“What I want is not impossible. Basil and his duchess are blissfully happy.”
His friend sobered and lifted his glass toward Oliver. “I wish you the best of luck…and when you find it, be sure to let me in on the secret.”
“I will,” Oliver promised, suppressing the insidious thought that he might be deluding himself and would never find that which he sought.
Or worse, it might just be another fleeting passion to chase, which would eventually fade, once more returning him to that world painted in shades of gray.
Except, not long ago, though wrapped in the arms of darkness, pleasure had been like a kaleidoscope of burning colors.
I must know who my secret lover is.
Oliver stared into the flickering fireplace, wondering if his mysterious lady would ever forgive him when he uncovered her identity. He had sworn on his honor that he wouldn’t, but how could he allow her to slip through his fingers without truly exploring who she was? And it was the pleasures and the privilege she had granted him that made him want to know her, even though the tight grip of her sheath on his cock was the sweetest torture he had ever endured.
She could be a credible candidate for his wife. He already knew she could meet his needs on a physical and the most elemental level. Even if she were not able to handle all his desires, he would have a wife that was lustful, adventurous, and not overly worried about sensibilities.
What was she like? Bold, brave, quick with her repartee, that much he was certain. He needed to know more. Despite the evidence suggesting they had perfect sexual compatibility, he wouldn’t marry a woman on such a meager basis alone. He was probably a damn fool, for many in the ton married with no true attachment in their hearts. But he wanted more than just an enthusiastic bed partner. He wanted a friend, someone with whom he could share matters of the estates or discuss the debates he had within Parliament, with whom he could take long walks and simply enjoy their marriage.
He didn’t covet beauty, and he could tell even in the dark her curves were ample and delightful. But was she kind? Thoughtful of others beyond her desires? Would she make a suitable marchioness? What were her connections? How in God’s name could he discover her identity and assess if she would make him an appropriate wife?
I don’t yet know how…but I will find you.
Chapter Four
Lily had been sitting on the chair in front of her dressing table for at least half an hour. As a companion to Lady Ambrose, Lily had a room only a few doors from the marchioness. Her ladyship had rung her bell, quite demandingly a few times, but Lily had been unable to respond. It appeared the marchioness had forgotten today was her off day. And Lily was also finding it challenging to exit her room, knowing she may encounter her midnight lover in one of the guests.
I’ve lost all the good sense I possessed.
How could she have allowed a stranger inside her body…and she hadn’t just invited him, she had been another person with him, wild and wanton…a whore. Her behavior had been ill-judged and beyond the pale.
Her throat tightened, and she leaned forward, studying her face in the mirror. Would anyone know she had been debauched? Her lips were red and kiss-swollen. Other than that, she could find no visible signs that she had been thoroughly ravished. Last night, she had fled to her room as if the devil had been on her heels, where she had tidied to the best of her ability with the small pitcher of water by her bedside. Lily had blushed furiously as she cleaned away his seed from her body.
Her hand had lingered across her stomach, and unable to suppress the emotions tearing through her heart, she had wept. Failing to conceive in two marriages had been a blow she was still recovering from. On most days, Lily mourned that she would never have a child in her arms, a daughter with her inquisitiveness, or a sweet boy who reminded her of Papa’s generosity of spirit and quaint handsomeness. Pursuing her passion to be a stellar seamstress sometimes buried the pain, and she quite looked forward to the day when the ache of loss wouldn’t be so sharp.
Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she had missed breakfast. With a sigh, she pinched her cheeks, hoping to bring some color to her face. Who are you? she mouthed silently and then felt silly when the pale woman staring back at her did not burst into speech. Lily was grateful it would not be evident that she had been altered on such a profound level. She shifted, and the tender, well-used flesh between her thighs ached. If not for that tenderness, she would have thought it another of h
er fevered fantasies. But it was all too real. She had been wanton with a man in a dark, secret passage. A horrified giggle slipped from her, and she slapped a hand over her mouth.
Who was the lustful creature that had possessed her body last night? Who was the woman who had begged to be tupped harder? And who was the man who had fulfilled years of pent-up longings?
“Oh God, who is he?”
It was an unrelenting desire to know who was in possession of her diary and her most passionate yearnings. Who was it that had made her unravel so powerfully? She had been exactly as her last husband had described her, a harlot, and he must have been correct in his assessment, for he’d possessed the ear of God. She had married a clergyman because he had been so sweet and amiable. Lily had felt tender sentiments toward him and believed what they had would grow to love. It had not, and she had felt bereft, adrift without a companion she could truly be herself with.
She waited for shame to wrap her in its arms, but no such emotion swelled within her heart. Lily smiled. How delightful to not feel guilty of something so carnal and wonderful.
A knock sounded, and the maid assigned to the marchioness entered. “Mrs. Layton, her ladyship has been ringing for you. I told her I would check if you were in your room.”
Lily stood, smoothing her palms over her dress, though it was wrinkle free. “Thank you, Mary, I shall be right there.”
“She is in the large drawing room, Mrs. Layton,” the maid said with a quick bob, before disappearing down the corridor.
Taking an even breath and trying to find a reasonable excuse as to why she had been unavailable, Lily collected her walking basket from where she’d placed it on the small sofa by the fireplace. She hurried from the room and down the hallway then the winding stairs. She desperately needed to fortify her nerves. Perhaps she could steal into the library for a splash of the marquess’s brandy.
No, she mustn’t keep her ladyship waiting. Lily approached the drawing room and took a steady breath before entering through a door that stood slightly ajar. She faltered when she spied Mr. Barnabas Crauford, the man whom Lady Ambrose was encouraging Lily to take as her third husband.
The man’s face lit up with genuine pleasure at seeing her, and she suppressed her groan. This was the last thing she needed now, the trouble of fending off his unwanted attention.
“My lady,” Lily greeted with a quick curtsy, then turning to the dreaded suitor, she dipped into another curtsy. “Mr. Crauford.”