Chapter Six

A fit of high-pitched giggling stirred Lillian from her slumber. Cracking an eyelid, she found herself face to face with a two little girls, their identical blonde heads pressed together as they stared at her with big, curious green eyes.

“Who are you?” she asked, sitting up on her elbow as she took in her surroundings. She was under a white canopy in a large, four-poster bed. Early morning sunlight, pale and silvery yellow, streamed in through a window framed with pale blue drapes. There was a writing desk, dressing table, and armoire, all in matching mahogany. None of it was familiar. “Where am I?”

“You’re in our house ,” said the girl on the right, bouncing up and down.

“Papa brought you home last night. Are you a puppy?” The girl on the left gave Lillian’s forehead an experimental poke. “He promised he’d get us a puppy for Christmas.”

“He didn’t promise, Anne.”

“Yes he did , Amelia!”

“No he–”

“That’s enough,” Lillian interrupted. Sitting up, she pointed at Anne. “You, keep your grubby little hands to yourself. And you”–her finger moved to Amelia–“go find your father and tell him I am awake. While you’re at it, bring me a pot of tea and something to eat. Well? What are you waiting for? Off you trot.”

She waited until the girls had left the room to glance down… and her cheeks bloomed with color when she saw her gown had been replaced with a white cotton nightdress. Someone–and she had fairly good idea who–had changed her out of her frozen wet clothes before putting her in this bed and tucking her under the covers. Bringing her hands to her cheeks, she found them warm and rosy. She could also feel her toes again, and gave them an extra wiggle for good measure right before the door opened and the Duke of Dorchester entered the chamber.

“Miss Snow,” he said, and she didn’t know why he should look so stunned at the sight of her when she was the one who had woken in a strange room. “I didn’t expect you up this soon. How are you feeling?”

“Like a proper human being instead of an icicle.” She bit her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth as more heat wound its way through her body. Summoned not by the pile of blankets on top of her, but by the mountain of a man in front of her. Somehow, even though he was wearing plain tweed trousers and a linen shirt sans necktie or waistcoat, the duke was even more physically striking than he had been last night. In the shadows and the snow, she hadn’t been able to fully appreciate his raw, rugged masculinity. His broad shoulders. Large hands. The dark shadow of whiskers across a strong, defined jawline. He was… well, he was scrumptious. And she was suddenly very, very hungry. “I suppose I have you to thank for that, Your Grace.”

“Abel.” He removed the chair from under the writing desk and put it beside the bed, but instead of sitting down he stood behind it, his hands wrapped around the top rail. “After last night, I believe it is fitting that you call me Abel.”

She pursed her lips. “Are you referring to our kiss or my timely rescue?”

His face reddened. “Miss Snow–”

“Lillian.” Rather enjoying herself, she drew her knees up under the coverlet. “After last night, I believe it is fitting that you call me Lillian.”

Gripping the chair so tightly that his knuckles gleamed white, he cleared his throat. “I’m just glad that it appears you’ve made a full and swift recovery. Might I ask… what were you doing outside in such dangerous conditions?”

“An earl said that he wished to discuss becoming a benefactor of my theater over tea and Battenberg cake. He failed to mention the tea and cake would be served in his bedchamber.” She made a face, as annoyed with herself and her poor judgment as she was with Lord Clearfield and his ill intentions. “When it became clear what he was really after, I escorted myself out of his carriage.”

“And he left you?” Abel growled, his gaze darkening.

“Be careful,” she warned, noting the bulging tendons in his wrists as he grabbed onto the chair even harder. “You’re going to–”

Crack.

The top rail splintered in half.

Lillian’s eyebrows rose. “You know, we could use that strength for stage production. The sets are unbearably heavy and cumbersome. It takes forever to change out a scene. Particularly between act three and four. But if we had you waiting in the wings–”

“We brought your tea!” one of the twins–Anne?–announced as she skipped into the room.

“And some cinnamon scones,” chirped Amelia, carefully balancing a silver platter.

“Girls.” Abel turned, hiding the chair and its broken rail behind him. “What are you doing in here?”

“That lady asked us to get her something to eat,” said Anne.

Now it was the duke’s eyebrows that shot up. “And you listened ?”

“You sound surprised,” Lillian commented. “Over there on the dressing table, girls. Thank you very much. Have you been out to play in the snow yet?”

“It’s cold out there.”

“We’ll get wet .”

“Oh?” She drummed her fingers on her knee as she levelled a stare first at Anne, then at Amelia. They stared back, their green eyes wide. “Will you melt?”

“Melt?” Anne giggled. “Why would we melt?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you test it out and see? Dress warm!” she called after them as they scurried out of the room, chattering on like a pair magpies. Her gaze returned to Abel. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“They did what you asked,” he said slowly. “They never do what anyone asks.”

She smiled, somewhat smugly. “Compared to a dozen temperamental actors, two darling little girls are hardly any trouble.”

Abel snorted. “Those darling little girls have chased off three governesses, five nursery maids, and, strangely enough, a footman. He left in tears. The only person they marginally obey beside myself is their nanny, and that’s only because they’ve known her since they were born.”

Casting aside the coverlet, Lillian climbed slowly out of bed and padded barefoot to the dressing table. Courtesy of the cheery fire in the hearth on the opposite side of the room, the floorboards were toasty warm under her feet. Courtesy of the handsome duke standing in the middle of the room, the air was downright steamy.

Pouring herself a cup of tea, she added in a single lump of sugar and gave it a half stir. She could feel Abel watching her, his hot, heavy gaze as intimate as a caress as it slid from her nape to her back to her bottom. Purposefully taking her time, she slathered sweet smelling strawberry jam onto two scones, plated them, and then returned to the bed.

“Here, sit and have breakfast with me,” she said, patting the space beside her.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I have a meeting–”

“And I have an entire production to prepare for, lines to rehearse, and a theater to save. But if there’s one thing in life I have learned, it’s that you should always make time for a good cinnamon scone. So sit,” she said, adopting the same stern tone she’d used on his daughters, “and tell me more about yourself.”

“Are you always this authoritative?” he grumbled as he sat.

“Are you always this reluctant to enjoy simple pleasures?” she countered.

Abel bit into his scone and glared at her. “What do you want to know?”

“How old are Anne and Amelia?”

The stern line between his brows noticeably softened. “Six, almost seven. Their birthday is in February. They’ve been begging for a puppy for months.”

“And are you going to get them one?”

He sighed. “I haven’t decided. Puppies are loud, disruptive, and chew everything they can get their sharp little teeth on.”

“So do children, or so I’ve been told.” She sipped her tea, and then asked gently, “Where is their mother?”

Abel’s gaze shuttered. “Catherine…died. In childbirth. They don’t know her beyond memories and portraits. I’ve been too lenient with them as they’ve grown. It’s why they can be… unruly. It’s been difficult. Raising them alone. Trying to know how stern to be. Whether I should give them a lecture or a hug.”

Lillian’s heart gave a small, poignant tug inside. Setting her scone and tea aside, she placed her hand on the duke’s thigh and softly squeezed. A small token of comfort in an ocean of grief. “I lost my mother when I was a baby as well. She didn’t die. As terrible as it seems, it might have been better if she had. Then at least I would have grown up knowing that she loved me. Instead, she left before I could memorize what her face looked like. And I’ve had to grow up knowing that she didn’t love me enough to stay.” She took a long breath. “My father raised me, as you’re raising your girls. And although I’m sure it was hard for him as well, he did a wonderful job. The best job. Because he did it with love. As you are.”

Abel put his hand on top of hers. Their fingers interlocked; pieces of a puzzle coming together that never should have fit but somehow clicked perfectly.

“I really do have a meeting,” he said gruffly.

“And I should return to the theater.”

But neither of them moved.

“Or perhaps… perhaps you could go to your theater and then come back here, for dinner.” His thumb curled around her wrist, hovering over the light flutter of her pulse as its tempo increased. “I can send a carriage for you.”

Lillian gazed up at him. Unable to stop herself, she brushed a lock of ebony hair behind his ear. And when he lowered his head almost imperceptibly, she kissed him. A long, slow, lingering kiss that filled her with a contented, glowing warmth from the tips of her toes to the ends of her eyelashes.

Cradling her cheek, he shifted her onto his lap as the kiss went on, and on, and on. Both of them loathe to be the one to end it as time itself seemed to stop. The light in the room intensified, heating her neck as she slipped her fingers into Abel’s thick, luxurious mane and they sank into each other.

He traced her spine, following the delicate bumps of each vertebrae until he reached her bottom and she gasped when he brought her closer to his loins, clasping her buttocks with one hand and tugging her nightdress over her knees with the other so that she could straddle him, the smooth inside of her thighs clinging to the coarse fabric of his trousers.

She tipped forward as he leaned back and they fell together onto the mattress, sprawling on top of one another in a tangle of limbs and lips. A flicked glance at the door to make sure it was firmly closed before she reared up, first to pluck the pins from her hair so that it released over her shoulders in a tumbling waterfall of tawny tendrils and then to pull off her nightdress (with a touch of dramatic flair, of course).

“ Lillian .” The knot in Abel’s throat bobbed when she stretched like a lioness, allowing him to look at her. Wanting him to look at her. At the slender slope of her shoulders. The slanted line of her collarbones. The dusky pink of her nipples. The small hollow in the middle of her navel. The thicket of curls between her thighs. His jaw worked convulsively, and when it appeared as if he wasn’t sure where to start, she started for him, first with his shirt and then his trousers, dropping her chin and giving a tiny, teasing lick on the point of his hip bone to get him to arch off the bed so that she could remove the last stich of clothing from his magnificent frame.

“Your Grace ,” she said, her gaze moving across his manhood with appreciation. Dappled sunlight spilled into the rigid lines of his abdomen, illuminating the veritable wall of muscle. The man, bless him, was a work of art. A marble statue come to life.

And he was hers to do with what she wanted.

“Put your hands above your head,” she ordered, and while his gaze flickered, he obeyed.

“Authoritative,” he rasped, his stomach quivering under the light pressure of her lips as she began to kiss her way further downward.

“You’ll thank me later,” she promised before she took him into her mouth, circling her tongue around the damp tip with little licks and sucks before starting to work her way down to the thick, pulsing. Despite her outward show of confidence, it was an act she’d never performed before, although Marjorie and the others had certainly regaled her with stories, most of them bad. But stretching her lips around Abel, tasting Abel, hearing Abel’s groan as she took him deep into her throat… it was a satisfying, thrilling pleasure unlike any she had ever experienced before.

Without warning, she suddenly found herself flipped breathlessly onto her back while Abel loomed above her, his arms taut on either side of her.

“Put your hands above your head,” he demanded hoarsely.

For once, Lillian listened without hesitation, nearly hitting the headboard in her haste to submit to his request. Her previous lovers had never attended to her down there , and she’d always secretly wondered if she would enjoy it.

When Abel’s mouth settled at the apex of her curls and his tongue outlined the small nub of her desire before slipping inside her wet, velvety quim, she had her answer.

Yes.

Yes, she enjoyed it.

She enjoyed it very much indeed.

When he had reduced her to a quivering, writhing pile of nerve endings and curled toes, he made his way back up her body, pausing only to languish over her breasts until with a half laugh, half mewling whimper, she dug her nails into his scalp and urged him upward.

Their gazes met when he entered her and she saw his pupils dilate before he captured her mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue moving in tandem with the thrust of his hips. Already teetering on the brink, she raced toward release with Abel right behind whilst stars danced behind her closed eyes and their hearts pounded in tandem.

A cry tore itself from her lips when she came, her ankles hooking around his hips while her slick walls tightened around his cock as wave after wave of sweet, heavenly pleasure coursed through her veins. Withdrawing at the last possible second, Abel spilled his seed into the sheets as she threw her arms above her head. After he had collapsed beside her, his countenance utterly dazed, she twisted to face him and propped up her chin with her elbow.

“Have the carriage sent at six o’ clock.” Blowing him a kiss, Lillian sprang out of the bed and began to get dressed.