The morning room’s peach-colored walls glowed with the bright winter sunlight flooding the room through the tall windows. Emily was seated on a chair by a crackling fire, a book in her hands. She beamed at him as he entered, then nodded toward Lily, who was on a couch by the window, also reading. No doubt Emily had wanted them to be seen in this exact way when he entered.

Charles cleared his throat, and Lily glanced up, the gaze of her blue eyes caressing him. He wanted to drag her into his arms and kiss her senseless behind the curtains. But no, indulging in brief meaningless passions was what the other Charles would do. He had to be more than that for her.

Lily’s eyes widened when she saw what he held. Feeling like a bloody fool, he thrust the bouquet out awkwardly.

“Here.” It was the only word he could get out at first. His heart was hammering so loudly he could barely think.

Lily blinked. “Pardon?”

Charles heard Godric snort behind him. Emily put a hand to her face, trying to hide her smile.

Oh God, he would never hear the end of this, would he?

“These are for you,” he said correctly.

Lily set the book aside and took the bouquet. She buried her face in the brightly colored flowers. Charles’s breath caught as the sunlight illuminated her. She was simply the most exquisite woman he’d ever met. The beauty inside her shone in the merry twinkle of her eyes as she slowly raised her gaze to his as she basked in the sheer feminine delight of her brushing her face against the petals. He couldn’t look away, didn’t want to. He was lost in Lily, this beautiful stranger who yet seemed so familiar. Could a man love a woman at first sight? He felt as though it was possible, when she looked at him the way she was doing now, as though he’d answered some silent, secret prayer she’d held deep within her heart.

I feel the same way. She is the answer to my loneliness.

“These are lovely.” Lily glanced at Emily, her cheeks reddening as she displayed the flowers to her cousin with embarrassed pride.

“They are indeed.” Emily smiled at them and then stood to leave. She gave Charles a slow, meaningful look, but he wasn’t quite sure what she was telling him. Be on his best behavior? Couldn’t she tell he was trying?

“Excuse me. I shall return in a moment with a vase.” Emily joined Godric in the hallway and closed the door.

She’d left him alone with Lily. That was unexpected. Either she trusted him to be a gentleman, which was unlikely, or she was expecting him to be himself and seduce Lily, which he might very well do if he had the chance.

He sat down on the opposite end of the couch, his heart still racing, his palms sweating. He’d never felt nervous around a woman like he did now. Yet he was also full of a tranquility that he’d never believed possible. Something about all this, as frightening and alien as it was to him, felt right.

Lily sighed dreamily. “Gardenias. My favorite.” She rubbed her cheek against the petals and looked up at him. Her dark-gold lashes shimmered, and the soft pink of her lips were slightly parted, and all he could think of was covering those lips with his.

“Gardenias are your favorite?” He struggled past the lust of his thoughts and focused on their conversation. He wanted to know her as much as he wanted to kiss her.

“Yes, and the calla lilies too, probably because of my name.” She laughed. “My mother used to put small gardenias in her hair before balls. They looked so stunning, and the aroma… She had vases of them and freesia everywhere. My mother adored flowers. I do as well, but I haven’t thought about them in years.”

That sorrow he’d noticed before was in her eyes again. He slowly reached for her free hand and wrapped his fingers around hers. He marveled at how calming it was to hold her hand, with no expectations of more to come. He turned her hand over, examining the fine lines. There were several small calluses along the tops of her palm, just below the base of her fingers. He explored the calluses, wondering what events in life had led her to working with her hands.

“I’m sorry.” Lily tried to pull her hand away in embarrassment, but he didn’t let her. He raised it slowly to his lips, brushing his mouth gently, reverently over her knuckles. Her breath caught and his blood hummed in response.

“There is no need to apologize,” Charles said. “There is no shame in hands that have seen work. Quite the opposite. I want to know everything about you. Would you tell me?”

“I can tell you some things,” she said. “But not everything.”

Charles smirked. “A woman of secrets, eh?”

“A woman of caution.”

Charles hesitated, wondering if he could ask the question that was uppermost in his mind, knowing she likely wouldn’t answer. “Very well. What were you doing alone in Vauxhall and how did find yourself kidnapped and taken to Lewis Street?”

“I had decided to arrive in London sooner than my cousin was expecting me. I did not wish to impose upon Emily’s kindness more than I had to, so I took to exploring the city on my own. She had written to me about the gardens before, and I had hoped to see them myself. She had not warned me of the dangers, however.”

Charles nodded. “I suppose no place in London is truly safe, which is why no woman should walk the streets alone, especially in the evening.”

Her gaze grew distant for a moment. “It is a mistake I will not make again.” Then she looked down at her book. “Next question, my lord.”

Well, he’d tried. Perhaps a more circuitous route was required to win her trust. “What book are you reading?” He nodded at the tome she’d set aside.

“Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations.”

“Truly?” He blinked at her. Most men he knew couldn’t finish that book, and he’d never given much thought to whether a woman would read it. Not that he didn’t think a woman could manage it, just that it was so bloody boring…

“Yes, it’s a bit belabored on some of the more specific economic points, but the general discussion is rather fascinating, don’t you agree?”

Charles laughed. “I wouldn’t know. I tried to read it for one of my classes at Cambridge, and every time I opened the book, I would wake up hours later, my face planted on the pages. It was so bad I started using it for a pillow.”

“You didn’t!” Lily giggled.

“I didn’t,” he admitted. “But doesn’t it make a good story?”

“It does,” she agreed. “Why don’t you tell me a true story?”

“About me?” He wanted to hear more about her, but if she wanted to hear him talk, he would do whatever she asked. “Well, let’s see…”

“Would you tell me about the swans in Vauxhall?”

He shot an angry glare toward the door. “Emily! Lord, that woman. Now she’s enlisting relatives to try to learn that story?” He relaxed a little and rolled his eyes. This time he was the one avoiding an answer. “No swans. Next question.”

She bit her bottom lip. “Then tell me about your parents,” she suggested. “Your family.”

“My family…” He trailed his fingertips along her palm, tracing the fine lines in her skin. “Where to begin? My mother, Violet, is a lovely woman, and I mean that. Inside and out. She and my father had been friends long before they married. She always told me marriages based upon friendship last longer than those born of lust.”

Lily nodded, her eyes searching his face. “And your father?”

“Guy Humphrey was a wonderful father, a loving and warmhearted man. It has only ever been my desire to be as good a man as he was.”

“And are you?” Lily asked.

Charles wanted to smile, but found he couldn’t. “I seem to be woefully short of succeeding in that goal. But I continue to try.”

Lily reached up to cup his cheek. “I think that says more than you realize.” She spoke with such conviction that he almost believed her.

“Lily… May I call you Lily?” She nodded and pressed her lips together, as though this step forward had excited her. “I feel as though I know you, even though we’ve only just met. Does that sound strange to you?”

“Not at all,” she assured him.

He smiled bashfully, feeling like a boy again. “I cannot get you out of my head, and yet I feel like I have no one I can talk to about how I feel now.”

“No one? What about your friends?”

Charles chuckled. “I fear that is not possible. I have been somewhat…mocking toward them whenever they spoke about love and romance. If I were to ask them their advice now, they would no doubt have their revenge upon me.”

“Oh my,” Lily said, feigning shock.

“It’s all in good jest, I assure you,” Charles added. “Still, it must be said I have burned many a bridge this past year.”

“That is a shame,” said Lily. “Men often keep their feelings to themselves, and that simply cannot be healthy. You truly have no one to talk to?”

Charles thought about it. “Well, perhaps my valet.”

“Your valet?”

“Yes, I trust my valet as much as I would any of my friends.”

“He must be quite the valet. Would you tell him about the swans at Vauxhall?” Lily teased, gently nudging him in the ribs with a finger.

“Lord, why does every lady I meet want to know about the bloody swans?” He let out a groan and settled back on the couch, shifting her closer to him in the process, but only just. She didn’t pull away, and he crowed inwardly at his small victory. Her fingers were still dancing along his skin. He was lost in her, in the swell of her breasts as she breathed and the pulse beating in her throat and faint floral aroma that clung to her skin since she’d buried her face in the bouquet. He wanted to kiss her so badly that his entire body ached with the primal need to taste her. He knew that if he took her into his arms, captured her mouth with his, that he would feel her heartbeat against his lips and he would be truly lost forever.

“Because the tale of the swans is legendary,” she answered. “Just as you are legendary, my lord.”

Her amused smirk made him want to laugh out loud. It was such a familiar thing, as though he’d known this woman for years. Which was impossible, of course.

“You must call me Charles. ’Tis only fair.”

Her blue eyes darkened with solemnity as she gazed at his lips. “Charles.” The way she spoke his name sent a strange thrill through him, and his blood hummed in excitement.

“Lily, may I kiss you?” He half expected her to blush, then slap him for his presumption. At best he thought she might say it was too soon, or not appropriate upon their first formal meeting. Instead, she nodded eagerly.

“Yes, you may.” Lily’s lashes fluttered down, and her lips parted. Charles felt as though he were standing at the gates of heaven as he leaned in. Their lips brushed in a gentle burning prelude. He dug his nails into his palms, the sharp edge of pain keeping his control in check as he nudged her nose with his. Her lips parted, a draft of breath on his lower lip preceding a small moan that sailed from her throat and straight into his bones. A shudder tore through him, even as the pain in his palms receded to be replaced by lust. Fire raced between their bodies, even though he wasn’t holding her in his arms the way he desperately wanted to. Lights flashed behind his closed eyes as he grew drunk on the sweet taste of her mouth—

The morning room door burst open.

“I found a vase!” Emily announced. Her violet eyes glinted as she added, “As I proclaimed loudly, several times, from the corridor just now.”

Charles and Lily jerked away from each other. He shot Emily a frustrated scowl as the sweet lust in his veins changed into heated embarrassment.

Emily came over and took the bouquet from Lily. The flowers had fallen to her lap and were in clear danger of toppling to the floor. Emily slid the flower stems into the water-filled glass.

“There.” She set the vase down on the table. “Don’t they look absolutely lovely? What a perfect bouquet, Charles. Well done.” Then she tilted her head to the side, as she pretended to hear Godric calling for her. “Oh, I’d best go see what my husband needs!” She stepped into the hall. “Darling? What did you need?”

“Need? What are you calling me for? I didn’t say anything.” Godric’s voice, clearly startled, made Charles laugh.

Emily hushed him, and he next heard a masculine grunt, no doubt Godric being jabbed in the ribs by the dainty duchess. Then the door to the room closed.

Charles waited until she was gone before he turned back to Lily. Her face was flushed, her lips swollen, and a wanton hunger still gleamed in her eyes. He still struggled to play the gentleman he knew he had to be. Dragging her beneath him on the couch was what the old Charles would have done, and this woman deserved better.

“She’s a terrible chaperone, but I suppose she understands that you aren’t an innocent young maiden lacking knowledge of the ways of the world.”

Lily’s face shadowed with worry. “Does that bother you?”

“Does what bother me?” he asked, still lost in daydreams of possessing her lips with his.

“That I’ve been…married before?”

Her fear of his answer was plain on her face. He winced. He was making such a mess of this.

“No, not at all. I’m more worried that I won’t measure up to your husband. He must have been your first love.” He didn’t want to think of her loving another. He wasn’t the jealous sort, but knowing he wouldn’t be first in a woman’s heart, that there had been another before him was unnerving. What if he never measured up to her first husband?

Lily looked away. He cursed himself for reminding her of her pain. Why couldn’t he have kept his mouth shut?

“He wasn’t my first love. I cared about him deeply, of course, but in truth I was never in love with him.”

“But you chose to marry him?” Charles asked, curious. He tried not to rejoice in the thought that he might still be the first man to win this fascinating, beautiful, and intelligent woman’s heart.

Her lips curved in a wry smile. “Not everyone marries for love alone, you know. In fact, it’s quite rare.”

“I know. But I suppose I’ve always hoped that marriage for love would become the more expected practice.” He meant it. Marriage without love sounded like torture for everyone involved. A life of commitment should be built on a positive force like love, not just a legal contract.

Lily laughed, and he swore he heard bells ringing. “You are a romantic.”

“I suppose I am.” He glanced at the doorway again, half expecting Emily to burst in with another distraction. He needed to hold Lily in his arms, and while he fully expected that she wouldn’t let him, it was damned well worth a try.

“Stay there.” He got up and dragged an armchair in front of the door, careful to butt it up against the handle. Once he was satisfied the furniture would prevent them from being interrupted, he returned to the couch. Her gaze was eager too. He saw a little thrill in her eyes as she looked at him.

“My, my, aren’t we the wicked one?” Lily chuckled, and the sound went straight to his groin. Charles couldn’t wait another second.

He cupped her face in his palms and captured her lips. He tried to be gentle, was gentle at first, but her sweet taste went straight to his head like brandy. He feathered his lips against hers, coaxing her mouth open and slipping his tongue inside, only to find hers already searching for his. His hands framed her face and slid down her body, eliciting shivers and moans as he dragged his palms across her breasts and down to her waist and then the slopes of her hips as he pulled her closer to him. Then he lifted her in one fluid motion so that she sat across his lap, which brought her closer for his kiss.

He kissed his way across the bare expanse of her delectable collarbone and down to the mounds of her breasts. His hands dug into her hips, uncaring if he wrinkled her gown. She rocked against him, straddling his body, her legs moving to either side of him. He made no effort to push things too far. Not for propriety’s sake. Propriety could hang. He simply wanted to have her, the object of his desire, the first woman he’d ever courted, to kiss him as madly and passionately as she wished with no worry as to whether to expect anything more.

Lily ran her tongue over his lower lip when his mouth returned to hers, and he growled softly, nipping at her bottom lip. She wrapped her arms tighter around his neck, pressing closer, a whimper escaping as she parted her lips wider, letting his tongue thrust as deep as he dared. He wanted her to feel him, to feel how it would be someday soon when he took her to bed and claimed her.

Finally their mouths parted, and he tried to catch his breath. His heart raced wildly, and he wasn’t sure he would ever calm down. He was trembling. She laughed breathlessly as she placed slow, teasing kisses on his chin, his throat, his ear. The woman was a goddess, one he wished to worship for the rest of his life.

“Was that all right?” he asked as he tried to pull his thoughts together. The woman had unraveled him completely.

She pressed her forehead to his, breathing just as hard. “You know it was more than all right. It was wonderful.”

The knot in his chest loosened, and a warmth spread through his body as her fingertips smoothed over his face, tracing his jaw and lips before sliding down to his neck and shoulders. He moved his hands along her lower back, exploring the gentle curve of it before he cupped her bottom, his breathing still heavy. He felt in that moment that this woman owned him, just as he owned her, and that sweet, gentle possessiveness made him bold enough to speak again.

“May I take you out tonight?”

She moved her head to rest on his shoulder, her lips teasing his ear. “What would we do?”

His hands tightened on her. “Anything you like.”

“An opera?”

“Yes, an opera,” he agreed. “And perhaps, until then, we could spend the entire day in this room.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Her laughter made his head spin with delightful dizziness. “I think Emily and Godric might object.”

“If they cannot get inside, we will not hear their objections.”

Lily chuckled and nuzzled his cheek as she relaxed into him.

The tension that had seemed coiled so tight in this beautiful woman began to ease. All Charles wanted was to hold her, to let her know she was no longer alone, that he was there for as long as she wanted him.

“I don’t wish to forget anything about this moment,” he said, and pressed another kiss to her lips.

“My lord, that is your lust speaking.” The tone of her voice hurt him, though it was a fair thing to say given his history. How could he explain what he felt to her? That this was different from anything he’d ever experienced?

“Lily, I’ll be the first to admit that I know nothing of love, but what I feel now is not simple lust.” He cupped her face in his hands, making sure he had her full attention. “I have a history with women, as I assume you must know given your time spent with Emily.”

“I do. But the past is the past.” She laid her head on his shoulder and let out a soft sigh.

“If it doesn’t matter, then why do you not trust me when I say I have feelings for you?”

She didn’t immediately reply. Her slender fingers danced along the buttons of his waistcoat, tracing the ivory-colored pieces.

“It’s not that I do not trust you. I do not trust the happiness I feel in your arms. It cannot last.” She suddenly straightened and pulled off his lap. He tried to reach for her, but she waved for him to stay back.

“I’ve been here alone too long. I must go before the servants begin to gossip and ruin Emily and Godric’s good names.” She moved toward the door, then paused. “But…I would still like to go to the opera with you tonight.”

“Even though you don’t trust the happiness you feel with me?” He couldn’t help but challenge her with her own words.

Her eyes burned into his. “I don’t trust it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want it.” She pulled the chair away from the door and vanished into the corridor.

The room felt empty, as though she’d never been there. Vanished again. The bouquet of flowers she’d left behind was the only proof of her existence, and the gardenias seemed to mock him in his renewed state of loneliness.

Charles sat alone on the couch. He scrubbed a hand over his jaw and sighed, as though the weight of the world had been laid upon his shoulders. There was no point in staying here if he couldn’t be with Lily until tonight.

Simpkins was waiting for him in the hall, holding his hat and coat. Charles accepted them silently and was halfway out the door when the butler spoke.

“Love that requires patience, understanding, and forgiveness is a love that will last long after lust is gone.”

Charles stared at the butler for a long moment, and then he answered Simpkins with a nod. “Thank you.”

Simpkins stared at Charles down his nose. “The beverages are still off-limits to you, my lord, but good luck.”

Charles smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “And to you. I fear I scuffed up the floorboards moving some furniture around.”

He could feel Simpkins’s hard stare as he left. If looks could kill, Hugo’s revenge would have been cut short by one furious butler.