82
" Lillian concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, when all she wanted was to head back to Westcliff and fling herself upon him in a mindless attack. “That arrogant, pompous clodpole—”
“Easy,” she heard St. Vincent murmur. “Westcliff is in a thorough temper—and I wouldn’t care to engage him in your defense. I can best him any day with a sword, but not with fists.”
“Why not?” Lillian muttered. “You’ve got a longer reach than Westcliff.”
“He’s got the most vicious right hook I’ve ever encountered. And I have an unfortunate habit of trying to shield my face—which frequently leaves me open for gut punches.”
The unashamed conceit behind the statement drew a reluctant laugh from Lillian. As the heat of anger faded, she reflected that with a face like his, one could hardly blame him for desiring to protect it. “Have you fought with the earl often?” she asked.
“Not since we were boys at school. Westcliff did everything a bit too perfectly—I had to challenge him now and then just to make certain that his vanity didn’t become overinflated. Here…shall we take a more scenic route through the garden?”
Lillian hesitated, recalling the numerous stories that she had heard about him. “I’m not certain that would be wise.”
St. Vincent smiled. “What if I promise on my honor not to make any advances to you?”
Considering that, Lillian nodded. “In that case, all right.”
St. Vincent guided her through a small leafy grove, and onto a graveled path shaded by a row of ancient yews. “I should probably tell you,” he remarked casually, “that since my sense of honor is completely deteriorated, any promise I make is worthless.”
“Then I should tell you that my right hook is likely ten times more vicious than Westcliff’s.”
St. Vincent grinned. "
― Lisa Kleypas , It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers, #2)
87
" With all the arrangements made, Marcus carried Lillian to the largest guest room in the building, where a bath and food were sent up as quickly as possible. It was sparely furnished but very clean, with an ample bed covered in pressed linen and soft, faded quilts. An old copperplate slipper tub was set before the hearth and filled by two chambermaids carrying steaming kettles. As Lillian waited for the bathwater to cool sufficiently, Marcus bullied her into eating a bowl of soup, which was quite tolerable, though its ingredients were impossible to identify. “What are those little brown chunks?” Lillian asked suspiciously, opening her mouth reluctantly as he spooned more in.
“It doesn’t matter. Swallow.”
“Is it mutton? Beef? Did it originally have horns? Hooves? Feathers? Scales? I don’t like to eat something when I don’t know what—”
“More,” he said inexorably, pushing the spoon into her mouth again.
“You’re a tyrant.”
“I know. Drink some water. "
― Lisa Kleypas , It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers, #2)
89
" She broke off abruptly as she heard her name being called, and glanced over her shoulder, fearing that St. Vincent had discovered her escape. Her entire body stiffened in battle readiness. But there was no sign of St. Vincent, no betraying gleam of golden-amber hair.
She heard the voice again, a deep sound that penetrated to her soul. “Lillian.”
Her legs quivered beneath her as she saw a lean, dark-haired man coming from the front entryway. It can’t be, she thought, blinking hard to clear her vision, which must surely have been playing tricks on her. She stumbled a little as she turned to face him. “Westcliff,” she whispered, and took a few hesitant steps forward.
The rest of the room seemed to vanish. Marcus’s face was pale beneath its tan, and he stared at her with searing intensity, as if he feared she might disappear. His stride quickened, and as he reached her, she was seized and caught in a biting grip. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her hard against him. “My God,” he muttered, and buried his face in her hair.
“You came,” Lillian gasped, trembling all over. “You found me.” She couldn’t conceive how it was possible. He smelled of horses and sweat, and his clothes were chilled from the outside air. Feeling her shiver, Marcus drew her tightly inside his coat, murmuring endearments against her hair.
“Marcus,” Lillian said thickly. “Have I gone mad? Oh, please be real. Please don’t go away—”
“I’m here.” His voice was low and shaken. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.” He drew back slightly, his midnight gaze scouring her from head to toe, his hands searching urgently over her body. “My love, my own… have you been hurt?” As his fingers slid along her arm, he encountered the locked manacle. Lifting her wrist, he stared at the handcuffs blankly. He inhaled sharply, and his body began to shake with primitive fury. “G**damn it, I’ll send him to hell—”
“I’m fine,” Lillian said hastily. “I haven’t been hurt.”
Bringing her hand to his mouth, Marcus kissed it roughly, and kept her fingers against his cheek while his breath struck her wrist in swift repetitions. “Lillian, did he…”
Reading the question in his haunted gaze, the words he couldn’t yet bring himself to voice, Lillian whispered scratchily, “No, nothing happened. There wasn’t time.”
“I’m still going to kill him.” There was a deadly note in his voice that made the back of her neck crawl. Seeing the open bodice of her gown, Marcus released her long enough to pull off his coat and place it over her shoulders. He suddenly went still. “That smell… what is it?”
Realizing that her skin and clothes still retained the noxious scent, Lillian hesitated before replying. “Ether,” she finally said, trying to form her trembling lips into a reassuring smile as she saw his eyes dilate into pools of black. “It wasn’t bad, actually. I’ve slept through most of the day. Other than a touch of queasiness, I’m—”
An animal growl came from his throat, and he pulled her against him once more. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Lillian, my sweet love… you’re safe now. I’ll never let anything happen to you again. I swear it on my life. You’re safe.” He took her head in his hands, and his mouth slid over hers in a kiss that was brief, soft, and yet so shockingly intense that she swayed dizzily. Closing her eyes, she let herself rest against him, still fearing that none of this was real, that she would awaken to find herself with St. Vincent once more. Marcus whispered comforting words against her parted lips and cheeks, and held her with a grip that seemed gentle but could not have been broken by the combined efforts of ten men. "
― Lisa Kleypas , It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers, #2)
90
" She breathed in quivering sobs as he kissed her mouth again. Her body, filled with unfamiliar pulses and rhythms, no longer seemed her own. “Westcliff…” Her mouth wandered unsteadily over the masculine scrape of his cheek, the edge of his jaw, and back to the softness of his lips. When the kiss ended, she turned her face to the side and gasped, “What do you want?”
“Don’t ask that.” His lips moved to her ear, and his tongue stroked into the tiny hollow behind the fragile lobe. “The answer…” Hearing the way her breath hastened, he lingered at her ear, tracing the fine edge with his tongue, nibbling at the folds within. “The answer is dangerous,” he finally managed to say.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she brought his mouth back to hers in a fiery open kiss that seemed to unravel his self-control.
“Lillian,” he said unsteadily, “tell me not to touch you. Tell me it’s enough now. Tell me—”
She kissed him again, greedily absorbing the heat and flavor of his mouth. "
― Lisa Kleypas , It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers, #2)
93
" One of his palms slipped into the open back of her gown, seeking the skin above the edge of her corset, and a sigh escaped him as he felt her downy softness. “Not yet,” he said in a rough whisper, though whether he was talking to himself or to her was unclear. He clasped the vulnerable curve of her neck in one strong hand, and bent to feast on her parted lips, her chin, the front of her throat. “You’re so sweet,” he said raggedly.
She couldn’t help but grin, even in the flush of desire. “Am I?”
Marcus sought her mouth with another hungering kiss. “Very sweet,” he confirmed huskily. “Though if I were a lesser man, you’d have torn my head off by now.”
The words drew a low laugh from her. “Now I understand the attraction between us. We’re a danger to everyone but each other. Like a pair of ill-tempered hedgehogs.”
-Marcus & Lillian "
― Lisa Kleypas , It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers, #2)
96
" No regrets?” he murmured to Hunt as they strode down the hall, while Shaw and St. Vincent followed at a more leisurely pace.
Hunt glanced at him with a questioning smile. He was a big, dark-haired man, with the same sense of uncompromising masculinity and the same avid interest in hunting and sportsmanship that Marcus possessed. “About what?”
“Being led around by the nose by your wife.”
That drew a wry grin from Hunt, and he shook his head. “If my wife does lead me around, Westcliff, it’s by an altogether different body part. And no, I have no regrets whatsoever.”
“I suppose there’s a certain convenience in being married,” Marcus mused aloud. “Having a woman close at hand to satisfy your needs, not to mention the fact that a wife is undoubtedly more economical than a mistress. There is, moreover, the begetting of heirs to consider…”
Hunt laughed at his effort to cast the issue in a practical light. “I didn’t marry Annabelle for convenience. And although I haven’t tabulated any numbers, I can assure you that she is not cheaper than a mistress. As for the begetting of heirs, that was the farthest thing from my mind when I proposed to her.”
“Then why did you?”
“I would tell you, but not long ago you said that you hoped I wouldn’t start—how did you put it?—‘pollinate the air with maudlin sentiment.’”
“You believe yourself to be in love with her.”
“No,” Hunt countered in a relaxed manner, “I am in love with her.”
Marcus lifted his shoulders in a brief shrug. “If believing that makes marriage more palatable to you, so be it.”
“Good God, Westcliff…” Hunt murmured, a curious smile on his face, “haven’t you ever been in love?”
“Of course. Obviously I have found that some women are preferable to others in terms of disposition and physical appearance—”
“No, no, no…I’m not referring to finding someone who is ‘preferable.’ I mean completely being absorbed by a woman who fills you with desperation, longing, ecstasy…”
Marcus threw him a disparaging glance. “I haven’t time for that nonsense.”
Hunt annoyed him by laughing. "
― Lisa Kleypas , It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers, #2)
97
" Are you all right, dear?” Annabelle asked gently.
“I don’t know,” Lillian admitted. “I don’t feel at all like myself. I’m excited and glad, but also somewhat…”
“Afraid?” Annabelle murmured.
The Lillian of a month ago would have died by slow torture rather than admit to one moment of fear… but she found herself nodding. “I don’t like being vulnerable to a man who is not generally known for his sensitivity or soft heartedness. It’s fairly obvious that we’re not well-suited in temperament.”
“But you are attracted to him physically?” Annabelle asked.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Why is that a misfortune?”
“Because it would be so much easier to marry a man with whom one shared a detached friendship, rather than… than…”
All three young women leaned toward her intently. “R-rather than what?” Evie asked, wide-eyed.
“Rather than flaming, clawing, lurid, positively indecent passion.”
“Oh my,” Evie said faintly, drawing back in her chair, while Annabelle grinned and Daisy stared at her with enraptured curiosity. "
― Lisa Kleypas , It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers, #2)
99
" Lillian kept her face against Marcus’s shoulder. As mortified as she had been on the day that he had seen her playing rounders in her knickers, this was ten times worse. She would never be able to face Simon Hunt again, she thought, and groaned.
“It’s all right,” Marcus murmured. “He’ll keep his mouth shut.”
“I don’t care whom he tells,” Lillian managed to say. “I’m not going to marry you. Not if you compromised me a hundred times.”
“Lillian,” he said, a sudden tremor of laughter in his voice, “it would be my greatest pleasure to compromise you a hundred times. But first I would like to know what I’ve done this morning that is so unforgivable.”
“To begin with, you talked to my father.”
His brows lifted a fraction of an inch. “That offended you?”
“How could it not? You’ve behaved in the most highhanded manner possible by going behind my back and trying to arrange things with my father, without one word to me—”
“Wait,” Marcus said sardonically, rolling to his side and sitting up in an easy movement. He reached out with a broad hand to pull Lillian up to face him. “I was not being high-handed in meeting with your father. I was adhering to tradition. A prospective bridegroom usually approaches a woman’s father before he makes a formal proposal.” A gently caustic note entered his voice as he added, “Even in America. Unless I’ve been misinformed?”
The clock on the mantel dispensed a slow half-minute before Lillian managed a grudging reply. “Yes, that’s how it’s usually done. But I assumed that you and he had already made a betrothal agreement, regardless of whether or not it was what I wanted—”
“Your assumption was incorrect. We did not discuss any details of a betrothal, nor was anything mentioned about a dowry or a wedding date. All I did was ask your father for permission to court you.”
Lillian stared at him with surprised chagrin, until another question occurred to her. “What about your discussion with Lord St. Vincent just now?”
Now it was Marcus’s turn to look chagrined. “That was high-handed,” he admitted. "
― Lisa Kleypas , It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers, #2)
