She faltered as she gripped the doorknob.
He frowned at the tension that sifted through her.
His lover pivoted on her heel to face him. “You are the Marquess of Ambrose. I am fully aware of what your duty to your title means. I’ll not remain your mistress once you’re married,” she said with a proud tilt of her chin.
“I would not dishonor my wife so.” Sentiments he had echoed for years now felt hollow to him. Lily Layton was a woman he wanted to know. He wanted to discover every hidden depth behind those lively intelligent eyes. His instincts warned him uncovering all of her would likely take him a lifetime. Eventually, he would select a bride.
Denial roiled within him. The very notion of giving up Lily left a bitter taste in his mouth. He would simply have to persevere when the time came. Except, Oliver wasn’t sure he’d prove up to the task.
…
London was overcast, the atmosphere dreary and uninspiring. The streets were noisy, the bricked buildings grimy, and the scent wafting across the Thames was decidedly unpleasant. Lily smiled, for she wouldn’t trade being in London at this very moment for anything in the world. The marquess’s carriage rumbled over the cobbled road, taking her to High Holborn, where she was to meet with Oliver and his solicitor.
They had been in town now for three days, and she had been shocked at the efficiency with which he got things done. And how seamlessly things were achieved when one had money to spend without reservation. Lily had spent the day with several cloth merchants and had made a sizeable dent in her savings to purchase several bolts of muslin, calico, silk, and lace. She would start by making several elegant dresses for herself with her own unique flare. To secure the patronage she was hoping for, dressing modestly and unfashionably was not the way to see it done. She had some of the latest patterns from Paris and Venice, and ideas were already swirling in her head about some designs. She was eager to start sketching and cutting tonight. A smile tugged at her lips. But not before, of course, indulging in passion with her lover.
After dining together for the last few nights, he would sweep her into his arms, ravishing her with an intense passion that was sometimes frightening. They would talk for an hour or more before Oliver slipped away from her to attend some ball or stop in at his club. He would return before daybreak and make love with her again before succumbing to sleep. It was a pattern she found delightful, and one she could get used to. Except by next week, she should be in a house with her own servants and carriage. Lily could never have imagined that she, a simple country maid, would become the lover of a powerful lord. At times, when she lay atop him, replete and exhausted, a strange sensation would grip her. She fancied she saw a similar startled recognition in his gaze.
The carriage rolled to a halt, and a footman lowered the steps and assisted her down. She looked around at the lines of shops flanking each side of the road, anticipation blasting through her heart. The door to a shop on the left opened, and Oliver strolled out, appearing too wonderful in his blue superfine jacket, light brown breeches, and a top hat.
She went to him and clung to the arm he held out to her as they entered the shop. It was glorious. Far larger than she had anticipated, with several rooms. There was a sitting area at the front and another fitting area toward the back. There was a storeroom, and a workroom above with several shelves and cabinets where she would be able to store her work materials. Lily was lost in her thoughts as she went through the rooms, mentally arranging everything to suit her purpose. This was more than she had ever dreamed of.
A lump grew in her throat, and she turned to him. “Thank you, my lord, I do not know how I will ever be able to repay your kindness.”
He looked over at her, lifting a brow. “With twenty percent.”
Lily grinned, then stepped to him and kissed his lips.
The solicitor flushed and quickly diverted his gaze.
“I’ve arranged for workers to be at your command for the rest of the week to organize and decorate the rooms however you want. I’ve also set up several accounts with merchants in town and drafted a bank note for two thousand pounds.” Oliver turned to the solicitor with his arms around Lily’s waist.
“Mr. Hodges.”
The man’s spine snapped straight. “Yes, my lord?”
“Whatever Mrs. Layton desires, see it done. You have my full approval to exceed that sum if the lady wishes.”
Mr. Hodges bowed, his curious gaze flicking to her discreetly, then back to the marquess. “Yes, my lord.”
Oliver faced Lily. “We’ve been invited to a dinner party tonight at the Duke and Duchess of Basil’s home in Grosvenor Square.”
Lily felt faint. “We?”
“Yes, my sweet. The duke, Radbourne, and I are very close friends. I do not know a finer man.”
Somehow that assurance did little to assuage Lily’s apprehension. “And they know…they know I am your lover?”
If he sensed any of her discomfort, he gave no indication.
“Yes.”
He clearly saw no issue with her meeting dukes and duchesses. Good heavens. Her sister would not believe Lily’s tale. She smiled despite her anxiety. “And they want to meet me? A woman without any respectable connections?”
Oliver tucked behind her ear an errant lock of her hair that had escaped the confine of her bonnet. “You are a wonderful woman, Lily Layton. My friends want to meet the woman who seems to have captivated my senses, and I am sure they will like you.”
The shop door closed, and she was startled to realize Mr. Hodges had slipped away. Lily shifted closer to Oliver, wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him tightly.
“Are you well?” he demanded gruffly, resting his chin atop her bonnet.