Chapter Six
“A louse!”
The ginger-haired lieutenant shook his head and tried again, dragging his fingers through his hair in affected swoops and every so often tossing his head.
“A milkmaid!” the youngest shouted, leaping to his feet.
In response to this, the lieutenant shot a death glare toward his young compatriot. He adopted a new strategy now, tucking his thumbs into his armpits, puffing out his chest, and beginning to strut about the room. As he walked, his head jerked forward and back.
Michael raised his hand to guess. “A bantam?”
The lieutenant gestured his encouragement. Not quite right, his motions said, but getting closer. He thrust his fingers into his hair again, ruffling it with vigor until it stood straight up in the middle. He pointed to his smart ripple of carrot-colored hair. It could not escape anyone’s notice that he resembled a cross between Julian Bellamy and a rooster.
Ah. But of course.
Lily called out the obvious. “A coxcomb.”
With a wide grin, the ginger-haired lieutenant touched a finger to his nose, then bowed and left the circle. Everyone laughed—but the three young lieutenants laughed most gleefully. Lily supposed it must be some balm to their pride, to have a hearty chortle at the expense of the man who’d given them such a rude and literal setdown at dinner. Had Julian been out of circulation so long that his polished charm had lost its luster? Or did he simply not care anymore?
From his seat beside hers, the commander touched her wrist again. “Well done, my lady. Will you favor us with a turn?”
She shook her head. “To be truthful, charades really aren’t my forte.”
“Then name your amusement.”
She hedged. Honestly, she’d never been much for parlor games of any sort. “Cards?”
The commander stood and immediately ordered the younger officers to set the room for cards.
Lily rose from her chair and moved to the window seat, taking a moment’s amusement from the heated discussion a simple rearrangement of furniture could cause, where five men were involved. And then, in the next moment, she wondered—again—about Julian. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. Ever since this morning, her heart seemed to alternate pulses between her own life and his. If only he’d stay in the same room for a while, she might be saved from developing palpitations.
A sober-faced Michael joined her at the window. “I can’t stop thinking of him.”
“Truly?” she answered, briefly wondering what cause Michael would have to be obsessively thinking of Julian.
“It’s just … so hard to believe he’s gone.”
Leo. He means Leo, you fool. Strange. For the first time in months, Lily hadn’t been thinking of her brother.
“I wish I’d been able to attend the burial,” Michael said. “I hadn’t seen him in above two years.”
“Didn’t you see him the summer before last? Oh, but perhaps you were at sea that July.”
“Two summers ago?” Michael shook his head. “I wasn’t at sea. I was in Plymouth. But no, I didn’t have a chance to see Leo. Wasn’t he with you in Gloucestershire?”
“Not for July. He went …” Lily bit her tongue. “Oh, I’m sorry. I must be remembering it wrong.”
That July, Leo had spent the month at a reunion of his old Eton friends. She didn’t want to make Michael feel poorly for having been excluded. But then, why should Michael have been excluded? He’d been Leo’s closest friend at school. It made no sense, unless …
Unless Leo hadn’t attended a reunion with his old Eton friends. Unless he’d spent a month somewhere else.
The room went fuzzy around her. Fragments of those letters floated to the surface of her memory.
When I close my eyes at night, I imagine we’re there again. We lie still in the tall grass. A clear sky hangs over us. The sun’s warmth bakes the dew from our skin. Your fingers lace with mine. Like children, we laugh at the skylarks mating overhead.
Then you turn to me slowly, brush a lock of hair from my brow.
We kiss, and childish thoughts are put away.
Lily jolted back into the present. The commander stood before her.
“Shall we?” He extended a hand and tilted his head toward the card tables.
“Oh!” She rose to her feet. “Yes, of course.”
They sat down to whist. She, Amelia, Michael, and the commander occupied the first table, whilst the three younger lieutenants were left to play shorthanded at the other, with the empty fourth seat designated “dummy.”
Lily was partnered with Michael, and the commander seated himself to her left. As Amelia shuffled the deck, Lily tried to focus. She was good at cards, and especially skilled at whist. She looked forward to displaying proficiency in something this evening.
But she couldn’t. Her concentration was so scattered. Several times, she had to be prompted to play her turn. At her left, she felt the commander growing impatient. The testy set of his jaw told her what his words did not. He was bored with her. It happened. People like the commander started out solicitous and enthusiastic, treating conversation with a deaf woman as some sort of parlor game in its own right. But once they realized the game had no end, and furthermore, no prizes would be awarded … they sometimes grew weary of the effort and ceased trying.
To be fair, Lily was poor company. Her mind kept circling back to her conversation with Michael and that stack of letters she’d found hidden in Leo’s desk drawer. She’d always thought there’d been no secrets between her and her brother. Evidently she’d been wrong.
What had he been hiding from her? Or more to the point, whom?
And where in the world was Julian? He promised to escort her to three events, not make an appearance just long enough to humiliate her before fleeing the scene and leaving her all alone to deal with Leo’s grief-stricken friends. Not to mention commanders of the Royal Navy who were short on patience and entirely too free with their hands.
Even though she knew it to be unfair, she wanted to take her every moment of uncertainty, awkwardness, and undiluted fear in this endless day and heap the blame squarely at Julian’s feet. She was so very tired, and tired of being angry with him. Between the unshed tears blurring her vision and the trembling of her fingers, she could barely make out the figures on her cards.
“I beg your pardon,” she said, laying down her cards and rising from the table. “I believe I need some air.” When the other men began to rise, she motioned for them to remain in place. Amelia’s eyes flashed concern, and Lily tried to reassure her with a smile. “Don’t get up, please. I’ll return momentarily.” Just as soon as I find Julian and drag him back, too.
As she smoothed her skirts, she tried not to feel defeated. Yes, she could handle these settings alone. But given the choice, she would prefer to handle them with Julian.
When had he become so essential to her?
She turned away from the card table and moved to quit the room.
Then she stopped. Because Julian was there in the doorway, headed toward her.
When their eyes met, they each stumbled to a halt. He smiled at the coincidence. She pressed her lips together. In unison, they exchanged brief nods, followed by matching expressions of suppressed laughter. A whole conversation, crammed into the space of a moment, with nary a word exchanged. The understanding and patience she craved … it was all there, waiting in his eyes. Strange impulses tugged at her. The strongest of which being the desire to run at the man, fling both arms around his neck, and hope—just breathe and wait and hope, with her pulse thundering in her ears—that his arms would naturally wrap around her, too.
But before she could embarrass them both, Julian’s gaze cut away, darting to the card players behind her. Lily watched his face blanch, then flush crimson with fury. His lips formed crisp, distinct words. Words not intended for her, but for someone beyond her right shoulder.
“What the devil did you just say?”
Oh, dear. The commander must have made some remark when she’d turned away. Something insensitive, when she couldn’t overhear. And of course, Julian was incapable of letting such remarks pass. His mouth thinned to a tight, angry line. At his sides, his hands balled into formidable fists.
He was going to hurt someone. Soon.
Lily stepped in front of him. The scene wasn’t disastrous yet. If she pretended to be oblivious to the whole situation, everyone else could act the same. “Mr. Bellamy,” she said lightly. “I … I was just on my way to get some air. Would you take me for a turn about the garden?”
She took his hand. Or rather, his wrist, since his hand was a solid lump of knuckles and thumb.
He glared past her, at the commander. “You’re a bastard. Don’t think she doesn’t know it.”
“Julian,” she whispered, frantic. “Take me for a turn in the garden. Now.”
This time, she did not wait for his agreement. Mining a reserve of strength she hadn’t known she possessed, Lily yanked him by the wrist until he did an about-face. She thrust her arm through his, linking him securely at her side. He stiffened for a moment, as though his mind and muscles were at odds over how to respond. But when she stepped forward, he did too. Thank heaven. Together, they left the drawing room and the card tables and the commander behind.
But they never made it anywhere near the garden.
Lily tugged him into the first available space—a room just across the corridor—and, with a quick glance about for servants, carefully shut the door behind them. This must be Amelia’s day room. The room was thick with overstuffed furniture designed for comfort, not fashion, and needlework baskets and homely curios occupied the tables. The windows were hung with plush velvet draperies. It was the perfect place for a private conversation.
Just the same, she strove to keep her voice low as she turned to Julian. “What was all that, then?”
His face shuttered. “Nothing.”
“For pity’s sake, you can tell me. I gather the commander made some jesting remark, one he knew I couldn’t hear. It must have been quite ill-mannered, to turn you that particular shade of red.”
Julian just shook his head, refusing to answer. He took a few paces, swinging the tension from his arms as he walked.
Lily crossed her arms over her chest. Because the room was cold, and because she needed a hug—and it seemed Julian would not offer one. “Will you make me guess? Let me see … We were playing whist, and I left them shorthanded. Ah. It must have been something about having to play with a dummy hand, hm?” She smiled to herself. “Yes, that would make sense. ‘Trading one dumb player for another.’ Was it something like that?”
When Julian made no motion to deny it, Lily supposed her guess to be near the mark. A nervous chuckle escaped her control.
“How can you laugh?” he demanded.
She threw up a hand. “How can I not? I mean, it’s a terrible pun. I’m only deaf, not dumb at all. But there’s no denying I’ve played abominably all evening.”
He blinked at her, incredulous.
She felt her own face heat. Her tongue stumbled against her teeth as she tried to explain. “It’s easier to laugh. One must have a sense of humor about such things, or life becomes unbearable. And if you’re going to be my escort in society, you’ll need to gird yourself against these little slights, too. People don’t understand. Some assume my mind went with my hearing. Others shout themselves red, as if increased volume will help. Still others are just so flummoxed by the whole idea, they ignore me entirely. The commander may be a self-important boor, I’ll grant you. But you can’t fly into a rage every time one of those fresh-faced lieutenants makes an honest attempt at conversation.”
“They were insulting you.”
“That’s mine to decide, not yours. I’m so tired of you thinking for me. First I can’t live alone. Then I can’t hold a simple dinner conversation without a knifepoint intervention. Now I can’t even know my own mind? I thought you were my friend, Julian, but a true friend wouldn’t keep reminding me of my limitations. He’d believe in me, and help me believe I can do anything I choose.”
His expression softened. “Lily, of course I believe in you, but—”
“But what? There’s no room for ‘but’ in that sentence. You can’t say you believe in me, ‘but.’ Either you believe in someone, full stop—or you don’t.”
Sighing heavily, she took a few paces about the room, trying to master her emotions and revive some faith in herself. If there was one thing worse than being the object of others’ pity, it was succumbing to self-pity. After nine years, the deafness itself rarely caused her a moment’s lamentation. Only the thoughtlessness of others sometimes dragged her spirits low.
“You have no idea, Julian. These little slights this evening—they’re nothing.” Pausing by a side table, she gave the porcelain beagle squatting there a pensive tap on the head. “Once,” she said, smoothing her fingertip down one floppy ear, “the year after my illness, I received a letter from my mother’s Aunt Beatrice. In it, she expressed her very deep distress about my affliction, as she called it. She felt it her Christian duty to point out that my deafness was a judgment from God. My punishment for being too beautiful and too proud. She prayed I would be more mindful of my spiritual health, now that my physical well-being had been compromised.”
Lily hadn’t thought about that letter in years, not consciously. But obviously the paper-thin score on her heart had never quite healed, festering all this time. Had people thought her too proud in her debut season? She hadn’t been, not excessively. Only shy. But some had obviously mistaken her natural reserve for vanity, and in a fashion, Lily must have felt shamed by Aunt Beatrice’s rebuke—for she’d never spoken of that letter to anyone, not even Leo. Why she was telling Julian about it now, she had no idea.
Julian’s hand fell on hers, warm and strong. When she lifted her face, he spoke slowly and distinctly. “Your mother’s Aunt Beatrice was an unforgivable, imbecilic, self-righteous bitch.”
And with that, he gave her exactly what she’d been needing. This was why she’d told Julian. Leo never could have said that. He was far too congenial, and besides—Aunt Beatrice had given him his first pony.
“Yes.” Lily nodded, feeling years of resentment uncoil within her. “Yes, she was.”
“As if an illness could somehow be your fault, or God’s will.”
Sensing an opportunity in this vein of conversation, Lily asked, “If not mine or God’s, whose fault was it? The doctor’s? My parents’?”
“No one’s, of course.”
He pried her fingers from the ceramic dog and held her hand in his. Strange, confusing sparks of sensation traveled from her wrist to her elbow.
“It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” he went on. “Sometimes bad things just happen, and there’s nowhere to point the finger of blame.”
“Exactly.” The current of electricity buzzed through her whole body now. “Just like with Leo. Sometimes bad things just happen, and there’s no one to blame.”
“That’s different. That’s different, and you know it. Where there’s murder, there’s blame. By definition.”
“But—”
He dropped her hand and stalked to the unused hearth, propping one boot on the grate and leaning his forearm on the mantel, glaring hard into his fist.
She crossed to him. “We have to talk.”
“We’ve been talking.”
“No, I mean …”
Curse him, she’d been hoping to avoid this conversation. Ever since Leo’s death, Julian had become so protective of her, so intense in their every interaction. And now it would seem she’d caught the same contagion. Unable to put him out of her mind, ascribing strange tingles to his casual touch. Perhaps if they discussed this tension between them, it would dissipate.
“Ever since my brother died,” she began, “I’ve been struggling to answer this question: Without Leo, who am I? He was such a large part of my life, and in many ways I defined my existence in relationship to his. In too many ways, I fear. I’m sorting out the tangle, slowly. But as if that weren’t hard enough, there’s this other question. It comes to the fore whenever we’re together. I can only imagine it’s the reason we’re always quarreling of late.”
He stared at her, impassive. “What question would that be?”
Anxiety prickled in her throat. Using all available willpower, she blunted her nerves and met his gaze. “Without Leo … who are we?”
A glimmer of some inscrutable emotion lit his eyes, but she didn’t dare focus on it too long. Instead, she dropped her gaze and concentrated on his mouth, awaiting his reply. As much time as she’d spent staring at him, she couldn’t help notice that his lips were so well-shaped. Wide and sensual, curved at the edges just a bit. The faintest pull of his jaw muscle could tweak that curve into a playful smirk or a genuine smile or a wicked suggestion. He must be a very good kisser, when he wasn’t under the influence of pain and sleeping powder.
Her own tongue darted out to moisten her lips. Oh, this was terrible.
Words, Lily. Concentrate on his words.
“I mean,” she continued nervously, “we became friends through Leo, and now that he’s gone, it’s only natural that we would be forced to … ask ourselves that.”
“And have you arrived at an answer?”
“I know what we aren’t. You can’t be Leo’s replacement. I don’t need a substitute brother, watching over everything I do.”
A little tug of his jaw tipped his mouth. “I don’t want to be your brother.”
“I don’t need a guardian, either. I’m eight-and-twenty, not a girl.”
“I’m well aware of that, too.”
“Then why have you become so protective and overbearing? Always demanding that I marry, then chasing off any man who so much as dares to touch my hand?” Even as she asked the question, Lily knew the heat building between their bodies was a very good clue.
Still she prattled on, hoping more words would dispel it. “You …” She touched a hand to his chest. A mistake. Too solid, too strong. Those sparks again. “You feel guilty and bound to protect me, and I …” She withdrew her touch and pressed the same hand to her own breast. Softer, uncertain. Quivering with each pounding beat of her heart. “I feel lonely and unmoored. We’re both emotional and searching for answers, and I just wish …”
She dropped her gaze, because she couldn’t bear to be interrupted. She had to get these words out. “I just wish our friendship could be the one thing that’s never in question. Can you understand? It pains me so much, to always be arguing with you, worrying about you. Just because Leo died, it doesn’t mean everything between us must change. I want to go back to the way we were before.”
She paused, eyes lowered and breath bated, wondering why those words tasted false on her tongue.
He seized her by the shoulders, forcing her gaze to meet his. “We can’t, Lily. We can’t go back. Too much has changed.”
“I don’t want things to change. Why can’t we just stay friends forever?”
“Because …” His grip tightened on her shoulders, and excitement rippled through her veins. “Lily, you can’t tell me you don’t know.”
No, she couldn’t. A hidden, deeply feminine part of her understood him perfectly. And yet … “I want you to say it.”
He pulled her to him, bringing her body flush against his. “Because I want you, Lily, the way a man wants a woman. I always have.”
He held her fast, and she stood breathless, slowly becoming aware of his body. Then, slowly, growing aware of her own. She had a thin, willowy build. People always teased that there was scarcely anything to her. But here in his arms, she felt her own substance. Her weight, her heat, her curves.
“There’s always been a tension between us,” he said. “I know you must feel it. Tell me you feel it, too.”
She nodded. Oh, yes. The tension, the attraction, the force of his ardor. She felt all those things. But she could also feel it—a firm ridge, swelling against her belly. The physical manifestation of male desire, and yet she wasn’t made timid by the display. To the contrary, for the first time in months, she felt powerful and strong.
His eyes searched hers, then dropped to linger on her lips. She watched his mouth as he formed the unmistakable syllables of her name. “Lily.”
So prescient of her parents, giving her that name. L-sounds were among the easiest to lip-read. The trouble was, the shape of her name always looked a bit silly to her. Especially with her honorific attached: “Lady Lily.” Two l’s were bad enough, but three were ridiculous. All that tongue-flapping made her want to giggle.
But when Julian spoke her name, it never looked like a joke to her. No, it looked vaguely … naughty. Sensual, not silly. She’d always loved watching her name on his lips.
Always.
The word seeped down into her bones, into her soul, where it simply … fell into place. Like the moment of triumph she felt after scouring a ledger a dozen times and finally finding the six shillings unaccounted for, in the column where she’d mistaken a seven for a one. At last, it all made sense—all the quarreling and worrying and strange tingling that resulted from his touch. This explained why he’d grown so inordinately protective of her, and why the sight of his blood on her fingertips had thrown her into absolute panic. Because he’d always wanted her this way. And deep down—so far deep down she hadn’t even been fully aware of it until this moment—she’d always desired him, too.
Here was the answer. Who were they, without Leo?
They were two people who wanted each other.
And right now, they were two people who were just about to kiss.