How to Impress a Marquess(41)

Never in any relationship in his life had the words “I’m sorry” been uttered so many times. He would give her a little time to calm down and then he would approach her. He carefully picked up the offending letter and shoved it in his desk. Then he retrieved the scattered correspondence, placed it back into its proper piles, and returned to his work, because he didn’t know what else to do. However, as he read the missives from his steward and man of business, her horrified face bled through the lines. What had he done? As he opened the drawer again and studied the drawing, shame washed over him. But damnation, she had fondled him and allowed him to caress her breasts. She had to have some inkling of his desire.

That didn’t matter. He hadn’t behaved as an honorable gentleman, and he had abused his position as her trustee. Unless he intended to marry Lilith, he shouldn’t have allowed such intimacies between them, much less sketched her nude likeness. He would apologize and refrain from touching her in an improper manner again. He picked up her sketch, crossed to the grate, and tossed it on the burning coals. As the paper caught fire, he desired to yank it back, but forced himself to keep it over the flame. It must burn away.



Lilith sent word that she suffered a headache and preferred to stay in her chamber for luncheon. George couldn’t very well barge into her room and force his apology upon her. So he remained in agony, unable to talk to her, to understand her feelings, to beg her forgiveness. While he concealed his disappointment at her absence, Charles made public his displeasure, uttering such inane statements as “My soul aches without Miss Dahlgren” and “All is emptiness.”

Luckily for Charles’s aching soul, Lilith appeared for croquet in the afternoon and stayed close to Penelope. Charles circled her like a wolf, keeping George and the other men away. Then she disappeared again.

That evening Charles cornered George outside the dining room as everyone waited to enter. “May I request a few moments of your time tomorrow, my good man?” he said.

Dread churned in George’s gut. “Concerning?”

“Concerning a certain…” Charles faltered and then muttered, “Dear God.”

All the conversation in the room dropped to a hush. George didn’t need to look up to know she was near. Her presence charged the air. When he finally raised his eyes to see, his cock jolted. She wore a garnet-colored dress, cut low to display her creamy shoulders and generous bosom. Her hair was piled high, leaving her neck bare but for one teasing tendril that wound down her neck and rested on her left breast. She gazed about the room from under her lashes, her eyes glittered like a stalking feline.

He wasn’t the only one feeling her powerful magnetism. Every man in the room was caught in its draw. Lilith was in heat.

Her gaze locked onto George and her mouth opened just enough for him to see the tip of her red, wet tongue.

“She’s mine,” murmured Charles. He pushed through the crowd to claim her, but not before George received another powerful flash of her dark eyes, sending a scorching rush of heat to his sex.

At dinner, his mother tried to launch into her tired “ladies in my day” conversation when Lilith cut her off and directly asked the Duke of Cliven, the most powerful man at the table, to tell her about the grand tour of his youth. She laughed at his tales, gently encouraging others to share their travel stories. Now that he knew more of her agile mind, George watched her work in awe. She deftly controlled the conversational current by encouraging everyone to talk. She added little except to smile and praise the words of others, helping them to relax and enjoy themselves. It was masterful diplomatic maneuvering that no book of etiquette could teach.

She turned her head and caught him watching. She hiked the edge of her lip and subtly glanced down. He followed her line of vision to see her spoon atop her knife. Meet me later.

However, after the men had hurriedly finished their port, they returned to the drawing room for an evening of cards only to find Lilith missing.

“Such a shame,” Lady Marylewick said. “She had another one of those headaches that have been plaguing her. Poor thing. We shall miss her.”





Eighteen


With Lilith gone, the other guests wandered off after a few hands. George, stuck in the role of host, had to listen to Lord Harrowsby’s diatribe on patent medicine and healers for hours over whist. At one in the morning, the last guest mercifully went to bed. George headed to his study for quiet and a glass of brandy.

A low fire burned in the grate, folded blankets rested on chairs, fluffed pillows lay on the sofa. A refreshed decanter and clean glass waited by a lamp that was recently filled and lit. These attentive touches did little to combat George’s hollow listlessness.

Even after the horrible episode before luncheon, he couldn’t deny the red-hot anticipation he felt when he thought she was signaling with her spoon and knife to meet her. Then she disappeared, sinking him into a dingy brown despondency.

He reached for a letter from an elderly female relation, forcing himself to get Lilith out of his mind. He heard the quiet grind of a turning knob and lifted his eyes, expecting a servant, but instead Lilith stood in the doorway.

She wore a black coat decorated with glass beads, black lace boots, and a blue hat dominated by a brilliant ostrich feather. She concealed her hands behind her back.

Whatever misadventure she was proposing, he should adamantly refuse. But he couldn’t deny her anything, especially after this afternoon’s embarrassing episode. He rose, launching into his apology. “Miss Dahlgren, I want to apologize for my ungentlemanly behavior with regards to the, um, inappropriate sketch.”

She said nothing, only watched him, an odd glitter in her eye. She uncharacteristically chewed the edge of her lip.

“As your trustee, I have broken a bond of trust between us,” he continued. “But…but dammit, Lilith—” He flung up his arms. “After all we’ve done, you have to know that…that…” He couldn’t finish.

She remained annoyingly quiet, swaying slightly on her feet.

He smoothed his waistcoat and straightened his tie in an effort to compose himself again. “You’re a beautiful woman and I’m a man of natural lusty needs. Yes, I admit, I desire you.” He raised a finger in check. “But I will not act upon these desires in any capacity. You can trust me.”

Finally she spoke. “So I’m safe around you?”

“Yes. Please forgive any dishonorable behavior toward you. I am humbly sorry.”

“Oh.” She gazed down, continuing to chew on her lips. “I’m afraid I cannot easily forgive.” He could scarcely hear her quiet words. “I’m quite upset and it will take a great deal more than mere words to make amends.”

“I’m sorry. What can I do? Tell me.”

“You can draw.” She brought forward the paper and sharpened pencils she had hidden behind her back.

He closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Please,” he said. “Ask me something else. Just not that. Not now.”

“You don’t understand.” She set the paper and pencil on the table beside the chair. “You…”

She didn’t finish, but stared at him with beseeching eyes. What did she want? What was she trying to say?

Her hand slowly rose, past her bosom to her top coat button. She undid it. No gown or that familiar blue robe waited beneath, only luscious skin.

“Don’t!” he cried, realizing her game too late. But the second button had been undone and the garment fell away, exposing her bare body.

Her loveliness hit him like a punch to his chest. He couldn’t breathe but only stare as the firelight danced on her lush curves. “Good God, Lilith,” he finally managed.

He had envisioned her all incorrectly. Her breasts were far rounder than he had drawn them and tipped with pale rose nipples. Her stomach tapered, further accenting her breasts and the generous swell of her thighs. The fire drew out the coppery tones in the auburn curls about her sex.

Her chest rose and fell with nervous breaths as she watched him studying her. Her arms edged up instinctively to cover herself, but she forced them down again. “Draw me.” Her voice quaked.

“Please don’t do this.” He reached for her coat, offering it to her. “Please.”

“But you said I could trust you.”

He gave a rueful chuckle. “I might have lied to myself and you on that account,” he admitted. “I didn’t realize you were going to be the most ravishing lady I have ever beheld. Foolish of me, I know.”

She drew the coat from his hands, only to let it fall to the floor once more. Stepping closer, her nipples grazed his chest. Her vanilla scent exploded in his mind, burning away any rational thoughts.

“Please have mercy, woman,” he cried through his clenched teeth. He tried not to glance at her body, but good God, she was magnificent.

“I’ve never been truly naked before a man,” she said quietly. “You are the first one. I’ve come this far. Don’t turn me away. Draw me. Please.”

He was unable to muster even a weak “no” to the raw vulnerability and longing in her eyes. Words like “duty,” “trust,” “responsibility,” “inappropriate” shouted in his mind. He knew what he was doing was wrong. But he was going to do it anyway.