This served only to make Lily cry the more, for now she was perfectly certain that his lordship meant only to marry her to restore his fortunes. Or at least to
gamble
on such an event. Gamblers, she had heard, were always optimistic. What if Lord Raven and his horrid tricorne hat picked Primrose or Daisy? He would be ruined! And it would be all her doing for begging him to abduct her. Or if not abduct her precisely, then marry her out of hand, which was practically the same thing! A little sob escaped her despite her best intentions.
Lord Barrymore deemed it necessary to place his arms about her and tuck her a little closer to his handsome frame. Their knees were now touching and his arms felt delectable about her waist. Mid sob, Lily opened her mouth in astonished delight. Lord Barrymore definitely felt that a kiss was in order. Unfortunately, he was all too aware of Standish, who was fumbling with the reins and causing his excellent bay mare—acquired at great cost—to stumble slightly. He sighed, and sat back regretfully.
“If Stanford hears you sobbing he shall run my man through with a knife and doubtless me as well.
That,
I fear, would be tedious.”
A glimmer of a smile appeared in the wide, green eyes.
“Standish, my lord. And I doubt he carries a knife. But a blow to your head might suffice just as admirably.” She tilted her chin cheekily. He
did
care! She could
swear
he did!
“Baggage!” Lord Barrymore scowled, but his laughter made a mockery of the frown. Lily thought she had never gazed upon anyone more handsome or peculiarly wonderful in all her life. She swallowed a little breathlessly, pushed back several strands of long, ebony hair that the wind had caught on her lips, and sighed.
“It is what you really want, my lord?”
“Can you doubt me?” His tone assumed a slightly mocking twist before he took a long breath. In the pause, Lily’s heart ached, for she was suddenly very fearful of what he might say next. My lord sensed that, for he took her hand, caressing her fingers a little so that they burned through their gloves. Mockery changed to a gentleness that sat uneasily upon a rake’s shoulders. Still, he surprised himself.
“It is what I really want.” Deep blue eyes bored into hers and she felt a tremor, whether at their strong sincerity or at something more basic that stirred within her, she knew not. What she
did
know, was that there was to be no turning back with this man, adventurer or not.
She closed her eyes to the sensuous blue that was assaulting her senses. Her breath caught in her throat and her lips opened oh, so invitingly. My lord touched them with his finger, and truly, the sensation was more erotic than had he done the same with his mouth. Lily’s eyes flew open instantly, but the damage was done. Her bodice felt tight against her chest, and strange, intoxicating warmths seemed to whisper to her of pleasures to come. Amused, Barrymore watched her innocent surprise and wondered at his own response. They would suit, he and the Lady Lily. He was certain of it.
The moment passed as the carriage stumbled, a little, upon a hole in the path. The second mare whinnied, but continued on with admirable speed.
Lily watched as Barrymore gestured to his postilions. Her breathing was no easier, but somewhere at the back of her mind her thoughts were jolted into a more proper direction. Somehow, she really ought to alert her sisters that she was well. They would be troubled if she didn’t return within the hour. Being a kindhearted soul, she pondered the problem for an instant until her eyes flicked back to the viscount. Her brow, puckered in thought, smoothed at once, a naughty grin mischievously taking its place.
Really! She was being abducted, one could not possibly arrange for every particular. When she was married, she would demand to return at once to Raven Place and oh, how astonished everyone would be! And she, the youngest sister, married—quite respectably, she thought—first. When she chuckled a little and voiced the thought out loud, Barrymore regarded her strangely, so that she felt hot and flustered once more.
“Yes, dearest,” he murmured, but there was a lazy, teasing smile playing across the curves of his lips. “But first, don’t you think, we might withdraw to our wedding chamber? Much as I
adore
being a guest at Raven Place”—here his tone became disturbingly dry—“I believe I would much rather postpone that particular pleasure in favor of other more . . . uh ... well, yes, shall I say it? More
particular
pleasures. Unless you object?”
Under his gaze—which was not quite as lazy as he would have her believe, Lily colored, felt shamelessly wanton, blushed delightfully, and muttered that no, she could not find it in herself to object to so delightful an agenda. At which her husband-to-be laughed out loud, patted her fondly, and remarked that indeed, she would have no cause to regret this bold course.
The rest of the journey was a haze for Lily, who shivered under the traveling rug but welcomed the cold that bit into her shoulders and caused her fingers to freeze in their gloves. It convinced her that she was not the victim of some impossible dream, about to be wakened by the sound of the breakfast gong or curtains rustling open in her chamber. No,
such
a dream would doubtless be perfect. Certainly, it would not be so prosaic as to allow considerations of inclement weather and aching, stiff limbs to spoil the heartwarming effect of being about to become the Honorable Viscountess Barrymore.
It was not until their turreted destination was finally reached, the warmth of chimneys spiraling promisingly into the afternoon sky, that she realized that his lordship’s words, whilst charming, had nevertheless still been ambiguous. It might, after all, have been the Raven’s Ransom that he wanted with such an earnest sincerity.
Standish dismounted quicker than usual and opened the landau with fumbling vigor.
“Lawks a mercy, Miss Lily, you bin givin’ an old gennelman like me a nasty fright jauntering about the countryside without so much as a by-your-leave! And what will ’is lor’ship say, I wunner? Turn me off without a character ’e will, you see an’ he won’t!”
“Then you shall have to take up employment in my stables, my good man. Her ladyship will be needing a groom when she is my wife.”
“Your wife?” Standish stared at him suspiciously.
“Been I ain’t knowin’ nothin’ about
that,
pleasin’ your honor! An’ it is more than me life is worth to be allowing Miss Lily ’ere into that there inn, no matter
how
gentrified it is!”
“Good man! You restore my faith in your common sense. I shall expect such excellent perspicacity when you are her personal groomsman. For now, however, let me remove that suspicious glare from your countenance and ask you to act witness to the ceremony. I trust you can
then
have no objection to her partaking of an excellent repast in this very fine—if I may say so—posting inn?”
From the beam on poor old Standish’s face—now wreathed in toothless smiles—my lord inferred there was no further objection. Which was just as well, for the archbishop had been pacing about the private drawing room for well on an hour, and was at that moment
again
consulting his excellent fob. Lord Barrymore had been distressingly vague about the time in which he desired the ceremony to be performed. Still, his donation had been prodigious.... The archbishop patted his waistcoat and settled for a further intrusion on his time.
He had not long to wait, for the couple entered very soon after that. The bride, he thought, was in high good looks despite her gown being a rather frivolous confection for the taking of solemn vows. Still, even a hardy old soul like the archbishop could see that she was a dazzling beauty and for that, one could make a few allowances. Especially as she seemed suddenly becomingly shy.
Lord Barrymore bowed politely, exchanged a few perfunctory but civil words with him, then gestured for the rites to take place. And so, Miss Lily Chartley, frozen, dazed, tired, and stiff, became, but a few enchanting moments later, her very grand Ladyship, Lily, Viscountess of Barrymore.
Fifteen
The archbishop nodded pleasantly as he gestured for his carriage to be brought round. He breathed in deep of the fresh country air and picked a blossom idly as he waited. He’d waved away the footman and come down himself. It was not often he had a chance to collect his thoughts and just for today he thought he might dispense with a little ceremony. After all, the couple he had just left
behind
him had.
He did not generally make a habit of marrying peers of the realm in strange country inns, but by and large he was pleased that he had bent the rules a little. The couple—both gently born—no trouble about that—looked like April and May, a pleasing contrast to some of the very proper arranged marriages he’d had to attend to recently. He patted his waistcoat, rather pleased, too, with the repast he’d discovered awaiting him. It was not
all
inns that employed French cooks, nor many lords who thought to order him up dinner. Lord Barrymore, for all his sorry reputation, was no skinflint. Neither, by the looks of it, was he stony broke, as he’d heard whispered. He smiled benignly on the pair, blessed them unctuously, and departed.
He did not see, as he turned into the gardens, that there was a chaise harnessed and ready for travel. In it, was a shifty-looking gentleman who eyed him impatiently and called out a curse under his breath. It was not precisely drunken, but it had a definite lilt that would have alarmed the cautious archbishop had he heard it. Fortunately for him, he did not, being much occupied with thoughts of spending the bounty his morning work had yielded. Barrymore had been generous. Church windows warred with chiseled ceilings in his mind. There was much to be said for both, but alas, a choice must be made.
As he considered, the dark carriage horses of the lone stranger began their paces in the courtyard. They were not to be changed, despite half a morning’s gallop across the Westenbury plains. Sir Rory Aldershot within, regretted this fact, for he believed he had something of an eye for horseflesh and considered it annoying that he had to treat his beasts in this careless manner. Still, as he told himself, caution would not serve him now. Only brazen impudence and a heedless disregard for the sweating animals.
Once his aim was accomplished, they could rest so long as they pleased in the paddocks near Quimby. And Quimby, at last, would have a chance to be restored to its former glory. If he could keep his cool, that is. He peered around through the inn’s entrance, ignoring the inquiring eyes of the overbold innkeeper’s wife. Instead, he threw a penny at a nearby urchin and beckoned him closer.
“Another where that comes from if you can keep the viscount at his dinner for an hour or more.” The boy looked puzzled, so he concluded that Barrymore might be traveling under a false name. After all, if it was abduction the viscount intended, he would hardly wish to advertise his whereabouts to all and sundry.
He tried again, this time with a more accurate description of Barrymore.
“Oh, the swell, you mean? Right yer are, guv. I’ll keep ’im at table right enough! I can pilfer me a swag of the innkeeper’s finest.
That
always slows ’em down, I can tell yer!” The boy grinned.
“Have a care if it doesn’t!” Aldershot’s tone was threatening, so the grin turned to a sulky scowl. Aldershot flashed the coin in front of his face and the lad grabbed at it.
“Not so fast! If you want it keep a clear head on your shoulders and do my bidding. If the viscount so much as steps foot out of the dining parlor you can kiss it good-bye.”
“ ’E won’t, guv. And ’is lady, like?”
“You never saw a lady.”
The boy stared. “Bein’ as I’m not blind, yer honor, I saw a lady as sure as I am standin’ on two feet.”
“Then perhaps I shall have to plant you a facer so that you are
not
standing on two feet.”
“Huh?” The boy glared suspiciously and more than a little fearfully.
“Oh, scat, there is no talking to you; your comprehension does a half-wit credit. Just keep your mouth shut or you will be sorry.”
Now
these
were words the boy could understand. He pocketed his penny and nodded knowingly. “Cross me ’eart, I won’t blabber a mort.”
“Good, or you shall regret it. Now scram.”
The boy complied with suitable haste as Aldershot descended from his chaise and snapped his fingers imperiously at the innkeeper’s wife.
“My good woman, I wish to speak immediately with the lady within. There has been a carriage accident and her sisters, sad to say, lie in dire need of succor.”
“Laws a mercy, and she just arrived and travel weary and all. My lord has just asked for the sheets to be aired and the beds turned down.”
“I’ll
wager
he has,” thought the man grimly. He said nothing, however, but the woman hesitated with a slight query upon her face. Taking stock of her type in an instant, Sir Rory drew her close and muttered something confidentially in her ear. Her face changed to outraged fury.
“Well, fancy that! And this an honest hestablishment! I would never have said it from the look of ’is face.”
“Ah, mistress, handsome is as handsome does and there are many a rogue blessed with a lying countenance.” Sir Rory Aldershot did not tell her that he was one of them. Rather, he contrived to look sad and admonishing at one and the same time.
The innkeeper’s wife wiped her hands on her apron and shook her head. “Ah, that be true, that be true. And the lady’s sisters, me lord?”
“Overturned the carriage in their haste to stop these clandestine meetings. They shall all be ruined if the story were to come out.”
“Mercy me! I shall get the lady right away and save her from her own folly. Mayhap she will bless me in time to come.”
“Mayhap she will.” Sir Rory nodded benignly and hid the smirk that threatened to show itself. Good! If the wench seemed reluctant, the innkeeper’s wife would not be suspicious. Rather, she would be more zealous in saving Miss Chartley’s virtue and delivering her into the waiting arms of Sir Rory Aldershot, Esquire. He grinned and fleetingly wondered whether the wares were as worth sampling as they seemed.
Soon enough he’d know. Soon enough. There would be no escaping him a second time.
“You may leave us now, Stanwick.”
“Very good, me lord. And may I wish you and the missus a plentiful life blessed with little wee lordlings and . . .”
“Yes . . . yes.” Lord Barrymore’s eyes never left her ladyship’s face, but at this passing remark the gleam intensified in the deep, intoxicating sky blue.
“Lordlings? Well, well, there might be something in that, Stanmore. Close the door, will you, and take yourself off to the kitchens. Belike there will be a tankard of ale and a hot stew awaiting you for this day’s work.”
Standish bowed, murmured a confused thanks, and shut the door. It would be right pleasant, he thought, to share a crust with the first postilion.
Her ladyship endeavored to ignore the intoxicating gaze which held her in its thrall. Instead, she took up cudgels with her lord, for if she did not, she would most like disgrace herself by swooning from the alarming desire that was captivating her senses.
“You are a wretch! You know perfectly well his name is Standish!”
“Is it?” Barrymore’s lips quirked.
“Yes,
as you well know, though you have called him a dozen other names this morning! It is not fair to tease your underlings so!”
“But he is such good game, my love. I could swear I saw his lips twitch when I called him Stanmore, a few moments ago.”
“Indeed they did! They twitched to
correct
you, my lord . . .”
“Denver.”
“Denver ...” Lily blushed, especially as Lord Barrymore kissed her fingers at her demure acquiescence. She pulled them away quickly.
“You are not listening!”
“Oh, but I am! You were saying that Stanfop’s lips twitched to correct me, but I must remind you, my little one, that they did no such thing.” He returned her fingers firmly to their place in his warm hands. Then he was monstrous enough to occupy himself with removing her gloves, an act that made Lily curiously weak and quite unable to resist, despite a sudden desire to cross words with him. He kissed each ungloved finger gently, though his tongue lingered sufficiently upon each to leave his lady wife tingling in burning anticipation of more of the same. My lord, seeing her reaction, laughed a little and dropped her hands. My lord was pleased to tease and Lily scowled, for she was unused to the mysterious warmth that was creeping over her person and causing her limbs to quiver like one of Mrs. Bartlett’s jellies.
When Barrymore was so unfeeling as to laugh, she drew her skirts about her, determined at once not to be swayed from her path. To no avail! Barrymore saw the opportunity, whilst her hands were busy with the hems, to sweep her up in his arms and plant a kiss upon her creamy neck. Lily wriggled a little, and managed a faint retort, but it was silenced by that wondrous mouth again. This time, soft as a butterfly upon her rosy lips.
“Oh!” He smiled at her response and set her down again, the better to work at the high lacing about her bodice. Lily thought it was time to argue, once again, for if she did not, she would be most shamefully lost to all the proprieties.
“He did not correct you, my lord . . . Denver . . . because. . .” She blushed rosily and removed his hands from her lacing, for in truth, they were engaged in the most excruciatingly sweet activities and she could not be expected to think—let alone argue under such circumstances—“ Stanfop ... Standish! ... is so well trained! It would not be fitting for him to correct you and thus he does not. Shame on you to take advantage of him so!”
Barrymore raised his brows and released her, though his body was a full inch closer than it strictly ought to have been. He inclined his head solemnly, though the twinkle lurking in those hypnotic eyes remained.
“And thus I am admonished, fair shrew. Standish he shall be hereafter. You see, I am already under your foot.”
“You are
not
under my foot!”
“No? Then perhaps we shall repair upstairs swiftly to rectify the matter. There is much I yearn to show you, lady wife.”
Lily felt a flush of color steal over her. Barrymore was looking at her so intently, with such a delectably wicked smile playing about the corners of his mouth, that her courage, for an instant, failed her. Now he had drawn closer so that the curve of his thigh was just brushing her gown and she was forced to tilt her head to save herself, pressing her lips into an abdomen that was hard and covered only by a lawn shirt that seemed indecent in its fit.
My lord groaned, a little, a sound that surprised her and caused her mouth to part in query. She was lost, then, of course, for Denver Barrymore was far from saintly and it was too much to expect forbearance from a rake.
His lips were touchingly sweet, yet when she yielded to them wonderingly, she was not deceived by their seeming softness. Beneath the gentleness lay a strength she was willing to explore, though she feared a little as well. Despite her sauciness, she was yet an innocent and matters of the flesh like these, though tempting and heavenly, were still unknown and daring and wickedly forbidden. This, despite the vows she had only recently exchanged. Barrymore stopped for an instant, and pulled his thigh back from her gown, so that she felt she would faint from the loss of it. Instinctively, she reached out and pulled it back, a state of affairs that caused Barrymore to curse the tardiness of the maid, who was still preparing their chamber upstairs. When he obliged by not only returning his thigh to her, but also by cupping his hands about her loosened bodice, she gasped a little, then chuckled throatily, her eyes still wide—
heavenly
wide and green glittering as emeralds in the sunlight.
“So
this
is what all the fuss is about. I have always wondered.”
Barrymore’s eyes gleamed. It was not so hard to be an adventurer after all, though in truth the Raven’s Ransom was not now the thought uppermost in his mind.
“
Have
you, naughty puss? And what exactly have you wondered?”
Lily, who found she quite liked her new position, encased in my lord’s arms and having the tips of her delicate pink breasts rubbed in the most shockingly lascivious manner, pushed herself a little closer, causing my lord to forget his question entirely and forget, too, their lowly surrounds in the innkeeper’s private parlor. Lily, pleased to be bold, matched kiss for kiss with an eagerness that was gratifying to the viscount, who found that his bride was just as beautiful as he had conceived on the instant he’d first caught sight of her. She was just giving herself up to his sweet caresses, melting passionately into his excellent frame, when the innkeeper’s wife appeared.
“Well!”
Barrymore ignored her, but Lily remembered herself enough to lift her head guiltily and push back her bodice, which had loosened itself outrageously in this exchange. Though she wore demure pastel colors, with her dark hair flowing and her cheeks flushed a rosy red, she looked positively wanton. The innkeeper’s wife eyed her full, well-kissed lips in disdain.
Then an image came to her mind of her husband the innkeeper, and she had it in her to feel a sudden, mortifying pang of envy. For Lord Barrymore, wicked rake that he was, was the type of man a woman took note of. From the muscular calves, hardly hidden in those insufferable buckskins, to the crest of his golden head, he was the type one lusted after in dreams and never thought to see in the flesh. But there he was, godlike, mocking, and not altogether decent, for his neckerchief was loose and his tight breeches were swollen in parts a maiden had no business to notice. But the innkeeper’s wife noticed, and the sight added to her virtuous fury.
“Well, I say!” Hands pressed to hips, she looked so outraged that Barrymore was inclined to laugh, rather than order her out imperiously, as he might otherwise have done. Lily, younger, and conscious of a multitude of sinful thoughts, looked more abashed. The woman seized her opportunity and pointed a finger in her direction.