He smiled, his gaze flickering over her, making her intensely aware of her lack of a robe. “Good evening, Moya. I’m sorry to importune you, but I was not finished speaking.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, more to cover herself than anything else. “Leave.”
Meenie hopped in place, growling louder.
“Oh ho,” Wulf said. “You have company.”
“She’s one of her grace’s pugs.”
“Hmm.” His gaze returned to Lily and flickered over her night rail. “That is lovely. I thought you might wear something less—” He gestured. “How do you say . . . laced?”
“Lacy.” Her robe was hanging over the end of the bed and she snatched it up and drew it on, her cheeks afire. She’d made this night rail herself and was well aware of the thinness of the fabric. She managed to say in what she hoped was a cool tone, “Did you expect to find me dressed in wool?”
He chuckled. “You are fire and ice, Moya, so with you, one never knows. I breathlessly await to see which I hold in my arms.”
She ached to believe him, but . . . no. They were alone, for heaven’s sake, and she was in her night rail and robe, and he was—delicious.
The thought sprung unbidden to her mind and she pressed her hands to her cheeks. “There will be no holding, Wulf. This is highly inappropriate, and if someone discovers you here— I can’t allow that. You must go.”
“I have not yet arrived.” He swung his other leg into the room. “But you are right that I should not be seen. I should close the window so no one knows.”
“That’s not what I mean—”
But he was already closing and latching the window. He sent her a humorous glance over his shoulder. “You shouldn’t leave your windows unlatched, Moya. It’s not safe.”
“How did you manage that climb? The walls are too smooth.”
“I have many talents.”
She had no doubt about that.
Wulf started to walk toward her.
Meenie bounded across the bed in two huge hops. She stood at the edge and growled, teeth gleaming.
Wulf chuckled and walked past Lily to the dog. He picked her up with one hand and held her even with his face. “Enough, little one. I mean you no harm.”
The pug started to growl, but Wulf scratched her ear and her growls stopped. “Ah, you cannot resist a soft touch.”
The pug’s tail began to twirl. A few more scratches and Meenie, her tail wagging so fast that Lily could no longer see it, tried to lick Wulf’s nose. He laughed and placed the dog on the floor. Tail still wagging, the pug sniffed Wulf’s leg and then happily trotted off to curl into a ball on the settee.
Traitor, Lily thought.
“Now I see why you did not latch the window. You have a guard dog.”
“She’s more of a foot warmer.” Lily was tautly aware of him, of the fluid movement of his walk as he approached her, of the power he wore without thinking.
She tugged her robe a bit closer. “Well, Wulf? What do you want? Because if you’ve come for—for kisses, then I shall have to disappoint you.”
“That would be lovely, but, no, Moya.” He held out his hands, splayed wide. “I merely came to speak with you.”
She felt a flicker of disappointment. Good God, I am more lost than I thought. “Say what you wish then, and leave. And make it quick.”
His brow darkened. “The duchess has made it very clear that she intends you for Huntley.”
“Which is what I want, too.” Or what she should want. Lily’s chest tightened as if a weight pressed upon it. She’d never been one to blindly conform to anything. Perhaps her lack of reaction to Huntley was simply her refusal to do as everyone expected.
If that was so, then the best way to move forward was to embrace her path. And who better to declare herself to than the one person who tempted her less-disciplined self from that path? “Wulf, you know my circumstances.”
His expression grew somber. “It is your circumstances that I wish to speak to you about. Moya, you have set upon marriage as your only answer, but you cannot sell yourself in such a way. There must be other avenues you have not yet explored.”
“I’ve looked for other answers and there are none.”
“If you wished to, you would find another path.”
“Do you think I would throw myself upon the marriage altar just to amuse myself? There’s nothing else I can do.”
“Can you not speak to the holder of this debt? Tell him your situation?”
“There is only one thing that the man who holds our debt would accept in exchange for it, and that is marriage to my sister.”
Wulf’s expression darkened. “Who is this man?”
“An older neighbor who wants a young wife to give him children.”
“If he just wished for a young wife, then he could have asked for you.” Wulf rubbed his chin. “So it is not just a wife he wishes for, but your sister. He cares for her.”
“He couldn’t care for her, or he wouldn’t have demanded the repayment of the loan. She stands to lose her home and will be devastated. Besides, he’s so much older than Dahlia and he’s grumpy and sarcastic. He’s never said a nice thing to anyone, and he’s just wretched. He would make her wretched. I couldn’t allow it.”
“Hmm. And Dahlia? What does she think of this match?”
“She’s a very generous soul. She would marry him instantly, without thinking it through, only to regret it later. I can’t have that.”
“So instead, you offer yourself as a sacrifice and will marry into a loveless union.”
“It won’t be loveless.”
“Oh, Moya. You lie.” He moved closer, the faint scent of his cologne wrapping about her and making her knees quiver.
She had to fight the urge to lean toward him. With just one step, she would be in his arms. She had to gulp some air before she could speak. “I am not lying.”
“You do not know that you are lying, but you are. You will not love Huntley.” Wulf drew a finger across her cheek, leaving a trail of heat. “Do you know how I know?”
An intelligent woman wouldn’t ask. An intelligent woman would demand he leave her bedchamber. A really intelligent woman would turn and run from the room, praying to forget the feeling his touch was causing.
Lily raised her gaze to his and asked in a breathless voice, “How do you know?”
He bent closer, his deep voice brushing her ear. “From the taste of your kisses, Moya. No woman who cares for another man could kiss me in such a way.”
She shivered and he straightened, his gaze caressing her as surely if he’d used his hands.
Lily gathered her wits. “No. You are wrong,” she said stubbornly. “I will love my husband.” Even if it kills me.
“You will try, I do not doubt that. But love cannot be ordered about like your little dog, brought to heel with a few pats and the promise of some scraps from the table. Love happens where you least expect, like a strike of lightning.”
“I refuse to accept that; I will plan things so that it succeeds.”
His shook his head. “You stubborn, stubborn woman. Why will you not listen to me?”
“Because I have no reason to. Besides, why do you think you know more about love than me? Have you ever been in love? I mean really in love?”
“Once.”
The way his deep voice caressed the word made her gaze jerk to his, and something bright and bitter coursed through her. Whoever had won his love, Lily had no doubt that it was returned. How could it not be?
“I hope you were very happy.” Her words sounded hollow to her own ears.
He lifted her thick braid from her shoulder and caressed it. “We are not yet happy, Moya, but we will be one day. I promise you that.”
She stared up at him, comprehension dawning. “You mean me.”
He slipped her braid through his fingers. “I have loved you since the day I first saw you.”
“Stop.” Lily stepped away, pulling her braid free. “Th
is is not love.”
“I know what it is,” he said stubbornly.
She gave a shaky laugh. “Love doesn’t happen like this. It grows slowly. What you feel is a far more simple emotion: desire.”
“No. It is love.”
He was like a huge mountain, calm and immovable.
“Have you been in love so many times that you know it so quickly?”
“No. I’ve never been in love before because I didn’t know you. But desire? That I have tasted many, many times.”
“How many?” It was a foolish question, but she couldn’t help it.
His gaze grew guarded. “When I was young, I followed my desires as all young men do.”
She wet her lips. “So would you say . . . ten times?” Good God, why am I asking?
“Much more.” He caught sight of her face and added a hasty “Perhaps.”
“How many more?”
“It does not matter. What matters is that I know that what I feel for you is much more than mere desire.”
She realized that her hands had somehow curled into fists. She could not deny that there was an attraction between her and the prince, but that was all. There was nothing to grow love upon. He might think that their lust—which was stronger than anything she’d ever imagined—was more, but she knew better. She could feel the tug that flowed between them, the whisper of desire that made her breasts swell and her heart flutter, the ache that made her restless. She wanted him, desired him, lusted for him. And he lusted for her.
And that was all they had. All they would ever have.
All too soon, it would be gone. They would part and these few moments would be all they had left. She stepped forward, closing the space between them, her chest lightly brushing his. Instantly he sucked in his breath, his eyes gleaming. He was so close that she was enveloped in the heat of his body.
“We’re standing far too close,” she managed to say, her voice husky even to her own ears.
“I will not touch you unless you wish me to, but, oh, what you do to me.”
Because this is lust. She placed her hand on his chest. His heart thudded against her fingertips, her heart answering it beat for beat.
He slipped an arm about her waist, the weight of it as familiar as if he’d done it a million times before. “I long for more, Moya. With you, I always long for more.”
Oh, how she longed, too. And then, not knowing when or how, she was touching him, sliding her hands up his chest, her fingers brushing the fine lawn of his shirt.
Wulf moaned her name and bent, his hands tightening about her waist as he lifted her from her feet and pressed her to him. The feel of her soft breasts against his chest captivated him, and already stiff and aching, he captured her mouth with his.
She melted to him, twining her arms about his neck, gasping when his hands slid to cup her behind. His hands curled about her, the feel of her fanning his passion even higher.
Then somehow they were on her bed as he thrust his tongue between her lips, teasing soft gasps and moans from her. She grasped his shirt and pulled him closer, writhing to get impossibly closer. While he kissed her, his hands never stopped, tugging open her robe, pushing aside the neckline of her night rail. He trailed kisses over her neck, to the delicate hollows of her shoulders. She pressed against him and he slid a hand to her breast. She moaned and he gently swirled his palm over her, her nipple tightening.
Encouraged, he pushed her gown aside, gazing down at her exposed breasts. They were small, the nipples rosy and pink. He’d never seen more beautiful breasts and he bent to kiss each one, flicking his tongue over her nipples until she arched against him.
Wulf’s body ached with the need for more. As he took her nipple into his mouth and laved it with his tongue, he slid a hand over her hip, her thigh, down to the bottom of her filmy skirt. Her legs parted, her hands roaming up over his shoulder to rake through his hair. Wulf slid his hand from the inside of her ankle to her knee, the warm silk of her skin beneath his fingers.
She gasped against his mouth and, as his hand slid upward, opened for him, her kisses growing more frantic. God, he was aflame, his cock rigid with need. But this moment wasn’t about him. He had to show her that they belonged to one another, that she belonged to him. He trailed his fingers over her inner thigh to her most secret center.
Her eyes flew open as he drew his fingers across her mound. “Wulf,” she gasped, and grasped his wrist.
It took every ounce of strength he possessed, but he froze, his breath tight in his chest. “Moya,” he whispered. “Please.”
Her silver gaze locked with his, and then slowly, ever so slowly, she released his wrist.
Nineteen
From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe Love, the grandest passion of all, is dangerous, desperate, and delicious.
Ohhh, that’s quite good, if I say so myself. I shall have Lady Charlotte embroider it upon some pillows and scatter them about the sitting room. Perhaps they will inspire someone.
At Lily’s capitulation, Wulf kissed her deeply as he trailed his fingers over her once again. She gasped and willingly opened for him, and he stroked her yet again, then again, each time increasing the pressure. Each touch made her writhe and moan, her hands grasping his shirt, his coat, tugging and pulling as, slick with want, she pressed against his fingers.
He kissed her lips, her chin, the delicate line of her jaw to her ear. In his native tongue, he murmured his love into her ear, told her how beautiful he found her, begged her to love him, too.
She grasped his shoulders, gasped and arched, her eyes closing as waves of pleasure washed though her. Though it took every bit of strength he had, Wulf subdued his own desires, unable to look away from the beauty of her raw reaction. God, she is magnificent. I would capture this moment and hold it forever.
But like all pleasure, it was over too soon. She collapsed against the sheets, a faint sheen of perspiration on her brow, her breathing ragged. After a moment, she covered her eyes, her body still shivering under his fingers. He carefully slid his hand back down her leg, returning her skirts to a more modest position before he gathered her close, his chin resting on her head, her cheek pressed to his chest.
Slowly Lily’s breathing returned to normal. She finally took one last, shuddering sigh, then dropped her hands from her face, moving away from him as she did so.
Wulf lifted up on one elbow so he could see her better. “I knew from the moment I saw you that you are a passionate woman. I was not wrong.”
“I never thought—” She shook her head wordlessly.
He smiled and ran a finger along her long braid. It was curved across her pillow, long strands of strawberry-blond hair now free from the constricting ribbon and curling across the sheets like the froth of a wave.
Her liquid-silver gaze found his. “I didn’t know that lust could be so keen, so wild.”
Her words made him frown. “That wasn’t just lust, Moya. Lust will give you pleasure, true, but it doesn’t . . .” He struggled to find the words. “It doesn’t keep you warm after.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It leaves the second your passions are released. Love never leaves—even when you are spent and tired and wish only to sleep.” He took her hand and pressed it to his chest. “Do you feel that, Moya? With each beat, I think of you. I want you. I dream of you. I—”
She rolled away, scooting off the bed so quickly that he was left looking at the spot where she’d just been.
He sighed. “You still do not understand.”
She adjusted her gown and belted her robe tightly. “I won’t hear any more talk about love, Wulf. You cannot love me. It’s impossible.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, his heart growing heavier with each word. “Oh, Moya, you frustrate me.”
“And you frustrate me.” She crossed her arms over her chest and whirled away, pacing a short distance and then coming back. “I can’t keep fanning this fire between us and still continue to develop my feeli
ngs for Huntley.”
“Then don’t see Huntley.”
“Wulf, please try to understand. The earl is a good man. A kind man. Someone who will be just and honorable to his wife and family.” She gestured, an almost hopeless quality to it. “He’s exhibited all of those qualities and more.”
“But you do not love him.”
“It takes time to love someone. Here is where you and I differ. You think love is one moment, one grand feeling. But while I want that grand feeling, I want more, too. I want someone who will be there for me not just when the sun is shining and the flowers are in bloom, but someone who will fight at my side through the dark days.”
He grabbed her hand and tugged her to him until she stood between his legs. He took her face between his hands and looked into her eyes. “I am that man. Give me that chance.”
Her thick lashes slid down and she grasped his wrists and pulled his hands from her face. “No. We have passion, I’ll admit that. I lust for you every time I see you.”
“That is part of true love: to want someone, to dream of tasting their lips, of touching their—”
“No!” She broke away again, moving well out of reach. “You must stop this. You must.” Her eyes pooled with tears. “You will seduce me, and I will let you, for I have no strength over myself where you are concerned, and all that I work for, all I must do, will be lost! My family will suffer, Wulf. I cannot allow that to happen. Do you understand?”
He felt as if the weight of the world had just dropped upon his shoulders. He’d thought that if he could just show her how rich the passion between them was, how full and joyous, that she’d realize how precious and rare the connection that joined them was.
Instead she saw that connection as a chain, one that had to be broken. “I do not wish you to betray your family, Moya. I would never ask that.”
“Then what do you ask?”
“For your trust. Trust that together, we can solve these problems, find a way to help your family. Together we can—”
“No. Not together. I am alone in this, Wulf. I know what I must do. I may not feel the things for Huntley that I feel for you, but I will. I will make it so.”