“What?” she asked sleepily. She sat up as she heard the commotion. “Apollo!”
“Shh.” He sat on the side of the bed. “I love you.”
Her eyes went wide. “I…”
“There isn’t time,” he said calmly. “My uncle has discovered me and will come with all his footmen to detain me soon. I have to flee.”
She blinked and took a deep breath. “Of course.”
“Meet me tomorrow night,” he said, looking into her eyes to make sure she didn’t mistake him. “In the garden by the pond where you saw me bathing. Do you remember?”
“I… yes.” Even now he was charmed by the blush that pinkened her cheeks.
“About six of the clock, I think. If there’s any trouble, send word to Makepeace,” he said, rising. There were footsteps approaching. He turned and kissed her fast and hard. “I love you. Never forget that.”
Then he rushed the door.
There were two footmen plus the middle-aged butler. Apollo shoved the butler out of his way, and would’ve done the same to the footmen had not one swung at him. Apollo knocked aside the man’s blow and drove the point of his elbow into the man’s belly, doubling him over. The remaining footman backed up a step, obviously torn between duty and the desire to keep his ribs intact. Apollo feinted with his right and when the man flinched back, gave him an additional push to make him fall. Then he was running down the hall past half-dressed ladies and gentlemen who didn’t do very much to stop him.
Wheeling around the corner, he half slid down the main staircase, past a startled Mr. Warner, obviously returning from a room not his own—most interesting—and then he was out the front doors and running.
Running into the black night.
He could hear the shouts behind him, and then hoofbeats gaining on him fast. He whirled at the last minute, hands up, ready to dodge the horse.
Only to find the Duke of Montgomery pulling a great black beast to a half-rearing halt.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” the duke snapped, for once discomposed. He thrust out a hand. “Get on!”
HE’D SAID THAT he loved her.
Lily stared at the doorway, not sure she should believe what had just happened.
He loved her.
What did that mean to him? Was he going to offer to keep her? Or was it something he said to every woman he bedded?
iled as if it were an old habit—a gesture between lovers who had known each other years instead of days.
Tears pricked at her eyes and she bent forward to hide them from him, cradling his face to her breasts.
He turned his head, mouthing at her nipple, and she arched her head back, trying to quell her sudden melancholy. Not now, not here. She didn’t want to ruin this by bringing the future in too soon.
But he must’ve sensed her mood. He lifted his head, trying to see her. “Lily?”
She scooted back, pushing him firmly against the pillows so that she might have access to his lap.
He wouldn’t be dissuaded, though, stubborn man. “Lily?”
“It’s nothing,” she muttered, working at the buttons on his falls. “I… I just want to forget.” She flicked her eyes to him, letting him see the mess she must’ve made of her face earlier. “Can you help me forget?”
She should’ve felt guilt for her prevarication, but she didn’t. She had the right to this little bit of joy, even if it only lasted hours.
So she pulled apart his breeches and reached in to untie his smallclothes. His penis rose, ruddy and proud, from a thatch of coarse hair. She stroked both hands through that hair, scratching, watching smugly as his cock bobbed in reaction.
“Take it off,” she ordered him imperiously, tapping at his shirt.
He lifted to do so, pulling the shirt over his head, and then he lay sprawled against the mound of pillows, all naked chest. She sat back on his legs to look her fill, and if she did so to store the image in a corner of her mind, she tried not to think about it too much. His head was cocked back, his shaggy brown hair falling in tangled waves to his shoulders and, oh, his shoulders! If she had the money, she’d commission a sculpture of him nude and never regret the expenditure. His shoulders were mounded with muscle, wide and strong, with upper arms she doubted she could span with both hands. His dark nipples were peaked in a chest the color of sunlight, the dark hairs between making a lovely masculine contrast. Why painters never showed male hair she could not fathom. Wasn’t that part of what made a man? Hair upon the body? In any case she loved his.