The Desire Series: The Complete Set: Desire

Hint of Desire

An Enigmatic Duke...

Arthur Alexander DeWolf, the eighth Duke of Westlake, lacks for nothing in life... except a woman who will stir his blood for longer than one night. Until fate steps in on his morning ride and he stumbles across Lily St. Aubin, Countess of Worthington.

A Desperate Young Woman...

It is on the worst day of her life that Lily meets the imperious duke. Helpless and unable to resist, she has no choice but to trust that this dangerously handsome man will protect her and newborn son. But, as trust begins to grow between them, danger lurks ever closer... danger that could destroy Lily.  And their newfound love.

Price of Desire

A Military Hero and a Despairing Wife...

Captain Wulf Huntington and Rose, Lady Burberry, become lost in pleasure on an anonymous afternoon and evening caught in time.

But reality intrudes sooner than either thought possible when both learn the other’s true identity and all the reasons why their love cannot be. He must return to military life and she to the only life she knows.

Until...

Years pass and now the widowed Rose seeks another husband. At a country house party organized to meet eligible men, an angry Wulf intrudes. He wants answers from Rose, answers she is not willing to give. Will past betrayals and secrets keep the lovers apart or will they come to embrace a love for all time?

Taste of Desire

A dangerously handsome marquess...

Tristan, Marquess of Wimberley, believes he will never succumb to love. Though his closest friends have married, he is determined that he never will. But not for a moment had he envisioned the entrance of a lovely and innocent lady into his jaded life.  A lady who desperately needs him.

A young woman at the end of her rope... 

Tristan has the solution to Miss Marguerite Wilkes’ problem: They will marry. But, even while the two grow closer, obstacles and secrets intervene that could derail their growing trust. Will they overcome the impediments between them and together embrace a rare and passionate love?

Table of Contents

Hint of Desire

Price of Desire

Taste of Desire

––––––––

Hint of Desire

An Enigmatic Duke...

Arthur Alexander DeWolf, the eighth Duke of Westlake, lacks for nothing in life... except a woman who will stir his blood for longer than one night. Until fate steps in on his morning ride and he stumbles across Lily St. Aubin, Countess of Worthington.

A Desperate Young Woman...

It is on the worst day of her life that Lily meets the imperious duke. Helpless and unable to resist, she has no choice but to trust that this dangerously handsome man will protect her and newborn son. But, as trust begins to grow between them, danger lurks ever closer... danger that could destroy Lily.  And their newfound love.

Hint of Desire

By

Lavinia Kent

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright ©2012 by Lavinia Klein

Cover design ©Victoria Sheer

Formatting by Anessa Books

All rights reserved.  Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

To Elaine, Marsha, Mary, Sandy, and Yvonne, who all helped make this possible.

Contents

Chapter One: Stars sparkled over quiet lawns

Chapter Two: They were safe

Chapter Three: The silence grew as the doctor’s words sank in.

Chapter Four: Westlake found himself cursing under his breath

Chapter Five: Dusk settled over the house as Arthur returned from his meanderings.

Chapter Six: "Oh, my lady, what happened to your hand?

Chapter Seven: Of all the stupid, infantile — how...what could you possibly — ?

Chapter Eight: Arthur’s mind spun like the ripples on the ornamental fishpond before him.

Chapter Nine: "Wife—to—be?" It came out as a soft, sweet, feminine squeak.

Chapter Ten: Chin up, shoulders back. After two weeks you should have mastered this.

Chapter Eleven: The wedding morning arrived too soon.

Chapter Twelve: Arthur lay stunned as he watched Lily’s eyelids drift closed.

Chapter Thirteen: Lily pounded the needle into her embroidery.

Chapter Fourteen: Wake up, your grace you must wake up.

Chapter Fifteen: Lily stood at the top of the long stairway and looked down the sleek baluster.

Chapter Sixteen: Lily changed her dress and headed downstairs

Chapter Seventeen: His heart pounding, Arthur dived across the ice, eager to reach her

Chapter Eighteen: As she spoke the dreaded words that began her tale, Lily felt her soul lighten.

Chapter Nineteen: Lily wished she could sneak down to breakfast.

Chapter Twenty: How was it possible that he kept missing the man?

Chapter Twenty–One: She had survived the first hurdle.

Chapter Twenty–Two: Lily stepped back, tripping on her long skirts.

Chapter One

Cornwall, 1814

Stars sparkled over quiet lawns. Waves lapped at the feet of steep cliffs. Lily St. Aubin, Countess of Worthington, stood still and silent. The rocks bit at her bare feet, but she did not gaze down. Her aching eyes locked across the billowing surface of the dark ocean. A single tear slipped down her reddened cheek and over her swollen lips, the salt stinging their cracked surface. She brushed at it with a limp hand before pulling her wrapper tight about her.

Lily shivered. She’d never been outside in her nightclothes before. The thin cotton offered little defense against the sudden nighttime chill, even on a mild September evening. Becoming aware of the rough pebbles beneath her bare feet, she shifted back and forth. She knew she had to look, if only she could find the courage. Letting her arms fall to her sides, she took one step nearer to the cliffs. The ground grew rougher, and she stumbled.

Bending awkwardly, she settled onto her knees, the sharp stones biting into her tender skin. The ground was damp; it soaked through her wrapper and shift. She balanced forward on her hands and peered down through the darkness toward the bottom of the cliffs. The barest glint of the white lawn shirt shone in the pale moonlight.

Ignoring the pain in her back and the ungainliness of her position, she leaned further, attempting to get a clearer view. Her neck and shoulders strained and her lower back settled into its accustomed ache as she tried to make out the beach below.

Suddenly, as if in answer to an unspoken command, the patchy clouds cleared and the moon beamed forth unhindered.

My God.  Lily wasn’t sure whether a prayer or a curse had sprung from her lips.

Sprawled on the rocks below lay Geoffrey Robert St. Aubin, third Earl of Worthington, Lord of Marclyffe, Lily’s husband of one year. His head had split like a melon, and what remained of it twisted from his neck at an awkward angle. Even in the moonlight, Lily could not mistake the sheen of blood that pooled about his head. Worthington was dead. As the moon retreated again behind the clouds, the image of her husband remained frozen in Lily’s mind.

She inched back from the cliffs and pushed back to her knees. Her lower back screamed from the uncomfortable shift in position, and nagging pains shot down her left leg. She forced herself to stand up, her body stiff and clumsy. She stumbled with the effort but managed to right herself. Her dull gaze moved back to the dark horizon as she tugged a thin gold circlet from her trembling finger. A shudder of relief passed through her as she let the ring slip through icy fingers to bounce along the rocks below.

One hand moved to rub her aching back, while the other rested protectively on her swollen abdomen. The sharp ripple across her belly awoke her from her daze.

The ripple came again and she pushed back against it. The baby kicked restlessly, especially late at night. It had been months since she’d slept decently. Her hands traced the limbs of the small body caught within her flesh, the small body of her child, her husband’s child.  The child of the man she had just sent tumbling over the edge of the steep outcropping to his death.

It was Lily’s seventeenth birthday.

~~~

Arthur Alexander DeWolf, the eighth Duke of Brisbane, stretched languorously and rolled onto his belly. Despite the immensity of the bed, he was alone, not an unusual circumstance of late. It had been months since he’d retired his last mistress, and he had not managed to rouse interest in finding another. Pushing up on an elbow, he glared at the sun breaking over the trees. Even as shots of vibrant orange and crimson pierced the clouds, he buried his head beneath the pile of thick down pillows.

It was useless. Tossing a pillow aside, he rose to dress. Riding wouldn’t cure him of his ennui, but it would be better than lying abed, ruminating on the emptiness of life. He wanted for nothing; therefore he lacked only what had power to stir his blood.

Arthur yanked one tall riding boot onto his leg. He cursed under his breath as his foot stuck, then laughed ruefully. He was unused to making do without his valet. Arthur had awakened at least an hour earlier than usual, and Mathers had not yet made his appearance. Calling for him would simply be too much bother.

Dressed and ready, he strode down the corridor to the wide flight of stairs that cascaded down to the entrance hall. While Blythemoor, which he hadn’t visited in a decade, was smaller than the ducal seat, its grand entry had always been his favorite. Stopping at the middle of the wide flight, he shot one ironic glance at the glowering portrait of his father. The seventh duke gazed from the canvas as if he were still Lord of all he surveyed. Even here, in what had been his mother’s home and sanctuary, his father had ruled with a glance. Now Arthur ran the estates just as his father had drummed into him to do; so perhaps the seventh duke really did still reign.

Arthur escaped into the early morning sunshine and made for the stables. Stopping at the wood fencing, he considered how his life had changed in the eight years he’d been Brisbane. His every need was gratified before he had time even to form the thought. Only a glimpse of his presence was required to set people hopping to his will. Before he’d succeeded to the title, he might have had to ask for Ganesh to be saddled. Now, a glance sufficed.

No wonder life bored him. In his younger days, he’d run through London with his friends, Tris and Wulf, pursuing pleasure and vice with a single–minded determination, until he’d had his fill. Conquest had become too easy. For nearly a decade since, he’d concentrated his energies on managing his estates, but now they almost ran themselves.

Marriage remained, but the thought of some young chit, barely out of the schoolroom, made his stomach churn. Respectable women all seemed cast from the same mold – one he wished they’d break. He sighed and flexed his shoulders, loosening the tight muscles that knotted his neck.

His aunt, Lady Smythe–Burke, kept making broad comments about heirs and familial duty, and he knew that the next time he saw her she’d have several neighbors’ daughters picked out for his approval. His shoulders tensed again. Only caution, and force of will, would prevent his being married before the introductions were complete. He’d do his duty soon, but he’d do the choosing himself. Somewhere, surely there must be a lady of good family, respectable and staid, who could speak of something besides bonnets and love poems.

Swearing, he swung up onto the coal black stallion and let Ganesh pick up a dangerous pace. He gave Ganesh his head, and the horse galloped down the lane towards field and forest. He set himself low over the steed’s massive back as they cleared hedges and gullies. Wind whipped Arthur’s hair flat against his head, and sweat had no time to build before it was wicked away by the speed with which horse and rider flew. For a moment he was free. The weight of responsibility could not follow him here.

Finally, sensing the weariness of the beast beneath him, Arthur drew up. He sat still in the saddle, the stallion’s huge ribs expanding and contracting with each breath. After a moment, he turned the horse toward the wood that ran from his estate to the neighboring property.

The sun had risen fully now, and perspiration trickled down his brow, tickling at his collar. He loosened the damp cotton from around his throat. Ganesh had also worked up a heavy lather and stepped fast, eager for the rill he knew lay a few paces ahead.

Something pricked at the edge of his awareness. He turned back to survey the broad meadow behind them. Only the sway of the golden grass and a gull gliding the high winds met his gaze. The bird gave a shrill cry. Nothing was amiss. He turned back towards the forest.

Sunlight dappled through leaves that were starting to gather the faintest tinge of color. Water bubbled in the background. He was sure he’d seen something –– but what?  His gaze swept the landscape again. Nothing. His imagination must be overactive. Perhaps the sleeplessness of the night before had come home to roost.

He swung to the ground to avoid the lower–hanging branches and led Ganesh deeper into the woods, towards the creek. He played with the idea of splashing his own face, but here, away from the sun, his damp flesh cooled rapidly. Just as he sat on the bank, he heard a cry, indistinguishable at first from the shrill calling of the gulls. The second call was louder –– definitely human.

Turning, he caught a movement in the trees across the glade. A woman stumbled forward, dark curls swirling loose about her head and arms. She lurched on, her eyes locked on some distant point. His eyes narrowed in observation. Her clothing was ripped, the white gown hanging low about her shoulders.

He stepped forward, ready to offer assistance, but years of training slowed him. No proper woman would wander about the countryside in such deshabille.  Still, he had a duty.

He strode forward, intent on getting her to the village before she could cause damage, or come to harm. As that thought crossed his mind, he became aware of the delicate pink toes peeking out beneath the hem.

The woman was barefoot.

Madam, who are you?  Why are you here?  The questions came out rather more abruptly than he had intended. The thought struck him again; she was barefoot.

Her wide blue eyes turned and flashed, but the woman did not respond.

Answer me.

His tone was peremptory. This time her eyes didn’t even turn in his direction as she continued to hobble forward.

Arthur didn’t care if she was daft. He expected some respect, an answer at the very least. Striding towards her, he pushed the undergrowth aside. He grabbed her arm, drawing her towards him. Good God, she was small!  Lifting her proved no more difficult than moving a child.

As he pulled the woman toward him, twigs caught at the lace that edged her gown, drawing it tight across her body. It outlined a hugely distended belly that moved of its own accord. He dropped her arm and stepped back, shocked, as her legs collapsed beneath her. And before he could move, she fell to the ground, her clear blue eyes rising to meet his.

He stood frozen. She doubled over, her arms wrapping about her knees as another shrill cry left her cracked lips. Pain consumed her dirty and distorted face. He fell to his knees beside her as she arched forward in agony. Thin fingers reached out and gripped his wrists.

He searched his mind, in vain. He, who was prepared for everything, was unprepared to help this peculiar woman deliver her child into his lap. Pushing her hands away, he regained his feet. As he watched, another ripple moved across the woman’s body, causing her to writhe again in anguish. Her unfocused eyes stared up at him, unseeing, but still beseeching.

Assume command — be calm — remain wholly detached.  His father’s maxim flashed through Arthur’s mind as he edged back toward his mount.

Stay here. I’ll fetch a midwife. 

He would get help, find a more suitable person to aid her. He backed towards his horse, but his eyes remained fixed on the slight, swollen figure.

Her gaze lowered to the ground again, breaking the bond between them. Arthur turned away to swing onto the saddle. Risking one last glance at the woman, he saw her push herself to her elbows and place her knees beneath her. The pain passed, and she lurched to her feet. Step by step she started to stumble onward, further into the trees.

Swearing to himself, Arthur swung off the saddle and went after her. Stop. You need to stay here so I can get help.

Blindly, she continued onward.

Grasping her arm, he swung her towards him. You must be still. I have to fetch help. 

The edge of desperation that had crept into his voice displeased Arthur as much as the uncontrolled situation itself.

Dropping beside her, Arthur tried to shelter her fall. Be still. Let me get help.  His own helplessness brought anger in its wake. Bloody hell, don’t you talk?

For the first time her eyes locked onto his face and held. From deep within their clear blue depths Arthur saw sanity fight its way forward. She seemed to focus on the long deep scar that marked his left cheek, from the bridge of his nose almost to the corner of his jaw. Her fine–boned hand, marked with dirt and broken nails, lifted to trail along the puckered flesh in a soft, seeking caress entirely inappropriate to the circumstance.

Finally, her eyes met his in a moment of complete awareness. A slow, surprising smile softened her face as she whispered in a low, ladylike accent, I’d always wondered what happened to you.

~~~

No. She had to run. Hide. Blackness and pain swirled together in Lily’s mind. Childhood dreams merged with the horror of the previous night. She knew she had to get away. She couldn’t stay. She had to find sanctuary.

Her body twisted violently as she sought a path that would lead away from the pain and misery that engulfed her.  Spinning before her, like a deck of cards caught up in the wind, she saw Worthington smiling, laughing, cruelty emanating from every pore of his being. She saw that other face, saw the crop rise, the arm caught upraised, the momentary expectation of agony, before it fell, slicing through the air. She witnessed the speed with which it broke though flesh, cutting, scarring – as painful as a blade, but not as fast.

Her eyes blurred, then refocused on the deep blue eyes above. She reached out a hand to trace the familiar face, when another pain ripped through her body, drawing her into a tight ball. She heard the concerned words, felt the firm but gentle hands laying her on the ground. She tried to rise again. She had to get away. She was not safe here.

Strong hands held her down, and the slow easy rhythm of the low voice washed over her. Shh... shh. Try to calm yourself. Please. 

As the pain passed, Lily allowed herself to relax for a moment. The moss–covered ground felt soft beneath her back. Her head sagged back and she let her eyelids close and her mind drift far back to gentler, kinder times.

Her mother’s smile curled over well–loved features as she felt the gentle touch run over her face, brushing the loosened curls from her brow. Lily turned her face towards the caress and relaxed. She could smell roses and see the sun shining through her mother’s burnished locks. She settled into the softness of her mother’s great bed. She was safe.

The next pain caught her by surprise — tearing through her moment of sanctuary. A cry left her lips as anguish seared her nerves. She twisted and turned, trying to escape the agony that surged within.

Again the calm voice called to her, restoring her to the present. Try to be calm. Just wait and it will pass.

Her mind could find no coherent thought. No, you don’t understand. It can’t happen now. It’s too soon. Have to get away. Can’t... be found. Please let me go. 

Staring up into those clear, cool eyes, she fought to find the words that would release her, that would let her continue her flight. Please, I can’t stay.

For a moment she thought she saw a flash of anger and frustration before a stiff calm swept again across the gentleman’s familiar face. He didn’t want this any more than she did.

Then the next spasm swept through her, and coherent thought escaped her. She heard him call to her, direct her, but found no meaning in his words as she fought the agony that sundered her in two, and the panic that held her frozen.

Lily barely noticed the tentative hands sliding up her legs beneath her gown. Even as the rippling pain passed and she felt her legs pressed apart and cool morning air touching regions never before exposed to the light of day, she felt no shame.

But she had to get away. She couldn’t stay here. She had no conception how far from Marclyffe she had traveled during the night, but she wasn’t far enough. She couldn’t risk being found, couldn’t risk her baby being found.

Her baby. It was too soon. It couldn’t be born now. Even by the most generous count, it couldn’t have been more than eight months. Her whole body ached. She wanted to rest. Her head fell back. She clamped her eyes closed as she attempted to shut out the moment.

Only the next pang – following much too quickly after the last – drew her back. The spasm overwhelmed her, and her back arched in torment as she expelled pain and panic in one long scream.

Opening her eyes as the yell tore out of her, she saw those same features hovering over her. Hush, easy, my girl. You’re almost there. Just a little longer.

She screamed. Freshly sharpened blades were fighting their way out from inside her. Her hands turned into scrabbling claws as she fought to escape the misery. One hand connected, and she felt his flesh tear beneath her nails before she found her hands caught together and restrained by his more massive grip. For the briefest moment, the corners of his lips tightened before, with a deep exhalation, he regained his calm.

Lily’s senses heightened in a way she had never before experienced. Calm returned, and she found she could focus on the finest vein of a leaf, or the feeling of the wind blowing softly across her legs.

Her legs.

They lay draped across his jacket. When had that happened?  She looked up at him, in shock, as she realized that her gown lay drawn up to her waist. Her lower body lay exposed. It was worse than that – her legs were spread and he stared at her. Words could not even form in Lily’s mind.

Yet before she could focus on this newest horror, another surge of agony ripped through her, harder and stronger than before. She found herself curling forward towards her belly, pushing, straining, screaming, as unbelievable pressure forced itself through her.

That’s right, girl. Push. Oh, that’s good, girl. Push again.  His calm voice braced her as the pain continued, almost endless. That’s a good girl. Take a deep breath. Yes, you can do it. That’s a good girl. 

The deep, calm tone droned on as she pushed with all her might. She leaned back, helpless to do anything but push as the pressure built beyond the point of endurance. Every muscle and fiber focused on but one task.

At last, the pain abated, and she crumpled backwards. He knelt between her legs while she lay flat on the cool ground. Even this new indignity hardly mattered. Exhaustion set in. It seemed impossible to move again.

Then the next urge hit and she found the strength to push and fight again, as her body clenched in its struggle.

Pain. Pressure. Push. Fight. Rest.

Pain. Pressure. Push. Fight.

Through it all, the calm, toneless voice continued:  You can do it. That’s my girl. You’re almost done. Such a good girl. You can do it. Don’t stop now. Good girl, yes.

Even through her haze, she felt a rising irritation at his tone. He was trying to help, but as each pain shot through her, his platitudes began to grate. It sounded as though he had begun to worry. But that couldn’t be — he’d been so calm through everything. He’d stared at her... without a thought. Everything was proceeding normally... normally. She could hardly even tell if it still hurt. She floated above the pain.

Yes, girl, you’ve got to push. Come, push. That’s my girl, you can do it. Just push. Push.

Suddenly, she felt that strange opening of clarity that had descended upon her before. Her eyes locked on his face, taking in the faint lines of strain around his eyes and the shimmer of sweat above his eyebrows.

Come on, girl, you can do it. Push. Just push.

A surge of anger thrust her back into herself. Yet that anger spurred her on; she concentrated on pushing against the sharp razors that threatened to split her open.

And, even as she pushed, she spat out, I. Am not. A horse.  Stop. Addressing me. Like one. 

She saw his head jerk up for a moment before her pain reached its crest, and then concentrated all her attention on another massive push.

Then it ended. Her body collapsed into itself as she let herself go. She lay back, breathing deeply, as the after–effects rippled through her. She felt the stranger moving between her legs, taking care of something, but she felt too tired to care.

You did it. You did it.  The still calm voice now became suffused with a note of relaxation, even elation.

Not a horse.  Her reply was hardly more than a mumble.

What? 

Lily’s words seemed to penetrate for the first time. He stared down at her in confusion. Undoubtedly he thought she’d lost her mind.

You’re talking to me as if I were your horse. I am not.  Even through her exhaustion, Lily heard the bitterness that edged her words.

Oh.  A reddish tinge touched the otherwise unperturbed face. I beg your pardon. I’ve, well... I’ve only done this with horses before.

A faint wail drew forth from the small, unwashed body held tight between his large hands. They both froze, startled, as if for the first time becoming aware of what had happened.

Lily felt the first deep wave of shock rise within her. Pushing up with her hands, she tried to force herself to a sitting posture. She had a baby. She had become so lost in the maze of pain and terror that her release from it had overshadowed everything else. She had not realized what it meant. She had a baby.

He moved to help her sit up, but seemed awkward and unsure how to juggle the infant he held clasped with both hands. Maneuvering by herself, Lily planted her back against a damp, moss–covered tree. Reaching with her arms, she asked for her child. "Please, let me see her... him?

Him.

Then the infant rested in her arms, and everything else faded away. She made herself count the ten perfect fingers and toes. She traced the faint, pale line of an eyebrow. Her fingers worked over a translucent, red cheek, past the almost nonexistent neck and over the heaving belly – definitely a he.

Waves of warmth swept through her, like hot chocolate on a winter morn, as she looked down at this tiny creature that had so recently lived within her. It seemed impossible that this perfect being could have been part of her. A surge of unworthiness swept through her. After what she had done, she didn’t deserve to have this faultless creature.

As if in response to her thought, the baby opened its squinting eyes and let out another lone wail. He was so tiny, so fragile. How could she be responsible for such a little thing?  She didn’t know what to do. The wall of responsibility crashed down upon her. Cradling the baby to her chest, she closed her eyes, for a moment, and tried to find the strength to face this new challenge.

Then exhaustion won, and sleep claimed her.

Chapter Two

They were safe. After months of moving from house to house, party to party, they finally had a place to stay. The endless insecurity was gone. Rolling on to her back Lily stretched, and waited for her mother’s fingers to comb through her tousled curls. Mmmmmm. It was her favorite moment of the day, this time when she snuck from the nursery to curl about her mother’s sleep warmed body, secure. Her brow furled. Her prince had been injured. She’d failed to save him. Seeking reassurance, she reached out a hand longingly for her mother and started.

There was no warm body in the bed next to her.

She was alone.

Safety was only a dream.

A tight ache formed in her chest. She kept her eyes clenched tight and forced in a deep breath as the blur of memory formed. Her hand fell to her now diminished stomach.

Her baby. Where was her baby?  She jerked up her glance speeding around the room.

Ah, you are awake then, my chickie?  I know you must be tired, but I’ve never seen so sound a sleep unless someone was ill.

An older woman sat in the corner, near the bed. She rocked a cradle with one foot. The baby.

Still disoriented, confused by the sense of familiarity she stared about the immense bedchamber. The sun cascaded through the large paned windows, lighting the shades of china blue that decorated the room and sending the ceiling frieze into stark relief. The color suggested freshness and it should have created a restful haven. The high lemon sheen of the furniture detailed a level of care that told her each piece had been handed down from generation to generation. Reminiscences tugged at her – it must still be the remenants of the dream.

Where am I?  How did I get here?  She whispered the words. Then, she focused her eyes on the cradle. My baby?

The woman smiled. Shhhh, don’t wake the boy. He’s only just asleep.

But... .  Lily’s voice trailed off.

Everything in good time. You gave his grace quite a shock. Don’t think he could even have dreamed such a situation. Did him some good, I think. Would you like to see the boy?  I can bring him over if you like.

Lily nodded her desire and the woman lifted a well–wrapped bundle from the cradle and carried it over.

Lily eased herself across the bed. The softness of the thick down mattress did nothing to ease her soreness, a growing reminder of the present, of the previous day’s ordeal –– and of all that had come before.

All of that vanished as the woman placed the bundle in her arms, her son. She gazed in awe at the crinkled nose and puckered lips, pulsing softly in sleep. She ran a finger on a downy black curl. The baby shifted, and wiggled, and... dampened. She fell still, unsure what to do.

Ah, that’s only to be expected. Let me put him back in the cradle while I fetch some fresh cloths. I didn’t think to bring them from the nursery. Wasn’t thinking I’d be needing them here. You rest a few more moments and Nanny will take care of everything.

The woman plucked the child from Lily’s suddenly empty arms and with great competence lay him back in the cradle. Before Lily could recover from the sudden longing for his return, the woman was gone. The door shut with a click.

Lily worked herself up against the pillows, resisting the urge to worry at the sheet’s intricate lace edging. How could she rest when circumstance still trapped her?  She had not escaped, had not made it far enough. She glanced around the well–appointed room. It was very different from the one in which she’d been a virtual captive at Marclyffe, but while her cage might now be gilded and blanketed in kindness she remained the bird trapped within it.

But, now she had a child, another life depended on her. She had to get away, get further from what she’d done.

Had it been the previous day?  She was not sure how long she’d lain in a daze. Were Worthington’s men searching for her already?  Only the foggiest memory of the trip remained, of lying in the jostling wagon, although her body remembered every jarring step.

She closed her eyes trying to remember the details. She recalled being lifted in strong arms and carried quickly up a flight of stairs. Then there was a flurry of activity, of people poking at her, washing her, examining her. She knew the women, with their soft hands and gentle voices, didn’t mean to be hurtful, but they wouldn’t leave her alone. Yet she’d kept quiet under all their ministrations. Even the physician’s most intimate probing had brought forth only the slightest moan.

The only time she cried out was when they attempted to take her son from the room. If she’d believed her legs would hold her, she would have stood and demanded her child, but before she could make the effort, a hard voice from the doorway, speaking with absolute authority, put a stop to that. Her baby was returned briefly to her arms, and then bundled into a cherry wood cradle, placed alongside the four–poster bed.

Lily turned uncomfortably onto her side and shifted to peer beyond the edge of the mattress. The child squirmed, safe, but uncomfortable in his wet wrappings. She longed to hold him again, to comfort him. She should have told – Nanny – to leave him in her arms. Her lips curled upward as she gazed upon this new justification for her existence. She would do anything to protect him.

She could not stay here.

Worthington’s men would be searching for her. She must get away. Lily wondered how much time she had before they began to search. Had they already found him?  Did they know what she had done?  Her stomach cramped tight, doubling her over. She fought the pain, unsure whether it sprang from the recent birthing or from the fears that held her captive.

She was in a nightdress, a clean one, and she still had no shoes. Even if she could find clothing, she had no means of flight. Even if she could find transport, she had no destination. And even if she had a place to go, she had no money, no means of support. It was an endless, cruel circle.

They would be looking for her, looking for her with reason and fervor. She wasn’t quite sure who they were, but she knew they would be coming. Murderers could not be left free. For the first time she tried out the word.  Murderer.

Lily shivered and drew the sheets more tightly about her. She was a murderer. She had killed her husband. Those who came for her would not care why. Life had taught her that the needs and wants of one small woman were of little importance. How much time did she have?  Even if they discovered the body right away, she should have a little while. It would have taken hours – a full day – for them to notice she was missing, and perhaps longer to realize she had fled. Surely nobody would expect a pregnant woman, near her confinement, to traipse away through fields and forests.

Wrapping the covers even more tightly, she tried to think about who they would be. She knew some of her late husband’s servants would join the chase. There must also be some officer of the peace or constable. And if they found her, they would take her and lock her up in some godforsaken corner until they were ready to hang her.  A wave of dizziness attacked her, forcing her head back to the pillows.

Again she inched to the side of the bed and gazed down at the cradle and her sleeping son. The room and her thoughts stopped spinning. Clarity settled over her. She had to protect her son.

Carefully leaning over the edge, she extended one cold finger to stroke his cheek. She would not let any of the horrors that chased her touch him.

The lightest squeal of a well–oiled hinge drew her attention.

Here we go. I’ll freshen him up and then he can be back in your arms. I can see by your eyes that you miss him already.  Nanny bustled in, her arms full of clean linens.

Where am I?  If Lily knew that, then she could plan.

Nanny turned and surveyed her. Her pale brows curved together. Don’t you know?

No. Should I?

Nanny pursed her lips, considering. She didn’t answer directly. Maybe I am wrong. I thought... I was sure that... . How should I address you?

Lily gaped, her mind unprepared for this simple question.

Yes, said another voice. I think it’s time you gifted us with your name. 

A chill of fear settled along her spine as she observed the large figure filling the doorway. Lily had little trust in men, and despite his show of compassion the day before, she could not afford to trust this one, either. She owed him a lifetime of gratitude, a debt she could never repay. Indeed, with a wisdom born of late experience, she knew without question that her very life, and the life of her precious son, depended on her earning the trust of this domineering man.

Now he stood in her bedchamber, his sandy hair, lit from the window with streaks of gold, swept back from a high, smooth brow. Elegant high cheekbones added a classic beauty to his features, marred only by the clear–cut scar running across his left cheek, and hard, firm lips, which twitched with barely concealed emotion. Again, the strange twist of familiarity settled about her.

She swallowed hard as her gaze followed his long, strong lines, every inch of which bespoke strength and self–assurance. He reminded her of a golden wolf, steady and predatory in his confidence.

Have you taken a vow of silence, then?  Even an idiot could have detected the mocking undertone in that calm, considered voice. Its cynicism pricked at her.

Lily shut her mouth, which had drifted open as she perused him, as another wave of apprehension washed over her. She must lie, of course, but she had no practice at the task. Yet she was also a murderer, and if she could murder, then surely she could lie.

The man lifted one arched eyebrow at her continued silence. She shifted under his gaze.

I am sorry. Of course I should have given my name earlier, she began, still searching for a response.

The eyebrow refused to descend. He was aware she had not answered his question.

I am aware circumstances were a little – difficult – before. So I ask again, what is your name? 

Li .. Elizabeth Wentwort,. she whispered, and then repeated more forcefully, My name is Elizabeth Wentworth.  The words rushed from her lips. Elation rose within her. She would do what was necessary to save her son. Elizabeth was her middle name, and she’d been a Wentworth far longer than she’d been Lady Worthington. The name might buy her another day, give her the chance to flee.

His gaze froze on her face, and her joy fled. He was one step ahead of her, and she realized that her hesitation betrayed her. She drew herself up high against the pillows, trying to add dignity to her bearing.

Lady Elizabeth Wentworth?  His question hung in the air.

A small fist clutched at her heart. Lady Julia Wentworth had been her mother. Her mind filled with the broad, dazzling smile and shiny gold locks for which her mother had been so famous.

Nn... Yes, she answered. Lady Elizabeth.  She wasn’t sure by what title she ought to refer to herself. None seemed right  –– so any would do. She was caught already in the web of her deception.

His eyes pierced her. The name obviously meant something to him. He carefully studied her face, his glance pausing longest at her lips. Then, with a measured shrug, he dismissed her. She glanced again at Nanny, who watched them both, her lips puckered and brow furrowed.

He strolled over to the window and stood staring out at the bright sunshine, his hair fired in a golden crown about him. She shrank to insignificance in the shadow of such magnificence.

I knew a Lady Julia Wentworth once. She was quite well–known in her day.  His voice trailed off. I believe she even stayed here once, as a guest of my mother. Are you a relation?

Her breath caught in her throat. Oh God. It was true, not a fantasy or a dream. She had returned to Blythemoor and he was... . He turned back to her, and the light that glinted through the glass shadowed the faint scar that ran along his cheek. Lily fought to inhale. Memories rushed back. He must be the long cherished prince of her childhood dreams.

As he again waited for her to answer, the silence was overwhelming. Her throat caught and she searched for words. My father died when I was an infant. I know little of his family. 

His immense presence filled her senses as he walked closer to the bed and loomed over her, his eyes locked on her face. All her worries lay forgotten as she tried to dodge the shrapnel she had loosed. She felt small and powerless as he stared down at her, obviously mulling over her simple words. It was all she could do not to draw back further.

He ran one hand through his hair, ruffling it. For a moment she thought he would pursue the subject, but when he spoke, it was again with the stiff air of command and expectation, his voice cool and indifferent. It’s really of no consequence. What is important is how you came to be wandering about my estate in such an obvious state of distress.

Lily stared back up at him. If only the lush pillows would swallow her. He had asked the one question that she couldn’t answer. She bit at her lips. She didn’t believe he would ever purposefully harm her – not after saving her – but what would he do if he learned he was sheltering a murderer?  She could not keep herself from eyeing those long, strong fingers. A man’s hands could be so cruel.

That was a question, even if it wasn’t phrased as such, he said. Do I have to pry every word from you?  She could feel the ice that marked the end of his patience.

He had treated her so well, offered her comfort she hadn’t known in years, gone out of his way to aid her. Why did she feel like a hooded falcon, at the mercy of her handler? Blinking rapidly to hold off tears, she tried to focus on him.

You probably do.  Lily tried to inject a note of levity, but knew she had failed miserably as he continued to stare down at her. Again he raised that single brow and remained silent. His silence was more powerful than Worthington’s screaming temper. His very being demanded her answer.

Attempting to turn the conversation, she began to ramble. I don’t know if there’s any way I can repay you for your help yesterday, but if you’d let me know, I’ll try. Do you want payment?  I don’t know what’s proper... .

If possible the brow rose higher.

Do I look like I need to be paid?  His voice grew colder. A distraught woman wanders through my woods, refuses to let me ride for help, gives birth into my lap, and then she asks if I want to be paid. I am a damned duke, sent home in my shirtsleeves, covered in substances I don’t want to think of, and you want to know if I want to be paid?  All I want is to know who you are and how you got here.  Each word was uttered with absolute precision.

I’ve already told you who I am, and I really don’t know how I got here.  She stuttered the partial truth. She had no idea how she had traveled from those high bleak cliffs to the duke’s land. Her last clear memory was of standing at the edge, looking down at Worthington, and even then, she couldn’t have given coherent structure to the thought. She knew where she was now, and it seemed nigh impossible that she had traveled all that distance on foot.

She met the duke’s piercing stare. She drew her shoulders back in an effort to portray strength, only to rapidly release them as she caught the focus of his eyes shift lower to the lace that edged her neckline. Moving her hand to cover any peeking flesh, she felt her pulse quicken. Breathless, she fought for courage.

I really don’t know. One minute, I... .  Lily searched desperately for something to say.

The duke walked closer. He stood over the bed, towering above her. He examined her closely, missing no detail as he considered.

You are too... overwrought to remember?  He lifted his quizzing glass to his eye, and then let it drop.

Yes.  She made her voice firm. His penetrating look seemed to read every thought. She could not let him see her fear. I only recall the pain.

Finally he turned, lifting his hand to rub his chin. That’s inconvenient. 

Actually, she said, tilting up her chin, it is.

So you don’t remember anything before I found you?  You know your name. What is the last thing you do recall clearly?

Just as she was sure the truth would spill from her lips, an angry cry sliced through the quiet. Lily was shocked by the magnitude of the sound and how it physically caught at her chest. She turned anxiously towards her baby, all else forgotten in the need to comfort him.

Nanny deftly swept the child from his blankets. Hush, little one, she crooned softly. Are you hungry?  Come along and we’ll find you something nice to fill that aching belly.

The baby continued to wail as Nanny headed for the door. With each cry Lily felt a tightening across her chest and felt her breast swell. As Nanny reached the door, Lily could no longer contain her fear and dismay.

Please, don’t take him away. I need him with me.  She struggled to rise from the bed.

Nanny turned to the duke, a question burning in her eyes.

Do not worry, Lady Elizabeth. Nanny was with the household for years. She is more than qualified to care for the child. I had her brought back just for this purpose.  The duke’s tone remained impassive, leaving no room for argument. Nanny bustled towards the door again. Lily, however, did not find his words persuasive.

No, please.  Her voice broke. I need him with me. Please let him stay.

The baby’s scream grew shriller and Lily wrapped her arms hard about her chest as the strange tightening sensation grew.

Nanny paused, and looked at Lily with new consideration. The little lad needs to be cleaned again and fed. I’ll bring him back as soon as it’s taken care of and you can give him a good cuddle, my lady.

Lily still hesitated. She glanced back and forth between the duke, who displayed a practiced disinterest, and the much softer Nanny. Lily knew where the real power lay, but couldn’t decide the best strategy.

Couldn’t I feed him?  The question had passed her lips before she could even consider. Worthington would never have allowed her to do something as inelegant as nurse her own baby, but she knew that other highborn ladies had done it. It would also make escape easier.

I want to nurse him myself, she added, attempting to sound more forceful.

The duke still appeared unconcerned, but Lily could tell her words had flustered him. He looked back and forth between her and Nanny, trying to find the proper reply to a suggestion so far outside his experience.

Of course you can, my lady, Nanny replied, casting a quick glance at the duke to see if he would disagree. Most ladies don’t want to, but his grace’s mother did.

The duke straightened at this, looking surprised, and then glanced away. Nanny moved back towards Lily, and placed the bawling boy in her arms.

Lily looked with bewilderment at the baby. She wasn’t sure quite how to begin. Her fingers fidgeted with the top button of her gown as she watched her son. He had cried himself red, and his tiny chest pumped hard. As if he sensed what was coming he turned his head towards her and his rosebud mouth started to open and close as he burrowed his face against her chest. The tightness within her grew even more pronounced and more uncomfortable with his movement.

Pardon me, your grace, but it might be best if you withdrew, until later.  Nanny’s voice wavered at the end, but held firm.

Looking up from the baby, Lily found the duke’s eyes fixed upon the slim fingers that still worried at her button. He drew himself up at Nanny’s words. Lily imagined she saw a hint of both consternation and relief.

Of course, Nanny. I’ll take my leave of you and Lady Elizabeth for the moment.  He turned to go, but then shot a look back at Lily. And return later.

Lily grasped the intimation. Yet she bridled at the unspoken command.

Forgive me, your grace, but in our discussion earlier, you forgot to tell me which duke you are. 

Nanny shifted uncomfortably. The duke paused in the doorway, and a small muscle throbbed in his cheek.

I am Brisbane.

~~~

After he had left the room, Lily allowed herself to swallow. His answer was exactly what she had expected, and feared. Until he had finally announced himself, she’d tried to deny his identity. Yet she had known him the moment she saw those chill blue eyes and that scarred cheek. He was as far as possible from the awkward young marquess on the edge of manhood whom she had idealized a lifetime ago, but she had recognized him from the beginning.

In less than a moment the memories passed though her. She’d been hiding under the piano the first time she saw him. He came in smiling, with a hound at his heels. He was glorious, with the shining sun setting his hair agleam and the snug trousers displaying well muscled legs. Lily’s seven year old heart thumped. In that instant he became her prince, her Arthur of Cornwall.

The old duke was sitting stiffly on the settee, listening to her mother play. Arthur strode up to his father, his arms swinging carefree by his sides. Without so much as glancing at his son, the duke said coldly, You’ve tracked mud in. Get your boots cleaned and put that mongrel out of my house. I’ll see you at dinner.

Arthur’s grin faded at the dismissive words, and with a brief greeting to Lady Julia, he left. For the first time Lily wanted to follow someone besides her mother. She slunk from under the piano and crept into the hall. As if by magic, a footman appeared, and kneeling before Arthur, started to brush the mud from his boots. Arthur paid him no heed. His eyes focused over Lily’s shoulder at the door he had just come through. He glanced down at her for a moment, and a wide smile spread across his lean face.

You’re a pretty thing.  He patted her head once.

He shifted impatiently from foot to foot. He wanted to go back. He patted her head again as he took a step forward, almost kicking the footman over, before he tramped back out the front door with a stomp and a whistle, the dog still at his heels.

Lily smiled at the kneeling footman before scurrying over to peer out the window on tiptoes. As she watched Arthur disappear around the house, she sighed deeply and headed back to the nursery. All of seven, she knew she had found her true love.

Nanny moved beside Lily and Lily schooled her face carefully, refusing to let the sudden flow of emotion show. Nanny undid the buttons of Lily’s gown for her, and angled the baby towards Lily’s swollen breast.

You’re a bold one, aren’t you? Nanny ventured. You’ll need to be a little more subtle if you want to get along with his grace. I imagine you’ll keep him on his toes, though.  A thoughtful smile drifted across Nanny’s face.

But, Lily no longer paid attention, as the delicate mouth nuzzled towards her. Her entire being focused on her son. She let Nanny guide her arms and place the baby at her breast.

She gasped as the infant locked on and began to suck. She looked up at Nanny in shock at the force of the small mouth. The baby’s cheeks moved powerfully.

Nanny met her glance with a wide smile.

It always takes you by surprise the first time, not at all what you’d expect from such a gentle, helpless creature.

No, was Lily’s only reply, as she gazed in awe at the nursing baby. The tightness in her breasts had changed to a prickling sensation as the infant fed. Lily submitted herself to the direction of Nanny – and child – as she learned more of the secrets of motherhood.

~~~

Arthur stood staring at the low burning fire. What should he do about the woman... Lady Elizabeth?  Things were not as he expected –– and things always went as he expected.

When he’d first entered her room after she’d been cleaned, and he’d seen her asleep in the immense bed, he been taken aback. She looked so small and delicate, surrounded by pillows, her chestnut hair spread about in velvet waves, so young and innocent –– childlike, with dark lashes shadowing her cheeks and her sweet rosebud mouth slightly parted, the plump, pink lips quivering with each sleepy sigh. Maybe, it was her mouth that had begun to shake him. He’d expected to find a tired–looking matron, and instead had found a seraph –– at least, until she woke up.

He’d gone in with a straightforward goal. Even allowing for the unusual sense of farce that had evolved around him since he first encountered her in his park, things should have been simpler. All he had to do was learn the lady’s identity, and return her and her son to their rightful place. It was not a hard task, and promised to bring some small stimulation to his tepid, orderly life.

Yet he had failed. He only had to ask –– but she also had to answer.

He placed a palm on the cool marble of the mantle and then leaned forward resting his forehead. This would not do. It was imperative that he find out what had happened so that he could... return her to her... husband. There must be a husband if there was a baby. He pursed his lips at the thought. He’d not considered far enough ahead, a most unusual situation.

Arthur picked up a brandy snifter and twirled it between his fingers, savoring the delicacy of the crystal and the heady aroma that greeted his nostrils. He sipped the last drops, welcoming the burn in his throat. His original annoyance at the unpleasant events had eased.

They were his responsibility.

He’d found her. He’d delivered the child. He felt a claim to the pair, and the unwanted warmth that suffused him when he’d held the newborn infant still lingered.

God, he felt proprietary. He set the glass down with care.

Maybe she’s not married. Could she have been ruined and sent away by her family?  Arthur snapped his mouth shut when he realized he’d addressed the hound snoozing by the unlit fire. She had him talking to dogs.

This would not do. He lived a well–ordered life.

He began his backwards count.

He needed to be sensible. He knew nothing about her, where she came from, who her family were. He would not let her leave him so unsettled. Still... .

His curiosity piqued, he wanted to know how she had gotten into such a predicament. Once he knew, of course, he’d be satisfied, and could send her on her way. It was simple after all.

He glanced at the clock on the high bookshelves behind his desk. She should be done now. He wasn’t exactly sure how long those things took, but it had been an hour. She must be finished. He would go and learn the lady’s provenance, and then everything would fall into place.

He strode out of the study and up the wide stairs to the upper hall. He paused at the door to her room. A glance from Nanny had reminded him of the impropriety of being alone in a lady’s room. Earlier, when he’d thought Lady Elizabeth older and not particularly attractive, it had not been important. Now he stopped and considered before opening the door with a decisive twist of the knob. He was Brisbane, and he required answers to his questions.

She slept. The infant still curled like a kitten around her breast. Her gown gaped slightly, a deep sliver of ivory flesh bared to his view. The wide lace at the neckline cast whispery shadows across her skin, and her hair fell forward, partially obscuring her face.

Arthur walked towards the bed without thought. No doubt he should waken her, but the deep shadows under her eyes and the pallor of her skin gave him pause. He drew the blanket over her, covering that hint of velvety flesh.

He had duties to fulfill. He could not afford sentiment. For a moment he gazed at this almost religious picture of mother and child, before taking a decisive turn and leaving the room.

Closing the door softly, he moved toward the top of the stairs as a tall, lean, white–haired gentleman entered below. The doctor had returned.

Ah, Dr. Smithson, how good of you to return. I take it you are not here to continue our discussion of India and imperial politics.  He nodded back down the hall. She’s just fallen asleep.  Arthur let his voice echo down the stairway before he descended.

"I can look in on the lady