It Happened One Autumn
Page 73
“Because I can’t look at you while you’re looking at me,” she said plaintively, and he laughed. Removing the compress, he freshened it with a new splash of scalding water.
Lillian peered at him from beneath her fingers as he pressed the soothing hot cloth between her legs once more. “You must have rung for a servant,” she said. “Did he—or she—see anything? Does anyone know that I’m with you?”
“Only my valet. And he knows better than to say a word to anyone about my…”
As he hesitated, obviously searching for the right word, Lillian said tensely, “Exploits?”
“This wasn’t an exploit.”
“A mistake, then.”
“However you define it, the fact is that we must deal with the situation in an appropriate manner.”
That sounded ominous. Removing her hand from her eyes, Lillian saw that when Westcliff withdrew the cloth, it was dotted with blood. Her blood. Her stomach felt hollow, and her heart pounded in an anxious tempo. Any young woman knew that when she slept with a man outside the bonds of wedlock, she was ruined. The word “ruined” had such an intractable feel to it …as if she had been permanently spoiled. Like the banana at the bottom of the fruit bowl.
“All we have to do is keep anyone from finding out,” she said warily. “We’ll pretend it never happened.”
Westcliff drew the sheet up to her shoulders and leaned over her, his hands placed on either side of her shoulders. “Lillian. We’ve slept together. That is not something that can be dismissed.”
She was suffused with sudden panic. “I can dismiss it. And if I can, then you—”
“I took advantage of you,” he said, making the worst attempt she had ever seen at trying to appear remorseful. “My actions were unforgivable. However, the situation being what it is—”
“I forgive you,” Lillian said quickly. “There, it’s settled. Where are my clothes?”
“—the only solution is for us to marry.”
A proposal from the Earl of Westcliff.
Any unmarried woman in England, upon hearing these words from this man, would have wept with gratitude. But it felt all wrong. Westcliff wasn’t proposing because he truly wanted to, or because she was the woman he desired above all others. He was proposing out of obligation.
Lillian eased herself to a sitting position. “My lord,” she asked unevenly, “is there any reason other than the fact that we just slept together that has moved you to propose to me?”
“Obviously you are attractive…intelligent …you will undoubtedly bear healthy children…and there are benefits to an alliance between our families…”
Spying her clothes, which had been neatly draped over a chair by the hearth, Lillian crawled from the bed. “I must get dressed.” She winced as her feet touched the floor.
“I’ll help you,” Westcliff said at once, striding to the chair.
She remained by the bedside, her hair tumbling over her br**sts and down to the small of her back. Carrying the clothes to her and laying them on the bed, Westcliff let his gaze sweep over her. “How lovely you are,” he murmured. He touched her bare shoulders and let his fingers slide down to her elbows. “I’m sorry to have caused you pain,” he said softly. “It won’t be as difficult for you the next time. I don’t want you to fear it …or to fear me. I hope you’ll believe that I—”
“Fear you?” she said without thinking. “Good God, I would never do that.”
Easing her head back, Westcliff looked at her while a slow smile spread across his face. “No, you wouldn’t,” he agreed. “You’d spit in the devil’s eye if it suited you.”
Unable to decide whether the comment was admiring or critical, Lillian shrugged away from him uneasily. She reached for her clothes and fumbled to dress herself. “I don’t want to marry you,” she said. It wasn’t true, of course. But she could not ignore the feeling that it must not happen this way…that she shouldn’t accept a proposal that was so obviously duty-driven.
“You have no choice,” he said from behind her.
“Of course I do. I daresay Lord St. Vincent will accept me in spite of my lack of virginity. And if he doesn’t, my parents are hardly going to toss me out into the streets. I’m sure you will be relieved to know that I release you from all obligation.” Snatching her knickers from the bed, she bent to pull them on.
“Why do you mention St. Vincent?” he asked sharply. “Has he proposed to you?”
“Is that so difficult to believe?” Lillian retorted, tying the tapes of her knickers. She reached for her chemise. “He has asked for permission to approach my father, actually.”
“You can’t marry him.” Westcliff watched with a scowl as her head and arms emerged from the chemise.
“Why not?”
“Because you’re mine now.”
She made a scoffing sound, even though she felt her heart give an extra beat at his possessiveness. “The fact that I slept with you does not constitute ownership.”
“You could be breeding,” he pointed out with ruthless satisfaction. “This very moment, my child might be growing in your belly. That constitutes something of a claim, I should think.”
Lillian felt her knees quiver, although her tone matched his for coolness. “We’ll find out eventually. In the meantime, I’m turning down your offer. Except that you haven’t really made an offer, have you?” She shoved her bare foot into one of her stockings. “It was more like a command.”
Lillian peered at him from beneath her fingers as he pressed the soothing hot cloth between her legs once more. “You must have rung for a servant,” she said. “Did he—or she—see anything? Does anyone know that I’m with you?”
“Only my valet. And he knows better than to say a word to anyone about my…”
As he hesitated, obviously searching for the right word, Lillian said tensely, “Exploits?”
“This wasn’t an exploit.”
“A mistake, then.”
“However you define it, the fact is that we must deal with the situation in an appropriate manner.”
That sounded ominous. Removing her hand from her eyes, Lillian saw that when Westcliff withdrew the cloth, it was dotted with blood. Her blood. Her stomach felt hollow, and her heart pounded in an anxious tempo. Any young woman knew that when she slept with a man outside the bonds of wedlock, she was ruined. The word “ruined” had such an intractable feel to it …as if she had been permanently spoiled. Like the banana at the bottom of the fruit bowl.
“All we have to do is keep anyone from finding out,” she said warily. “We’ll pretend it never happened.”
Westcliff drew the sheet up to her shoulders and leaned over her, his hands placed on either side of her shoulders. “Lillian. We’ve slept together. That is not something that can be dismissed.”
She was suffused with sudden panic. “I can dismiss it. And if I can, then you—”
“I took advantage of you,” he said, making the worst attempt she had ever seen at trying to appear remorseful. “My actions were unforgivable. However, the situation being what it is—”
“I forgive you,” Lillian said quickly. “There, it’s settled. Where are my clothes?”
“—the only solution is for us to marry.”
A proposal from the Earl of Westcliff.
Any unmarried woman in England, upon hearing these words from this man, would have wept with gratitude. But it felt all wrong. Westcliff wasn’t proposing because he truly wanted to, or because she was the woman he desired above all others. He was proposing out of obligation.
Lillian eased herself to a sitting position. “My lord,” she asked unevenly, “is there any reason other than the fact that we just slept together that has moved you to propose to me?”
“Obviously you are attractive…intelligent …you will undoubtedly bear healthy children…and there are benefits to an alliance between our families…”
Spying her clothes, which had been neatly draped over a chair by the hearth, Lillian crawled from the bed. “I must get dressed.” She winced as her feet touched the floor.
“I’ll help you,” Westcliff said at once, striding to the chair.
She remained by the bedside, her hair tumbling over her br**sts and down to the small of her back. Carrying the clothes to her and laying them on the bed, Westcliff let his gaze sweep over her. “How lovely you are,” he murmured. He touched her bare shoulders and let his fingers slide down to her elbows. “I’m sorry to have caused you pain,” he said softly. “It won’t be as difficult for you the next time. I don’t want you to fear it …or to fear me. I hope you’ll believe that I—”
“Fear you?” she said without thinking. “Good God, I would never do that.”
Easing her head back, Westcliff looked at her while a slow smile spread across his face. “No, you wouldn’t,” he agreed. “You’d spit in the devil’s eye if it suited you.”
Unable to decide whether the comment was admiring or critical, Lillian shrugged away from him uneasily. She reached for her clothes and fumbled to dress herself. “I don’t want to marry you,” she said. It wasn’t true, of course. But she could not ignore the feeling that it must not happen this way…that she shouldn’t accept a proposal that was so obviously duty-driven.
“You have no choice,” he said from behind her.
“Of course I do. I daresay Lord St. Vincent will accept me in spite of my lack of virginity. And if he doesn’t, my parents are hardly going to toss me out into the streets. I’m sure you will be relieved to know that I release you from all obligation.” Snatching her knickers from the bed, she bent to pull them on.
“Why do you mention St. Vincent?” he asked sharply. “Has he proposed to you?”
“Is that so difficult to believe?” Lillian retorted, tying the tapes of her knickers. She reached for her chemise. “He has asked for permission to approach my father, actually.”
“You can’t marry him.” Westcliff watched with a scowl as her head and arms emerged from the chemise.
“Why not?”
“Because you’re mine now.”
She made a scoffing sound, even though she felt her heart give an extra beat at his possessiveness. “The fact that I slept with you does not constitute ownership.”
“You could be breeding,” he pointed out with ruthless satisfaction. “This very moment, my child might be growing in your belly. That constitutes something of a claim, I should think.”
Lillian felt her knees quiver, although her tone matched his for coolness. “We’ll find out eventually. In the meantime, I’m turning down your offer. Except that you haven’t really made an offer, have you?” She shoved her bare foot into one of her stockings. “It was more like a command.”
