It Happened One Autumn
Page 80
Lillian’s smile was compressed between their lips as he kissed her. She realized that it was the first time she had ever heard Marcus make a rakish remark. He was usually too straitlaced to exhibit the kind of irreverence that came so naturally to her. Perhaps this was a small sign of her influence on him.
“But for now…” Marcus said, “I have a logistical problem to solve.”
“What problem?” she asked, shifting a little as she became aware of the aroused tension of his body beneath her.
He smoothed the pad of his thumb over her lips, lightly massaging, shaping her mouth. As if he couldn’t help himself, he stole one last kiss. The deep, yearning strokes of his mouth caused her lips to tingle, sensation spilling and sliding all through her, and she was left breathless and weak in his arms. “The problem is how to take you back upstairs,” Marcus whispered, “before anyone else sees you in your nightgown.”
CHAPTER 20
It was unclear whether Daisy had been the one to “spill the beans,” as they said in New York, or whether the news had come from Annabelle, who had perhaps been informed by her husband of the scene in the study. All Lillian could be certain of, as she joined the other wallflowers for a mid-morning nuncheon in the breakfast room, was that they knew. She could see it in their faces—in Evie’s abashed smile, and Daisy’s conspiratorial air, and Annabelle’s studied casualness. Lillian blushed and avoided their collective gaze as she sat at the table. She had always maintained a cynical facade, using it as a defense against embarrassment, fear, loneliness…but at the moment she felt unusually vulnerable.
Annabelle was the first to break the silence. “What a dull morning it’s been so far.” She lifted her hand to her mouth with a gracefully manufactured yawn. “I do hope someone can manage to enliven the conversation. Any gossip to share, by chance?” Her teasing gaze arrowed to Lillian’s discomfited expression. A footman approached to fill Lillian’s teacup, and Annabelle waited until he had left the table before continuing. “You’ve made rather a late appearance this morning, dear. Didn’t you sleep well?”
Lillian slitted her eyes as she stared at her gleefully mocking friend, while she heard Evie choke on a mouthful of tea. “As a matter of fact, no.”
Annabelle grinned, looking entirely too cheerful. “Why don’t you tell us your news, Lillian, and then I’ll share mine? Though I doubt that mine will be half as interesting.”
“You seem to know everything already,” Lillian muttered, trying to drown her embarrassment with a large draft of tea. Succeeding only in burning her tongue, she set her cup down and forced herself to meet Annabelle’s gaze, which had softened in amused sympathy.
“Are you all right, dear?” Annabelle asked gently.
“I don’t know,” Lillian admitted. “I don’t feel at all like myself. I’m excited and glad, but also somewhat…”
“Afraid?” Annabelle murmured.
The Lillian of a month ago would have died by slow torture rather than admit to one moment of fear…but she found herself nodding. “I don’t like being vulnerable to a man who is not generally known for his sensitivity or soft heartedness. It’s fairly obvious that we’re not well-suited in temperament.”
“But you are attracted to him physically?” Annabelle asked.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Why is that a misfortune?”
“Because it would be so much easier to marry a man with whom one shared a detached friendship, rather than…than…”
All three young women leaned toward her intently. “R-rather than what?” Evie asked, wide-eyed.
“Rather than flaming, clawing, lurid, positively indecent passion.”
“Oh my,” Evie said faintly, drawing back in her chair, while Annabelle grinned and Daisy stared at her with enraptured curiosity.
“This from a man whose kisses were ‘merely tolerable’?” Annabelle asked.
A grin tugged at Lillian’s lips as she looked down into the steaming depths of her tea. “Who would have guessed that such a starched and buttoned-up sort could be so different in the bedroom?”
“With you, I imagine he can’t help himself,” Annabelle remarked.
Lillian looked up from her cup. “Why do you say that?” she asked warily, fearing for a moment that Annabelle was making a reference to the effects of her perfume.
“The moment you enter the room, the earl becomes far more animated. It is obvious that he is fascinated by you. One can hardly have a conversation with him, as he is constantly straining to hear what you are saying, and watching your every movement.”
“Does he?” Pleased by the information, Lillian strove to appear nonchalant. “Why have you never mentioned it before?”
“I didn’t want to meddle, since there seemed a possibility that you preferred Lord St. Vincent’s attentions.”
Lillian winced and leaned her forehead on her hand. She told them about the mortifying scene between herself and Marcus and St. Vincent that morning, while they reacted with sympathy and shared discomfort.
“The only thing that prevents a feeling of compassion for Lord St. Vincent,” Annabelle said, “is the certain knowledge that he has broken many hearts and caused many tears in the past—and therefore it is only just that he should know how it feels to be rejected.”
“Nevertheless, I feel as if I misled him,” Lillian said guiltily. “And he was so nice about it. Not one word of reproach. I couldn’t help but like him for it.”
“But for now…” Marcus said, “I have a logistical problem to solve.”
“What problem?” she asked, shifting a little as she became aware of the aroused tension of his body beneath her.
He smoothed the pad of his thumb over her lips, lightly massaging, shaping her mouth. As if he couldn’t help himself, he stole one last kiss. The deep, yearning strokes of his mouth caused her lips to tingle, sensation spilling and sliding all through her, and she was left breathless and weak in his arms. “The problem is how to take you back upstairs,” Marcus whispered, “before anyone else sees you in your nightgown.”
CHAPTER 20
It was unclear whether Daisy had been the one to “spill the beans,” as they said in New York, or whether the news had come from Annabelle, who had perhaps been informed by her husband of the scene in the study. All Lillian could be certain of, as she joined the other wallflowers for a mid-morning nuncheon in the breakfast room, was that they knew. She could see it in their faces—in Evie’s abashed smile, and Daisy’s conspiratorial air, and Annabelle’s studied casualness. Lillian blushed and avoided their collective gaze as she sat at the table. She had always maintained a cynical facade, using it as a defense against embarrassment, fear, loneliness…but at the moment she felt unusually vulnerable.
Annabelle was the first to break the silence. “What a dull morning it’s been so far.” She lifted her hand to her mouth with a gracefully manufactured yawn. “I do hope someone can manage to enliven the conversation. Any gossip to share, by chance?” Her teasing gaze arrowed to Lillian’s discomfited expression. A footman approached to fill Lillian’s teacup, and Annabelle waited until he had left the table before continuing. “You’ve made rather a late appearance this morning, dear. Didn’t you sleep well?”
Lillian slitted her eyes as she stared at her gleefully mocking friend, while she heard Evie choke on a mouthful of tea. “As a matter of fact, no.”
Annabelle grinned, looking entirely too cheerful. “Why don’t you tell us your news, Lillian, and then I’ll share mine? Though I doubt that mine will be half as interesting.”
“You seem to know everything already,” Lillian muttered, trying to drown her embarrassment with a large draft of tea. Succeeding only in burning her tongue, she set her cup down and forced herself to meet Annabelle’s gaze, which had softened in amused sympathy.
“Are you all right, dear?” Annabelle asked gently.
“I don’t know,” Lillian admitted. “I don’t feel at all like myself. I’m excited and glad, but also somewhat…”
“Afraid?” Annabelle murmured.
The Lillian of a month ago would have died by slow torture rather than admit to one moment of fear…but she found herself nodding. “I don’t like being vulnerable to a man who is not generally known for his sensitivity or soft heartedness. It’s fairly obvious that we’re not well-suited in temperament.”
“But you are attracted to him physically?” Annabelle asked.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Why is that a misfortune?”
“Because it would be so much easier to marry a man with whom one shared a detached friendship, rather than…than…”
All three young women leaned toward her intently. “R-rather than what?” Evie asked, wide-eyed.
“Rather than flaming, clawing, lurid, positively indecent passion.”
“Oh my,” Evie said faintly, drawing back in her chair, while Annabelle grinned and Daisy stared at her with enraptured curiosity.
“This from a man whose kisses were ‘merely tolerable’?” Annabelle asked.
A grin tugged at Lillian’s lips as she looked down into the steaming depths of her tea. “Who would have guessed that such a starched and buttoned-up sort could be so different in the bedroom?”
“With you, I imagine he can’t help himself,” Annabelle remarked.
Lillian looked up from her cup. “Why do you say that?” she asked warily, fearing for a moment that Annabelle was making a reference to the effects of her perfume.
“The moment you enter the room, the earl becomes far more animated. It is obvious that he is fascinated by you. One can hardly have a conversation with him, as he is constantly straining to hear what you are saying, and watching your every movement.”
“Does he?” Pleased by the information, Lillian strove to appear nonchalant. “Why have you never mentioned it before?”
“I didn’t want to meddle, since there seemed a possibility that you preferred Lord St. Vincent’s attentions.”
Lillian winced and leaned her forehead on her hand. She told them about the mortifying scene between herself and Marcus and St. Vincent that morning, while they reacted with sympathy and shared discomfort.
“The only thing that prevents a feeling of compassion for Lord St. Vincent,” Annabelle said, “is the certain knowledge that he has broken many hearts and caused many tears in the past—and therefore it is only just that he should know how it feels to be rejected.”
“Nevertheless, I feel as if I misled him,” Lillian said guiltily. “And he was so nice about it. Not one word of reproach. I couldn’t help but like him for it.”
