Once an Heiress (25 page)

“Yes,” he managed. This
was
why he’d come, by Jove. She removed his coat and tossed it onto the settee.

Her hands snaked their way to his shoulders. She stepped backward, leading him to the closed door leading to the bedchamber.

Ethan was unaccountably nervous. No, it wasn’t nervousness, he decided — not quite. What was the emotion?

“There, you are frowning again,” Ghita teased. “I have never seen you frown so much as since you meet your Miss Bachman.”

“Lady Thorburn,” he corrected by rote.

Ghita smirked. “Yes,” she said in an icy tone. “She is your lady. But I shall be your woman.” She stopped with her back pressed against the door. “Kiss me,” she murmured against his neck.

Ethan scowled, still trying to puzzle out the emotion nagging at him.

“So fearsome,” the Italian seductress said with a smile. “I can’t wait to have such passion unleashed in my bed.”

Standing on her toes, she came after his mouth hungrily; Ethan turned his head so the kiss landed on his jaw. She lowered her gaze, her eyes guarded. “Why, Ethan, you disappoint me.”

He sighed and stepped back, running his hands down her sides. His fingers nearly met again, circling her tiny waist. Ghita was just so … small. It wasn’t her fault, but he couldn’t deny the fact that he no longer found her attractive. Pretty to look upon, but her body just didn’t arouse his anymore. What little bit of curves she possessed felt stingy. There were other, more generous curves he’d rather feel against his palms.

God, Lily, it’s all gone wrong. But it’s not too late, is it?
A pang shot through him, and he squeezed Ghita’s waist without knowing what he was doing.

Her mouth found its target that time. Nails nipped into the nape of his neck as she pressed hard against him.

Revulsion slapped him across the cheek, and a vision of Lily’s hurt face floated behind his eyes. Firmly, he grasped Ghita’s arms and pushed. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Ghita, but I can’t.”

She stared at him quizzically. For a split second, he wondered if he needed to try expressing himself again in Italian.

“What is this?” she asked. Her eyes slid low. “You …
can’t
?”

Ethan snorted. He turned to retrieve his coat. “I assure you, everything is in proper working order. But this wouldn’t be right.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, a wounded tone in her voice. Ghita reached a tentative hand to his arm.

The gesture was so small and pleading that for a moment Ethan second-guessed himself. After all, it was Lily who wanted a detached marriage. He was well within his rights to keep a mistress.

Then her face flashed in his mind again. He saw her looking at him with eyes full of trust and adoration on the street outside the lending library. He recalled her relief when he diverted Quillan and Ghita from their cruel questioning in the carriage on the way to Vauxhall Gardens — the same night she’d discarded her reputation just to spend a few hours with him. That had not been the face — those had not been the actions — of a woman who only wanted a society marriage.

It wasn’t too late, he realized, hope dawning within him. She wanted him —
him
, Ethan Helling. Not a title or status. His wife wanted him. And he wanted her, too.

He glanced at Ghita, her eyes brimming with lust, yes, but also something hard and calculating. And then he thought of Lily again, saw her trusting eyes filled with hurt, hurt that he’d come close to bringing to fruition. Bile rose in his throat at the vision.

“No,” he rasped, shaking off Ghita’s hand. He finished buttoning up his coat. “I’m sorry, Ghita, it’s not you, it’s — ”

“Your new lover,” she said scornfully. “You have a new female to play with.”

Ethan thought of the decided lack of sexual relations in his marriage to this point and barked a laugh. If only Ghita knew. “It isn’t that,” he explained. “But, you see, Lily — ”

“Lily!” Ghita’s lip curled back over her teeth in a snarl. “Is that what you call her now?” Jealousy contorted her pretty features into an ugly mask.

Ethan started toward the door. “That is her name,” he said. “And she’s my wife, Ghita, thanks in no small part to the mean trick you played on her. I have to give this a proper go.”

The Italian woman stood in the center of the costly rug, quivering all over with barely restrained fury. She pressed shaking hands against her face. “This is not happening,” she said behind her hands.

Then Ghita lowered her hands and drew several deep breaths, her features once again serene. But Ethan knew it for the artifice it was. He had no doubt the woman was still furious.

“This is good,” she said in a mocking tone. “Your devotion to your wife. I know you only turn me down because she is new. I have seen this Miss Bachman of yours. I’m sure she’s fun for now.” She stalked to him, her swaying hips issuing a challenge, and hooked a finger into his cravat. “But soon you will grow bored with your dull wife,” she said in a low voice. “You will regret this moment, and you will come back to me.” Icy, hazel eyes slid over his jaw and lips, her chin lifted as she spoke. “There may be no coming back, Ethan. I will not wait for you. I may have a new lover then, one who is not acting ridiculous about another. Because listen to me, my Ethan: I do not play the second violin to any woman.”

He cleared his throat and straightened, extracting his neck cloth from her hand. “I hope you do find someone who makes you happy. You know how fond I am of you, Ghita. I wish you every happiness.”

She let out a disgusted sound, her face collapsing in bitter disappointment. Turning away, she flung up a dismissive hand. “Just go,” she said, her voice thick. “Get out of my house. I’m tired of looking at you. You bore me to tears.”

Ethan let himself out of the room. As he stepped into the street, he felt his spirits lifting. For the first time in weeks, he couldn’t wait to get home.

Lily stared into the vanity mirror, watching Moira’s placid face as the maid brushed her hair in preparation for bed. The brush strokes against her scalp were gentle but firm, a perfect reflection of the older woman’s demeanor.

As if in response to her mistress’s musings, Moira lifted her kind eyes; their gazes met in the mirror. “What’s bothering you, Miss Lily?”

Lily sighed and shook her head. Half-servant, half-companion, and half-friend — no matter how illogical the mathematics, it was the truth — there was no use prevaricating with Moira. She’d been with her since Lily was sixteen, and knew her nearly as well as Lily knew herself.

“You get paler and unhappier every day, miss,” the maid continued. She set the brush down and exchanged it for a comb, which she used to divide Lily’s heavy hair into thirds. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” Moira said in a kind tone, “but I think I can guess the problem. Why don’t you just talk to his lordship?”

Lily laughed bitterly. “How can I talk to him? I don’t even know where my husband is.” She’d come home from the school and found Eth — Thorburn — out. He hadn’t gone to the Holliers’ for supper — one of the footmen said he’d carried the note of regret his lordship had written. He’d left directly thereafter, but none of the servants knew where he’d gone.

“He’ll be home soon enough,” Moira said.

“It’s useless.” A tear slipped down Lily’s cheek; she swiped it away. “He likes it this way, this marriage in name only. Free to come and go and do as he pleases. I asked him for this,” she whispered miserably. “I can’t take it back.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Moira’s nimble fingers brushed against Lily’s back as she wove her hair into a long braid. “I’ve seen the way he stares at you when you’re not watching, miss, especially at your backside.”

Lily’s startled eyes flew to the mirror in time to catch Moira’s wry smile. “I wasn’t always a dried-up widow, Miss Lily. My Robert and I had quite a healthy — ”

“I take your meaning,” Lily interjected, heat rising in her cheeks.

Moira leveled a quelling look on her in the mirror. “Well, if you don’t mind my saying so, seems to me neither you nor his lordship are content with the way things are now. Your own parents, bless them, have a happy marriage. A husband and wife living two different lives might suit some of the Quality, but you weren’t brought up to live this way. You’re not hard enough for that, milady.”

Lily frowned. Not hard enough? She most certainly was. Or would be, anyway. She’d show Moira — she’d show everyone — that she didn’t need anything from her husband.

A sharp rap at the door startled her; panic constricted her throat. She shook her head, pleading with her eyes for the maid to leave the door unanswered. But Moira was already on her way.

She opened the door and bobbed a curtsy. “My lord.”

Lily leaned back in her chair, but could not see her husband from her vantage. “Ah, Moira,” Ethan’s voice floated from the doorway, “just the woman I wanted to see. If I may have a word … ” The maid cast a worried glance at Lily, then nodded her acquiescence and followed Ethan into the hall.

For a minute, Lily sat at the vanity with half-braided hair. She shifted on the little stool, wondering what on earth Ethan was up to. When the door opened again, the man himself strode into her bedchamber. Moira followed close behind and resumed her work on Lily’s hair, keeping her eyes studiously on her task. A flush to the maid’s cheeks piqued Lily’s curiosity.

She watched in the mirror as Ethan paced behind the two women, prowling back and forth like a caged beast. Summoning her courage, Lily cleared her throat. “As you can see, my lord, I’m preparing for sleep. Whatever you’d like to discuss can wait until morning, if that is agreeable with — ”

“It is not agreeable,” Ethan snapped. He stood directly behind the women. The trio were framed in the oval mirror, Lily’s and Ethan’s gazes locked in a clash of wills and Moira pointedly avoiding looking at anyone. “That’ll do, Moira. You may go now.”

The maid dropped Lily’s hair. “But, my lord, just a moment ago you said — ”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Ethan replied. “I’ll see to her ladyship myself. Out you go.”

“Don’t go, Moira,” Lily pleaded.

The maid’s hands wrung together at her waist, and her eyes darted back and forth between Ethan and Lily. At last, she murmured, “I’m sorry, Miss Lily,” curtsied, and fled the bedchamber.

“Traitor,” Lily grumbled.

With a resigned sigh, she stood and turned to face Ethan, her arms crossed under her breasts. She felt at a decided disadvantage in her nightclothes and bare feet, with her unbound hair hanging in an unraveling braid, while his high and mighty lordship was impeccable in his evening clothes. He radiated an intense confidence she’d not seen in him in a long time.

He resumed pacing the room. The occasional looks he shot her were dark and predatory. Lily shivered. “What do you want?” she said to his back after he stalked past her again.

Abruptly, he spun on his heel. His jaw set in a hard line and his eyes bored into hers. “I’ve scarcely seen you for weeks, Lily.”

“I’ve been so busy at the school — you know that.” She turned to face the bed. Why couldn’t she have already been in it and asleep when he’d come home? He wouldn’t have bothered her then. “Things are coming along nicely. Miss Cuthbert is enthusiastic and hard-working. She’ll have the staff assembled in a month or so, and we can start taking applications for students soon after. If construction remains on schedule all through the summer, we’ll be open for Michaelmas term — ”

The soft
thwump
of cloth falling to the floor caught her attention. Her throat suddenly dry, Lily turned.

Ethan stood beside her vanity. His coat lay across the back of her chair, while the material she’d heard hitting the floor belonged to his waistcoat. His untied cravat hung, limp, around the back of his neck, while his shirt had been pulled from the waist of his breeches.

“What are you doing?” she breathed in a rush.

Ethan smirked as he removed his cufflinks. “I know it’s been a while, my dear, but I trust you can recall what it is I’m doing.” A quick tug on his shirtsleeve had that garment off and on the floor with the waistcoat. He sat on the little, feminine vanity stool to tug his boots and stockings free of his feet.

Lily’s heart galloped wildly. “I have a headache, my lord, a terrible, terrible headache.” She put a hand to her temple and winced.

He snorted. “You’re a bad actress, princess, and a liar.” He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes roaming her every feature. “You’ve been lying about a great many things, I believe,” he murmured. “But the time for lies is over, Lily.”

She drew herself up, her lips tightening. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, my lord. And I must once again ask you to refrain from using my given name.”

“I will not,” he said. “You’re my wife, and I’ll call you whatsoever I damned well please. I’ve been dancing to your tune, trying to make you happy your way. All that’s gotten us is a wagon full of misery. Now we’re going to try my way.” He unbuttoned his breeches and peeled them off to join the rest of his clothes in a pile.

The dim light played across the taut muscles of his abdomen as he approached. He was such a beautiful sight, she nearly cried with longing. Lily turned away and wrapped her arms around herself. “My lord, I beg you, please do not.”

“You cannot deny me your bed.” His voice was a rumble close behind her. “You promised.”

His tone was not unkind, but dread coursed down her spine. She hadn’t succeeded in pushing him away altogether, and now he’d come to claim his rights. The unnerving encounter at the school this afternoon had proved that she wasn’t strong enough to withstand him. She still wanted him, still wanted him to want her.

Warm arms wrapped around her middle. Ethan’s lips brushed against her neck. “Besides,” his voice teased her ear, “this is the best time to start trying for our heir.”

Lily gasped and spun. “How could you possibly — ” she sputtered. Then she recalled her maid stepping into the hall to converse with the man now standing gloriously naked in front of her. “Moira,” she ground out. “You might as well keep her for your valet, as her loyalty has taken a turn in your direction. Is there no female you cannot seduce into your good graces?”