Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

L ily had been sitting on the chair in front of her dressing table for at least half an hour. As a companion to Lady Ambrose, Lily had a room only a few doors from the marchioness. Her ladyship had rung her bell quite demandingly a few times, but Lily had been unable to respond. It appeared the marchioness had forgotten today was her off day. And Lily was also finding it challenging to exit her room, knowing she may encounter her midnight lover in one of the guests.

I’ve lost all the good sense I possessed.

How could she have allowed a stranger inside her body … and she hadn’t just invited him, she had been another person with him, wild and wanton … a whore . Her behavior had been ill-judged and beyond the pale.

Her throat tightened, and she leaned forward, studying her face in the mirror. Would anyone know she had been debauched? Her lips were red and kiss-swollen. Other than that, she could find no visible signs that she had been thoroughly ravished. Last night, she had fled to her room as if the devil had been on her heels, where she had tidied to the best of her ability with the small pitcher of water by her bedside. Lily had blushed furiously as she cleaned away his seed from her body.

Her hand had lingered across her stomach, and unable to suppress the emotions tearing through her heart, she had wept. Failing to conceive in two marriages had been a blow she was still recovering from. On most days, Lily mourned that she would never have a child in her arms, a daughter with her inquisitiveness, or a sweet boy who reminded her of Papa’s generosity of spirit and quaint handsomeness. Pursuing her passion to be a stellar seamstress sometimes buried the pain, and she quite looked forward to the day when the ache of loss wouldn’t be so sharp.

Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she had missed breakfast. With a sigh, she pinched her cheeks, hoping to bring some color to her face. Who are you? she mouthed silently and then felt silly when the pale woman staring back at her did not burst into speech. Lily was grateful it would not be evident that she had been altered on such a profound level. She shifted, and the tender, well-used flesh between her thighs ached. If not for that tenderness, she would have thought it another of her fevered fantasies. But it was all too real. She had been wanton with a man in a dark, secret passage. A horrified giggle slipped from her, and she slapped a hand over her mouth.

Who was the lustful creature that had possessed her body last night? Who was the woman who had begged to be tupped harder? And who was the man who had fulfilled years of pent-up longings?

“Oh God, who is he?”

It was an unrelenting desire to know who was in possession of her diary and her most passionate yearnings. Who was it that had made her unravel so powerfully? She had been exactly as her last husband had described her, a harlot, and he must have been correct in his assessment, for he’d possessed the ear of God. She had married a clergyman because he had been so sweet and amiable. Lily had felt tender sentiments toward him and believed what they had would grow to love. It had not, and she had felt bereft, adrift without a companion she could truly be herself with.

She waited for shame to wrap her in its arms, but no such emotion swelled within her heart. Lily smiled. How delightful to not feel guilty of something so carnal and wonderful.

A knock sounded, and the maid assigned to the marchioness entered. “Mrs. Layton, her ladyship has been ringing for you. I told her I would check if you were in your room.”

Lily stood, smoothing her palms over her dress, though it was wrinkle free. “Thank you, Mary; I shall be right there.”

“She is in the large drawing room, Mrs. Layton,” the maid said with a quick bob, before disappearing down the corridor.

Taking an even breath and trying to find a reasonable excuse as to why she had been unavailable, Lily collected her walking basket from where she’d placed it on the small sofa by the fireplace. She hurried from the room and down the hallway then the winding stairs. She desperately needed to fortify her nerves. Perhaps she could steal into the library for a splash of the marquess’s brandy.

No, she mustn’t keep her ladyship waiting. Lily approached the drawing room and took a steady breath before entering through a door that stood slightly ajar. She faltered when she spied Mr. Barnabas Crauford, the man whom Lady Ambrose was encouraging Lily to take as her third husband.

The man’s face lit up with genuine pleasure at seeing her, and she suppressed her groan. This was the last thing she needed now, the trouble of fending off his unwanted attention.

“My lady,” Lily greeted with a quick curtsy. Then, turning to the dreaded suitor, she dipped into another curtsy. “Mr. Crauford.”

“Mrs. Layton, how delightful you appear this morning.”

His eyes roamed her body in appreciation, and she was almost regretful she had abandoned her mourning garb and mobcap.

She wore a dress she had made and knew she looked quite fetching. She had needed to bolster her confidence after last night’s farce and had adorned a dark yellow morning dress with a cinched, high waistline that was very flattering to her figure. It was out of character, though, and she noticed Lady Ambrose considering her with a peculiar frown. Lily had also left her hair uncovered, catching it in an artful chignon while leaving several tendrils loose.

“You do look very pretty, my dear,” the marchioness said, smiling. “I’m sure you will be delighted to take a turn on the estate grounds with Mr. Crauford.”

“Of course, of course,” he heartily agreed.

“I’d planned on visiting my parents. Today is my off day.” She lifted her traveling basket for their perusal.

“I would be most obliged to take you in my coach, Mrs. Layton,” Mr. Crauford declared.

Swallowing her sigh, she glanced out the windows. “I’d planned on walking.”

Startled shock bloomed on his face. “To the village?”

“Yes, I find long strolls help me to clear my head, and I do so enjoy it.”

“Capital! Allow me to at least keep your company part way.”

He appeared so earnest that a smile tugged at her lips. She would be rude to reject him once more. “Thank you, Mr. Crauford.”

The marchioness beamed her approval, and in short order, they departed the manor and headed south toward the beaten track that cut across the marquess’s land. They ambled for a few minutes, and unable to endure another cleared throat from Mr. Crauford, Lily was prompted to speak.

“It is very kind of you to walk with me thus far. There is no need for you to continue.”

“My dear Mrs. Layton,” he said, a bit too warmly. “I would not be much of a gentleman if I abandoned you to the elements.”

“I’ve been traipsing this path by myself for at least five years, Mr. Crauford. There is certainly no need to worry about my sturdiness.”

“I am appalled the vicar allowed it.”

She faltered momentarily. “My husband did not disapprove of my weekly visit to the village to see my family. And if he had, I assure you I would still have seen them.”

“Upon my word, surely you would not have disobeyed him?”

Gripping her basket, she forged ahead. “In that regard, yes.”

Mr. Crauford huffed disapprovingly, and Lily smiled, uncaring of what he thought. They rounded the corner.

“Look out,” he yelled, shoving her aside with too much strength.

Lily gasped and tumbled into the bushes as thunderous hooves darted past. Surely it was only the grace of God that prevented them from being trampled by Lord Ambrose’s stallion. Shocking and profane curses spilled from the marquess as he dragged on his reins, bringing the animal to a shuddering halt. Still, Mr. Crauford’s act of chivalry saw her backside firmly planted on the ground and the contents of her basket spilled. “Blast it!”

“Are you hurt?” the marquess demanded, vaulting from his horse and rushing to her side.

For a wild moment, his concern warmed her before she recalled he was the reason she was sprawled inelegantly amongst the bushes.

“Are you afflicted? You were rounding the corner far too fast. If Mr. Crauford hadn’t been quick thinking, we could have both been under your horse.”

Lord Ambrose’s left brow rose at her audacious reprimand. “You exaggerate. I had control of my steed. He was simply overanxious.”

“Mrs. Layton,” Mr. Crauford said, tugging her attention to where he was gathering the contents of her basket. “This is not a proper book for a woman to read,” he said, picking up her copy of Northanger Abbey , which she had planned to read later while her parents slept.

She had bought a couple of candles and had wrapped and stowed them carefully away. It was a relief they had not been damaged.

A severe frown split his brows. “This is unacceptable.”

“Is that so?” she asked frostily, struggling to her feet and attempting to bat away the marquess’s hand as he helped.

The dratted man would have none of it, and with a gentle clasp, assisted her upright.

“Thank you,” she muttered grudgingly.

“Forgive me for startling you.”

Sincerity glowed from his dark blue eyes, and that warm sensation once more unfurled in her stomach. The man was very handsome with his lean but powerfully built physique. Lily stepped away, desperate to create more space between them, hating that she was so ardently admiring his handsomeness.

“Forgiven,” she said with a firm nod. “Please continue your ride.” Then she hurried over to Mr. Crauford and collected her basket. After ensuring her sketchpad and her book were safely stowed, she assessed her clothes.

“I must say, your father has been derelict in taking you in hand.”

Lily faltered in dusting the grass from her dress and glared at Mr. Crauford. “Papa is the one who sent me a copy,” she said, refusing to give in to the irritation surging through her veins. “The book is hardly scandalous.”

“Then he has most certainly failed in his duty to you, and—”

“Sir!”

His jaw slackened at her sharp tone.

“You will not cast any aspersions on Papa. That would not endear you to me.” She had been given every advantage possible in education by her father, despite their lack of wealth. He’d encouraged her to read and taught her French and some Greek. Her father had never been a man of great property or fortune, but he had done everything possible to see his daughters looked after. He had never taught her that being able to think for herself was an unladylike thing to do. He supported her dreams wholeheartedly and had never pressured her to find a third husband. Not that he could force her, since she was of age to make her own decisions, but his support meant the world to her.

“You give your opinion too freely, Mrs. Layton,” Mr. Crauford said with a pompous air. “I will forgive it in this instance, for you were not reared in a genteel household, but you must learn what proper conduct is for a lady.”

His barbed criticism missed its mark, and the man dared to narrow his eyes at her lack of response. She glanced away to find the marquess’s arrested stare on her person.

“You’re still here,” she said and then flushed at her bad manners. “My lord, I—”

He waved away her apology with a suspiciously charming smile. “Pay me no heed. I find I am of a mind to stroll.”

She glanced back at the horse grazing the grass.

“Attila is trained to return to the stables when he is riderless. A footman will take him in hand soon,” Lord Ambrose said, smiling before tipping his hat and falling back slightly.

The dratted man was endlessly charming and too appealing.

Lily frowned, wondering if it was her imagination or if the marquess had seemed fascinated with the exchange he’d witnessed. Pushing it from her mind, she continued along the path, ignoring Mr. Crauford.

“The weather is very pleasant today,” he said after a few minutes.

Lily glanced at the sky, which seemed overcast, and proffered no reply.

“The air is also very pleasant.”

She inhaled. “Strange, I only smell manure, and it is a very strong and unpleasant odor. How skilled you are to discern the sweetness of the grass and flowers.”

Mr. Crauford looked positively horrified. “ That is not a topic of discourse for a lady.”

“Oh? Whyever not?”

A choking sound came from behind her, and she glanced back to see the marquess’s eyes dancing with humor. Was he following them? Not that she could protest; it was his land, after all.

“Ladies do not speak about manure!”

Returning her attention to the man walking beside her, she said, “I see. Then what should we talk about?”

He smiled indulgently, and she sighed at the hollow feeling that rose inside.

“It is very good of you to seek my direction, Mrs. Layton.”

Lily swallowed her groan. This was how her last two courtships had unfolded. She had been placed inside a box, where every natural passion and seemingly normal topics of conversation had been suppressed because it was ostensibly unladylike, and she had allowed it. The vicar’s constant disparaging words had been wearying. Lily didn’t believe all men were that awful, but most did believe that women were to always be proper and that any hint of passion from those gently bred souls indicated a weak and lustful character such as those of loose, immoral leanings possessed.

Mr. Crauford clearly possessed the same sanctimonious attitude. She wasn’t certain how to extricate herself from the situation without dissolving into unladylike behavior.

No more . She was five and twenty, not a wilting flower. “Mr. Crauford … I believe I will continue alone from here.”

“No, my dear, there is something I wish to speak of you with,” he said with all the importance of a puffed peacock. “I’d thought to take the opportunity while we strolled.”

She glanced back, gratified to see the marquess too far back on the beaten path to overhear their conversation.

“I truly cannot imagine you have anything to say that I would wish to hear, Mr. Crauford.”

His eyes widened. “I do beg your pardon. I believe I misheard.”

She shook her head decisively. “I assure you, sir, you did not.”

He halted, staring at her as if he had never seen her before. “You have no notion of what I wish to say!”

Lily waited with patience she did not feel. Curse this need to always be careful with another’s tender feelings. She knew only too well how easy it was to feel injured from a cutting and dismissive tongue. “Forgive me. You are correct.”

He nodded, evidently pleased. “I would like to make an offer to your father for your hand in marriage.”

Lily jerked, quite shocked at his pronouncement. “Sir … I … we do not know each other.” She had truly thought he would suggest courtship.

“I need a wife, and I’ve decided you will do. I understand you do not have a dowry, and I am willing to overlook that and your family’s lack of connections. I understand there is a second cousin who is a baronet. Lady Ambrose speaks very favorably of you and your family.”

She stared at him for several beats. The man was decidedly serious and thought his speech a good offer of marriage. “I am thankful for her ladyship’s kind sentiments. But I am not interested in remarrying at this time, and even if I were, I would not consent to marry a man who clearly believes it unimportant to get to know the manner of the woman he would take to be his wife. Your cavalier attitude to such a sacred union tells me you do not care about my likes or desires, sir.”

For several moments, tension crackled in the air. Mr. Crauford drew himself up, ire blasting from his eyes. “Lady Ambrose led me to believe it would be beneficial to marry a woman like you. I can see she was decidedly mistaken. You are too bold with your tongue, which informs me of your clear lack of breeding and of ladylike qualities.”

He spun around and froze. Lily glanced back and bit off her cry of dismay. The marquess was right there, and from his cool, watchful gaze, she surmised he had overheard. A mortified flush climbed up her neck.

“A gentleman should never act like a dishonorable buffoon if he is rejected. You bow away with grace,” Lord Ambrose clipped icily. “You will apologize to Mrs. Layton.”

Mr. Crauford’s face went mottled, but he turned to her. “I sincerely apologize, Mrs. Layton. I … forgive my presumption.”

She nodded, and after a stiff bow in both her and the marquess’s direction, Mr. Crauford stormed back toward the manor.

“Thank you,” she said, thoroughly shocked he had defended her.

“Think nothing of it. He was unforgivably rude.” He looked off into the distance before shifting his piercing regard to her. “If you would allow me to continue as your escort?”

Her eyes widened and her heartbeat quickened. “My lord, that is not necessary.”

“I do not mind. I was riding to clear my head of thoughts that had been haunting me. Walking with you will do the same, perhaps even more pleasantly.”

“I’d planned to venture into the village. If we cut across the field down there,” she said, pointing to the track behind the large willow trees, “we would be there in a matter of fifteen minutes.”

His head canted left as he considered her.

“It would be my pleasure to escort you, Mrs. Layton,” he said.

“Lily,” she said, surprising them both. “Please, call me Lily.”

A sensual smile curved his mouth and her belly tightened. Flushing, she quickly glanced away.

“And you must call me Oliver.”

Lily delicately cleared her throat and said, “Thank you, my lord.”

The charming rogue once again smiled. “Oliver.”

She dipped her head in acquiescence, a grin tugging at her lips. They sauntered toward the village in companionable silence. She was so aware of him her skin felt sensitive, and she was striving hard not to show how nervous she was to be alone with him.

Is it you? Were you inside my body last night, making me wicked with want?

The words begged to tumble from her lips, but Lily remained silent. She was silly in her musings; a man of his stature would never make love with a stranger, a woman who for all he knew could be a chambermaid in a secret passageway.

When they came upon a log, he held her elbow and assisted her over, and then resumed, clasping his hands behind him as they continued. Every time she snuck a peek at him, he seemed to be enjoying the peace of their jaunt as much as she was.

They made it to the village without incident but garnered a few curious glances from the villagers. The baker, Mrs. Burke, waved, and Lily returned her greeting. This happened several times before they made it to the small haberdashers at the end of the road. He opened the door for her, and she offered him a quick smile of thanks for his graciousness.

At the threshold, she paused. “I cannot thank you enough for your amiable company, my lord.”

“That sounded as if you are about to dismiss me,” he drawled, humor dancing in his beautiful eyes. “A novel experience.”

“I would never be so rude! I simply thought you would like a reprieve. I do have several shops to visit.”

“Then lead the way, Lily.”

Her heart lurched at the sensual way his voice stroked her name. Lily flushed and hurried into the shop before she said or did something unforgivable.