The Scandalous Diary of Lily Layton

Lily collapsed beneath him, her body still shivering with the hard aftershocks of such an exquisite climax. How would she ever be able to walk away from such pleasures?

Her lover was a comforting weight against her. He cradled her to his chest and simply held her. The warmth and contentment unfurling inside were something Lily had thought she would never know. How is it that she had been married twice and had been bereft of being held after intimacy? Her first husband had been such a sweet man, but bumbling and far too shy, and he had barely made love with her before he’d bought his commission. It had never occurred to her to cuddle up with him in their small bed. They had turned on their sides and watched each other with tentative smiles, but their young love had been too new and uncertain for them to take any further steps. Then the vicar…in the three years they had been married, they had been intimate only a handful of times, for it was sinful to lust, even in the confines of marriage.

She had never believed God despised the idea of fleshly pleasures, as the vicar had preached. After all, God had been the one to grant them such desires and lush sensuality.

Oliver moved, and she was too spent to peer back at him. She blushed as he took a warm cloth and cleaned between her tender folds and around to her bottom. With such care, she felt no discomfort, only a sense of awe.

Is he this way with all his lovers?

“How do you feel?”

Cherished. She turned her head, resting her cheek against the cushion. “Famished.”

There was an uncertainty in his eyes as he peered at her, and she hardly knew how to respond to it. The marquess had always seemed so arrogant and uncompromising. Her breath hitched as she realized he waited for some reaction that would possibly wound. Was it that perhaps they were more alike than she had thought?

“I loved every minute of what just happened,” she confessed softly.

Relief and approval glowed in his eyes. Lily’s heart lightened. Someone had indeed been repulsed at his brand of shocking sensuality and carnal leanings. Happiness flowered inside her that she had pleased him. How alike we are, but so far apart.

“I cannot marry you,” he said gruffly, tugging her to him. “But I need you in my life, Lily. This…whatever this is cannot end.”

“I do not recall asking,” she teased, pushing aside the soft ache in her heart. “I’ve no aspirations to be your wife. I am not ignorant of the fact that I have nothing to recommend me to the role of a marchioness.” He deserved a wife that would complement his position and background, and one that would most assuredly grant him children.

“Be my mistress.”

“Yes,” Lily said, shocking herself.

She couldn’t take back the word, for she wanted to be with him until this…whatever this was, burned out and drifted away like ashes in the wind.

Chapter Thirteen

Be my mistress.

Yes.

Lily Layton had agreed to be his mistress, yet pain had flashed in her eyes before she had shuttered her expressive gaze. Was it that she wanted more, too? A sense of disquiet pierced Oliver, for he had been longing for a more permanent connection with a lady who complimented him in all ways. His entire life he’d known the sort of woman he was duty bound to marry. Genteel, privileged, blue-blooded, with enough wealth and beauty to make any man happy. The opposite of Lily Layton. Except that everything about her was vastly appealing. A longing to have her at his side in all ways threaded through his entire body and into the depths of his soul.

If he courted her, he would be going against every expectation of his position. What were her family connections, what was their history? Oliver doubted anyone from the Ambrose line had taken a wife not of their society. He couldn’t take her to be his marchioness, but it went against every grain and governing principle to take another woman to be his wife while Lily had such a hold over him.

How in God’s name could he continue looking for a wife when the woman he had been searching for was now curled against his side, sleeping? Long red hair lay against the creamy flesh of her breast. Her lips were parted, her breath a soft flutter over his chest, and with a sigh, his name whispered from her lips. Oliver’s heart tripped, and in that moment, he doubted he would ever be able to let her go. “Lily?”

“Hmm?”

“Come with me to London.”

Her eyes cleared of the last fog of sleep, and she stared at him alertly. “You’re going to town?”

“Yes. I’d meant to depart tomorrow. I’ve a few invitations from friends that I am compelled to honor.”

“Why do you want me to come?”

“I want you to select a townhouse and a shop.”

She sat up slowly, a frown marring her lovely face. “I don’t understand.”

He didn’t, either. Oliver had sworn he wouldn’t take a mistress and a wife at the same time. Ah, bloody hell. He would have to delay his plans to find a wife for the near future. Everything in him only clamored to be with her.

“You’ve agreed to be my mistress, yes?”