Knave's Wager
Lilith’s smile faded, along with her quiet pleasure in his company.
He was no longer looking at the statue, she knew, though she dared not meet his gaze. She must not listen, she told herself. He was too perceptive, too clever, and honeyed speeches came too easily to him. With forced calm, she disengaged her arm from his and walked to the entwined marble figures.
“Have you seen the Bernini?” she asked, keeping her voice light. “Is this very like, do you think?”
“I’m afraid at the moment I can’t think.” He moved up behind her. “I should not have brought you here. I should never be alone with you. Every good resolution I’ve made is smashed to pieces.”
His breath was warm on her neck.
“My lord—”
“Lilith.” It was a whisper, and his lips touched her neck, light as a whisper, yet the touch seared her.
He is the Devil, she told herself. It is all practised wickedness. But his lips had touched her neck again, and the hand gently clasping her arm burned too. A dangerous yearning incandesced within her. He turned her unresisting, betraying body towards him.
“I meant to be good,” he said softly, sadly, it seemed, as his face lowered to hers. “I cannot.”
“No—”
His mouth silenced her and her lips answered his kiss, just as her body answered the light pressure of his hands urging her closer. Light, yes, and gentle, yes, but she was helpless against the current drawing her to him. There was too much tenderness in its beckoning. She, who had never known tenderness of any kind, who had never heard sweet words of longing, could not resist what he offered, but hungered only for more.
She knew nothing of moments passing, nothing of the world about her. There was one world only, in his arms, a world that smouldered, then glowed, then crackled into flame against a growing darkness. There she was lost, utterly.
Lord Robert, emerging from the other path, immediately turned and pushed Cecily back.
“That wasn’t at all necessary,” she reproached when they were out of range. “You can’t think I would burst upon my aunt without warning. I hope I’m not such a clodpole.”
“Your eyes are a deal too sharp, Miss Glenwood,” he complained. “We’d better go back—or I shall be in your aunt’s black books forever.”
“We can’t leave them like this.”
“We most certainly can. They’re adults. It’s none of our business.”
“What if someone else comes? My aunt will be ruined.”
Lord Robert forbore rejoining that Mrs. Davenant was as good as ruined already, if that passionate embrace was any indication. “I am not going to stand guard until they’re done,” he said. Then, as he recollected what getting done would inevitably entail, he added primly, “And you certainly will not.”
“Don’t be silly. We must simply give them a moment to recover themselves. Lord Robert,” she said, so loudly that he winced, “you must go away. You should not have followed me. My aunt will be most displeased.”
“Miss Glenwood—”
“Louder,” she whispered. “Don’t be such a slow-top. Argue with me—or plead—or something—but so they can hear you.”
The feminine voice pierced Lord Brandon’s consciousness like a gunshot, though it took another moment for the message to be relayed elsewhere. Then, cursing inwardly, he reluctantly raised his lips from the widow’s right earlobe. Her eyes fluttered open.
“Someone is coming,” he said, his voice low.
Instantly, Lilith jerked away from him, leaving chill emptiness where her warm, supple body had just been. Forgetting other voices, he reached out instinctively to draw her back, but she had moved apart. With trembling hands, she was trying to smooth her frock and her hair simultaneously.
He heard Robert then, complaining loudly. Lord Brandon bestowed another silent though heartfelt malediction upon his cousin. “I shall kill him,” he muttered. “Was ever a man so cursed in his relations?”
He looked to her again, and felt a stab within. She was still flushed and utterly discomposed. Unlike many of her noble sisters, she was unaccustomed to coolly erasing evidence of an indiscretion. Her eyes appealed to him for help.
He moved to her, quickly smoothed a few curls from her face, and twitched the waist of her dowdy grey frock aright.
“It’s only the children,” he said. “Appear enraptured with the sculpture.”
The children came into view minutes later, stopped abruptly as they caught sight of their elders, and showed every evidence of surprise and confusion.
Cecily hastened to her aunt. “Please do not be angry, Aunt. We came upon each other quite by accident. I was just telling Lord Robert that I am not to speak to him, because I might say that at least, mightn’t I?”
“Mrs. Davenant, I do apologise,” said Lord Robert. “It’s all my fault—”
“Certainly,” Lord Brandon interjected. “It is always your fault. Here I have been trying to explain the misunderstanding, and this lady has not only kindly heard me out, but graciously allowed you a second chance. Now you blunder in like the confounded, clumsy idiot I have just been telling her you are not,” he finished with some heat.
The widow found her voice, though he detected a slight quaver as she spoke.
“We shall not compound one misunderstanding with another. Naturally, your meeting with Cecily was an accident.” Her gaze fell upon Cecily. “I know my niece would never deliberately disobey me. Therefore I cannot entertain for a moment the notion she arranged, behind my back, to meet with you.”
“Oh, never,” said Lord Robert chivalrously.
He reddened, though, and the marquess had no doubt why.
“Lord Brandon tells me you are the... the victim of a hoax,” the widow went on.
Brandon gazed at her in surprise. That was inventive of her. A hoax would serve admirably.
“Did he? Yes, well, I am—was—that is to say–”
“Then we shall consider the matter closed, Lord Robert. Though I should advise you in future to choose friends with less distasteful notions of humour. I will not have my niece suffer further shocks to her sensibilities.”
“No ma’am. You’re quite right. Thank you, ma’am. You’re exceedingly kind. Real
ly, I—”
“As to you, Cecily,” Mrs. Davenant said, disregarding Lord Robert’s protestations, “I thought you had already been advised against wandering off by yourself.”
As she spoke, she put her arm protectively about her niece’s shoulders and took the girl away, so that Lord Brandon heard nothing of the ensuing lecture.
He heard as little of his cousin’s expressions of gratitude and wonder, although Robert walked beside him. They had taken the other path. While it was a more circuitous route to the party proper, Lord Brandon was in no hurry to be back. His rage with his cousin had subsided, yet the marquess was not quite as easy within as he appeared without.
He was still irritated, which was foolish, when naturally matters could not have proceeded to any satisfactory conclusion. He’d no intention of ravishing Lilith Davenant in broad day in somebody’s garden. The problem was, he’d had no intention of allowing matters to go even as far as they had done.
He knew by now that her conjugal experiences with Charles had not been happy ones. That was why she was so skittish. Accordingly, Brandon had taken care not to lead her too far too soon.
The trouble was, he’d found himself drawn too far, from pleasure... to hunger, and long after she’d broken from him, the feeling remained, like an ache. It lingered yet, not so strong as at first, but uncomfortable nonetheless. It should not have existed at all. Lovemaking was an art, not the mere release of some base animal need.
Impatience, he reassured himself. He’d never had to woo so long or face so many obstacles. What aroused him was the difficulty and challenge of this pursuit. The seduction of Lilith Davenant was proving a more exhilarating and novel experience than he could have predicted. Since it was novel, one must expect the occasional aberration.
These reflections eased his mind considerably, and he began at last to respond to his chattering cousin. Occupied in devising ironic sallies to Lord Robert’s effusions, the marquess neglected to explain satisfactorily to himself the other, altogether different twinge he experienced from time to time, at the recollection of one pleading pair of smoky blue eyes.