“Whatever can I do to make up for it?” She feigned horror. “Please don’t get me in trouble with the prime minister.” She rose to her tiptoes and brushed his lips with hers. “Will that make it better?”
“Hardly.” In a quick motion, he pulled the drawings from her hands, tossed them onto the bench.
“George, no—ah!” He lifted her from the ground and slid her on his lap as he sat.
“People could see!” she cried, but didn’t stop him when he raised her skirts to anchor her thighs around him. Her crinoline formed a ridiculous humplike circle behind her.
“I expect a little more spirit from the daring Lilith Dahlgren, especially when we are alone.” He kissed the fabric covering her nipple. Damn the gown and corset. She could barely feel him. He couldn’t tease and lap as she loved.
“Who is this George?” She tried to pull her skirts over her folded crinoline. “What have I created?”
“Do you really want to know?” He drew her closer still until her sex, exposed through the slit in her pantalets, met his erection straining against his trousers.
“Hmm, what shall I do?” she teased.
“I think you know.”
Their hands met as they undid his trouser buttons. He kissed her chin and neck. She giggled, rose up, and then sank onto him. How dangerous and reckless, yet how perfect and natural she felt in union with him in a garden. He and she were no better than the birds and rabbits making uninhibited, unabashed love. She held his face between her hands and kissed his lips as she rocked against him.
She wished she could stop time from moving forward. No chapters to be written, no past to haunt, or fear to fester in her heart. Only this moment lasting forever.
“Lilith,” he murmured and released into her. She continued to hold him, feeling his heart beat against her breast. Yet she still couldn’t brush away the scary thoughts. Your life can’t be this wonderful. Something terrible has to happen and take it all away again.
“Should we make an announcement tonight?” He kissed her earlobe.
Instinctively she cried, “No.” She could feel his muscles relax and knew she had given the right answer.
“I think it would be too much for your mother,” she explained. “We must break the news to her slowly, giving her room to scream and not be heard. And let us resolve the Stamp Duty Extension Bill issue.”
“We mustn’t wait too long, because I won’t keep away from you. And I don’t want you to give birth to one of those shockingly premature babies which comes out of its mama’s womb all chubby and bouncing.”
The idea of having his children, all lovely artists like their papa, moistened her eyes. She wiped the tears away before they could fall.
“What’s wrong?” he asked gently.
“I’m so happy. And that scares me.”
“Hush, now.” He started to kiss her just as they heard voices coming from the other side of the wall. They sprang apart and quickly smoothed each other’s clothes.
Lilith had to hurry into the house through the servants’ entrance. Despite her and George’s efforts, her poor skirt was wrinkled in the most damning fashion that shouted I’ve been tupping in the garden!
In her chamber, the muse graced Lilith with lovely, flowing words. Poetry in prose. Her pen flew across the lines of The Redemption of the Sultan.
“Muse, I should make love in the garden more often,” she concluded.
George took the grand stairs to the ballroom. Not twenty-four hours ago, he would have been filled with that same old weary dread. He hadn’t realized how alive yet dead he had been until Lilith awoke him. At the end of this night, she would fold him into her arms again and whisper that she loved him and how wonderful he was.
He only had to draw for her.
He merely had to be himself.
Yet “himself” felt like a whole new man whom he hardly knew. Now everything was brilliant colors. The vibrancy of the dust sparkling in the light streaming from the window, the loneliness of the cup against the saucer, the optimism of the pink-budded rosebush. It was all silly and the old George would have dismissed it, but this kind of foolishness made Lilith smile that tender smile which bathed him like clean rain.
He marveled that although he had made love to her all through the night and again not a few hours ago in the garden, he hungered afresh for her. The more he loved her, the more he desired her. He would unravel one mystery of her, only to find another waiting inside. He had never been so profoundly enthralled by a woman.
He was relieved that she didn’t want to announce their engagement tonight. He didn’t want his newfound joy tarnished by exposure. He wanted to keep it a beautiful secret for as long as he could.
He stepped into the grand hall where the servants were busy shifting about large flower arrangements and the orchestra tuned their instruments. Lord Charles leaned against the wall, smoking and watching the activity without any emotion. George refrained from saying that he didn’t appreciate smoking outside of the smoking parlor.
“The extension of the stamp duty.” Charles gazed at George through a swirl of smoke. “I’m going to frame the discussion to the House of Commons leaders as thus: We are seeking this extension to relieve the income tax of those who shoulder the greatest burden of financing this country. The great peers and businessmen, to whom we owe the prosperity of this great nation, deserve a reprieve for their sacrifices.”
“I believe you are making the correct decision for this country and her—”
“Yes, yes.” Charles made a shooing gesture. “I have given you what you wanted and now you must give me what I want in return.”
George’s belly tightened. He knew what Charles desired. This wasn’t the conversation he wanted to have at this delicate juncture.
Charles turned and strolled into the parlor opposite the ballroom, letting George follow.
Charles picked up a decanter from the side table. He poured two glasses and handed George one. Then he crossed to the sofa, sat, and stretched one arm along the back. “I want her,” he said. “To honor and cherish till death do us part. And don’t bother me with such trivial things as a dowry.”
“Are you speaking of Miss Dahlgren?”
Charles didn’t answer but only looked at him, head cocked, and eyes that said “don’t toy with me.”
George drank his brandy, buying himself some time to think. “I’m afraid Miss Dahlgren’s affections are elsewhere engaged,” he said after an interval.
“I don’t believe you. She has done nothing but wildly flirt with me all week.”
George stifled his smirk with another sip. The poor man was so sure of his romantic prowess that he had misinterpreted Lilith’s attempts to hold him at bay. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
“Let me talk to her.”
“I would not advise that.”
Charles bolted to his feet, his muscles corded with anger. “I see. You’ve always held a grudge against me for some mere boyish pranks and now I must pay.” He opened his arms and bowed. “Very well, I’m sorry for my past transgressions. I was wrong. Please forgive me. Now I’ve conceded my vote and some of my pride. Concede your ward.”
“I’m afraid you’ve misread the situation.”
“Have I? Who would provide for her better? Tell me, old chappie. Despite her dazzling charm, she has the faintest claim to your family’s great honor and name. She is, in fact, far beneath me by society’s measure.”
George crushed his molars together, feeling the primitive urge to smash Charles’s handsome face for insulting his future wife.
Charles stuck to his dangerous course. “You’re hurting Lilith by your own obstinacy and resentment.”
“I’m sorry,” George said again, this time with gritty menace.
“No, I’m sorry.” Charles tossed his cigarette into the fire. “I wanted to be honorable about this for your sake, ask your permission and what not, but Lilith will do as she desires. She answers to the true call of her heart. I know her.”
“I beg to differ. You’ve only known her a few weeks at most. Lilith is not who you think she is.”
“I have known Lilith six months at least. And I have heard about her for almost a decade now. I know her mind, her imagination, and the landscape of her heart.”
Lord Charles refused to lose gracefully. George flung up his arm. “So, you’ve carried on a clandestine relationship with her that even she doesn’t know about?”
“Your sad attempt at satire belittles you. You are not that clever. Don’t assume you know this situation.” Charles approached, putting a thumb’s length between them. “Think of it as some clan bride barter. Lilith makes the peace between us. I’m the best man for her, despite how you dislike me.”
George struggled to tamp down his rage. He flexed his fingers to keep them from curling into a fist. The political issues at stake were far bigger than two raging men. But a massive wave, rolling and foaming with years of anger, was building inside George, ready to crash.
“Give her to me,” Charles said. “Or I’ll steal her away.”
“Lilith is already engaged,” George admitted.