Page 14

He shouldn’t stay.

Frederick knew he shouldn’t stay. Just as he knew it was inevitable that he would.

Wordlessly, he joined Lily on the bench and settled back against the smooth oak slats, his body keenly aware of the warm, gorgeous woman sitting beside him.

“It’s nice out here,” he said, curling his hand around the cool iron armrest.

Lily hummed her agreement. “I sit here nearly every night when the weather lets me. I like the quiet.”

Personally, he had no interest in sitting on a bench alone with his own thoughts, but if Lily was with him, he would happily do this every night.

“The Weeping Whiskers,” he murmured, gazing up at the sign hanging above the front door. “How did the inn come to acquire such an unusual name?”

An affectionate smile curved her lips, and her eyes slid to his, glinting with mischief. “Legend has it there once was a tomcat named Whiskers who made his home here in Little Bilberry. He spent his days napping and begging for scraps, coming and going as if he owned all of Hampshire.”

She leaned in close, as if imparting a secret, and when her shoulder brushed his arm, he felt the contact everywhere.

“Some say, when the moon is full,” she whispered, “the spirit of old Whiskers can be heard prowling the village, crying out for the life he once had.”

Frederick smiled, charmed by the story. “And have you ever heard old Whiskers’ ghost?”

She shook her head. “But don’t think I haven’t been listening.”

Her smile was the loveliest thing he’d ever seen, and her eyes, usually the color of tropical seas, had darkened in the night to azure.

The air between them seemed to crackle with expectation as they stared into each other’s eyes, until Lily cleared her throat and sat back in the bench.

“I haven’t said this to you yet,” she said briskly, tucking her shawl around her shoulders, “but I think it’s lovely that you’ve come to stay with your sister. She’s had such a difficult time since her husband died. I know seeing you has cheered her immeasurably.”

Frederick looked away from her, away from the gratitude and admiration on her face, neither of which he deserved. He shifted on the bench, his mind scrambling for something to say, something that wouldn’t be a lie, and wouldn’t make him feel worse about himself.

The only something that sprang to mind was the truth.

He didn’t want to tell her why he was really here, and yet, somehow, he did. For better or worse, he wanted to be honest with her. He wanted no secrets between them.

He cleared his throat, his heart thudding in his chest as he began to speak. “I’m glad to be spending this time with Penelope, of course, but I can’t accept your compliment. There’s another reason I came to Little Bilberry. A much less savory one.”

He told her about the affair with Serena, about Serena’s angry husband and Robert’s subsequent, none-too-gentle suggestion that he vacate London until the scandal had cooled.

After he’d finished, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, loosely lacing his fingers together.

He had avoided looking at Lily during the whole of his confession, but he forced himself to meet her gaze now, bracing for the disgust and disappointment he was certain to find on her face.

But all he saw was confusion in her eyes, and a thoughtful pursing of her lips.

“Did you not realize she was married?” she asked a moment later.

Frederick looked down at his clasped hands. “I knew. That was part of the appeal, I think. I had never bedded a married woman before.”

“Oh.”

Silence, thick as fleece, settled between them, and Frederick wondered what Lily was thinking, then admonished himself for his stupidity.

You know damn well what she’s thinking . She was thinking exactly what everyone else thought about him, that he was a scoundrel and a rogue and an irresponsible rat only concerned with satisfying his base needs.

And, much as he hated to admit it, there was some truth in that. There must be, or he wouldn’t have bedded a married woman, would he?

Lily’s low voice cut into his thoughts. “Were you— are you—in love with her?”

The question surprised him, and his denial was instant. “No. I didn’t love her,” he said. “I loved that she wanted me, that she chose me, even though I am—” He broke off, the words catching in his throat, words he’d thought often but never voiced aloud.

“Even though you are what?” Lily prodded gently. And maybe it was her quiet voice, or her understanding tone, or simply the fact that she was Lily and he was mad about her, but whatever the reason, he found himself sharing with her more than he’d ever shared with anyone.

“Has Penelope ever told you about our brother George?” he asked, sitting back in the bench.

She blinked, clearly caught off guard by the unexpected question. “He...died several years ago. During the war.”

Frederick nodded, the ache of loss swelling in his chest as it did every time he thought of his brother and those awful months after the death notice came, telling them George was never coming home.

“He was an artist—a painter—and his talent was enormous, though George would never say so, of course.” Frederick smiled.

“He was far too modest for that, but we all knew he was a genius, and that he would do great things with his art. He had so many plans, places to go, scenes he wished to paint. He had so much—” He swallowed, his throat aching.

“He had so much to offer the world, and he’s gone. And I’m still here.”

It should have been me.

The words whispered through his mind, words he’d thought before and knew he shouldn’t. George wouldn’t want him to think that way.

But he couldn’t help that it was the truth.

“I’m glad,” Lily said softly, drawing Frederick’s gaze. “I hate that your brother is gone, but I’m glad you’re here, and so are Penelope and my grandmother and Blythe.” She smiled. “You know how much that cow fancies you.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but he couldn’t quite find the words to agree with her. He wasn’t sure he did.

“You have a lot to offer this world, too, Frederick,” she went on, serious once again. “You are kind and warm and you make people smile. Even surly people like me.”

A soft chuckle escaped him. “You’re not surly. You’re...occasionally prickly.”

“I’m a churlish beast and you know it,” she shot back with a laugh. “But even though I was beastly to you that day we first met, you still helped me with Blythe, and then with Mr. Carstairs. Because you’re a kind man.”

She laid a hand on his forearm, and the simple touch eased his tension nearly as much as her words.

“We all make mistakes, Frederick. But that doesn’t mean you’re a bad person, or that you’re unworthy of this life. You’re a good man, and you have as much right to be here as any of us.”

Her unwavering, earnest gaze told him she believed every word of it, and although Frederick had only known Lily for a handful of days, her opinion had come to mean something to him. Maybe even everything.

“Thank you,” he said gruffly, his chest tight with emotion.

She was still grasping his forearm, the warmth of her touch seeping through his sleeve, and he covered her hand with his, intending to emphasize his gratitude.

The moment he touched her soft, bare skin, however, awareness sparked to life, humming along his spine.

She swallowed, her gaze flicking to his mouth, and he was certain she had felt the same jolt of attraction he had.

Gently, he clasped her fingers with his own then raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Lily watched him, as still as the night, her eyes glimmering with awakened desire.

He brushed his lips across her knuckles again then turned her hand palm up and bent his head, intending to kiss her there, too.

“Don’t.”

The word froze him, and he lifted his head to look at her just as she slipped her hand from his grasp.

“My hands are not pretty,” she said, her voice low, her fingers fidgeting. “They used to be, but now they are callused and ugly and I…” Her gaze fell to her lap. “I am embarrassed of them. I am embarrassed for you to touch them.”

Avoiding Frederick’s gaze, Lily stared at her callused worker’s hands, her cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment and vulnerability—and a healthy dose of irritation. Irritation with herself, and with the dratted insecurity that had slithered into the moment and sunk its teeth in deep.

She was proud of the work she did, and the help she gave her grandmother. She liked the self-sufficient person she’d become, and the confidence she’d earned by learning to rely on herself instead of her family or a husband.

Still, no matter how ideal, every situation had its drawbacks, and Lily’s situation had given her callused hands, bruised knees and a blister on her left foot that could not seem to heal.

She’d earned these scrapes and flaws through hard work, and she was proud of that, but it did make it difficult to feel pretty. And she wanted to feel pretty now.

“Lily.”

She looked up and met Frederick’s gaze, her lips parting with the impulse to speak, to apologize, but the words caught in her throat when he reached out and took her hands in his again.

Surprise froze her, and she watched, motionless, as his gaze dipped, his long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. His hands were warm and strong, and as he swept his thumbs over her palms, calluses and all, his touch was so sweet, so good, she forgot her embarrassment.

“There is nothing ugly about your hands,” he said softly. “They’re strong and capable, like you.” His gaze rose to hers, deep blue and frankly admiring. “They’re beautiful, Lily. Because they’re yours.”

He raised her hands to his lips and pressed a tender kiss to first one palm and then the other, and Lily’s breath caught moments before she surged forward and stole a kiss for her lips.

He stilled, as if caught by surprise, and then he was moving, his hands stroking her wrists, his mouth meeting hers. He tasted like wine, rich and spicy, and his lips were firm yet gentle, each touch a spark to her growing need for more.

She leaned into him further, clutching his forearms, kissing him harder, no longer interested in gentle caresses. She wanted to let go, give in, lose herself in his arms, and she wanted the same from him.

She wanted him unbound.

“Frederick,” she whispered against his lips. “Kiss me. Please.” Her voice was taut with frustration and need, and she swept eager hands up his arms to clutch his shoulders.

“I thought I was,” Frederick replied with a smile in his voice before he brushed another gentle kiss to her mouth.

“Kiss me harder,” Lily demanded, burrowing her fingers in his thick, black hair. “Kiss me more .”

She covered his lips with hers, showing him what she wanted, asking for it with a gentle tug on his hair.

Frederick’s arms clamped around her waist as a low groan rumbled from his throat, and finally, at last, he succumbed to her wishes. His mouth closed over hers, his tongue sweeping deep, and Lily gave a whimper of pure, unadulterated need.

She pressed into him, tangling her tongue with his as she curved her arms around his neck, her shawl falling from her shoulders to the bench.

His hands found the small of her back, his bare palms warming her skin even through her corset and gown. He swept his hands up her back then down again, circling her hips, his touch hungry, his kiss hungrier.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he murmured between kisses. “I promised my sister I wouldn’t trifle with you.”

“You’re not.” She nipped his bottom lip with her teeth. “I’m trifling with you.”

A throaty groan escaped his lips just before she kissed him again, and she could feel the pounding of his heart beneath her hands where they rested on his chest.

She slid her palms under his jacket to caress the sleek silk of his waistcoat, and the intimacy of that touch made her own heart hammer.

She never knew kissing a man could feel like this. She never knew it could make her body ache and her skin burn until every inch of her craved to be touched, stroked, claimed.

“Lily...” Frederick’s rough voice held a warning, or perhaps a plea, but whatever it was, she knew what it signaled.

“No,” she whispered, kissing his cheek, the ridge of his jaw. “Don’t stop. Please. Not unless you want to.” She drew back so she could see his face in the moonlight, uncertainty tensing every muscle in her body.

Frederick’s throat worked, indecision sparking in his eyes. “I don’t want to take advantage of you, Lily. I want you to trust me.”

“I do trust you.”

His mouth twisted. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”

“Nonsense,” she said bluntly, irritated now as she slipped her hands from his chest and sat back with a frown. “Your sister told you to stay away from me. She’s trying to protect me because she thinks I’ll be hurt again.”

Frederick’s silence confirmed the charge, and Lily blew out a frustrated breath.

“As I have already told Penelope, I can look after myself. I don’t need to be coddled by her, or you.”

“I know that, Lily.”

“But?”

Again, he said nothing.

“You agree with her, don’t you?” Her voice was an angry rasp. “You think I’m in danger of losing my heart to you.”

“No,” he said quietly, a wry smile curling his lips. “But I do think I’m in danger of losing my heart to you.”

And with that stunning confession, he rose to his feet, bid her a good night and left.