looks for any excuse to demonstrate his superiority, doesn’t he?”
“Was that what he was doing? It looked rather like he was trying to find an excuse to put his arms around you.”
Startled by the comment, Lillian looked at her with narrowed eyes. “Why would you say a thing like
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that?”
Daisy shrugged. “There was something in the way he looked at you…”
“What way?” Lillian demanded, while panic began to flutter through her body like a thousand tiny wings.
“Just a sort of, well…interested way.”
Lillian covered her turmoil with a scowl. “The earl and I despise each other,” she said tersely. “The only thing he is interested in is a potential business arrangement with Father.” She paused and approached the vanity table, where her vial of perfume glittered in the ample fall of sunlight. Closing her fingers around the pear-shaped crystal vessel, she picked it up and rubbed her thumb across the stopper repeatedly.
“However,” she said hesitantly, “there is something I must tell you, Daisy. Something happened while Westcliff and I waited behind the hedgerow…”
“Yes?” Daisy’s expression was alive with curiosity.
Unfortunately their mother chose that moment to sweep back into the room, followed by a pair of maids who laboriously dragged a folding slipper tub into the room in preparation for the bath. With their mother hovering over them, there was no opportunity for Lillian to speak to Daisy privately. And that was likely a good thing, as it allowed Lillian more time to ponder the situation. Slipping the vial of perfume into the reticule that she intended to carry that evening, she wondered if West-cliff had really been affected by her perfume.Something had happened to make him behave so strangely. And judging from the expression on his face when he realized what he had done, Westcliff had been shocked by his own behavior.
The logical thing to do was test this perfume. Put it through its paces, so to speak. A wry grin worked its way up to her mouth as she thought of her friends, who would probably be quite willing to help her conduct an experiment or two.