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Unbeknownst to most, wallflowers had the best spot at parties. They could see everything that happened from a disguised vantage point behind potted plants or tall columns while hugging one of the four walls encasing them.
Which Lily realized too late as she watched Owen flirt with all the debutantes his mother paraded in front of him. Blonde, brunette, red-haired. A bevy of pretty young women suitable to make a match with an earl—unlike her.
And anger seethed in her veins, swirling with unrelenting jealousy.
I don’t care what he does. He’s free to do as he pleases.
She repeated the words over and over again, adding a tune to them at times, demanding that the lies become true. Their kiss must have snuck deeper under her skin than she’d realized if her blood was getting this worked up over silly flirtations.
I don’t care. I don’t care.
But an hour later when Owen made his way towards her, Lily straightened as an unbidden smoky wisp of hope blossomed in her chest. Would he ask her to dance?
“You've been watching me.” A hard stare bore into her, and her shoulders slumped a degree before she remembered to compose herself.
“Have I? You think rather highly of yourself to presume such a thing.” The snap of a fan sounded between them as she waved it over her flushing cheeks.
“I presume nothing. You don't think I know when your gaze follows me around the room?” Owen stepped closer, invading her space. “Trust me when I say I’m aware of your every movement.”
A thrill swept through her blood at his clipped confession, satisfaction settling in her belly with the knowledge that he’d been as conscious of her as she’d been of him. Lords and ladies surrounded them, urging them closer together, and the fabric of Lily’s dress scratched at her skin.
Lord, did he have to smell so delicious?
That accursed cinnamon tickled her nose again.
This is too much.
The people. The heat. Owen.
Multiplying emotions tugged her in every direction, and she needed to escape. Needed to redirect the evening—strengthen her resolve against him before she succumbed to his charms for the second time in two weeks.
“Think what you will,” she said lamely. “I’m in need of fresh air.” Lily dodged around him to weave through the ballroom until an exit appeared. Scurrying towards the open doorway, she passed through a smaller retiring room and kept going until the crowd thinned. The party confined to the east wing of the home, a sigh of relief fell from her lips as she took refuge in an empty room in the family quarters, though it didn’t remain that way for long.
Owen trailed her like a hound on the hunt. When she dared look back on her mad escape, she’d witnessed a bevy of guests bombarding him, slowing his progress as he politely greeted them before pushing forward.
Not a minute later, the door slammed behind Owen, shutting out the faint noise of the ball and encapsulating them in a hush of anticipation.
The lock turned with a deafening click.
A portrait of his father glared down from a prominent position above the mantel as if scolding her for causing his son more trouble. Wooden chess pieces rested on a side table, prepared for game play, while leather-bound books filled a corner shelf.
Everything in its proper place. Except for her and Owen.
They shouldn’t be alone. Forget her already-sullied reputation, capitulation concerned her more. Both of them giving in to the blaze sparking between them, the sure consequence whenever they argued.
Perhaps that’s it.
Fire scorched through Lily’s veins, searching for release, and her wild gaze caught on him, acknowledging the one way she could. They always fought, and it always ended in passion. It was a never-ending cycle.
But what if they completed the cycle? What if they finally surrendered to their desires, no holds barred?
She rushed up to him and started tugging at his clothes, moving to the waist of his trousers and fumbling with the buttons.
“Let’s do this, here and now.” The convoluted plan in her mind took root, its hazy edges ignored as she ached to reach some semblance of peace. To put right what she broke, even for a moment. Every black thought. Every bitter snap. They could be traced back to the day she decided to tear her and Owen apart.
Nothing had gone right since then, and nothing may go right again.
But at least they could have this evening and...
“Are you mad? We can’t—” The interruption broke her unformed thought, bringing her back to the present.
“We can,” she insisted, fighting his grip on her hands. “My reputation is ruined, you know this. Let’s finally get this over with what we’ve wanted for years.”
“What every man wants to hear from a woman: let’s get this over with.”
“Don’t you want me?” She paused long enough to meet his gray gaze. “Don’t lie, because if our kiss the other day is anything to go by, I know you do. And I want this, too. Maybe it’ll burn out whatever lust still flames our blood.”
Everyone already believed the worst of her, including Owen.
Why not steal a shred of pleasure from the man she wanted even as he infuriated her? She’d ruin herself for good now, and the gossip flying around the village would be a lie no longer.
His hand tangled in her hair and dragged her closer. “You truly believe such a thing is possible? One tup, and we won’t feel this infernal draw towards each other?”
She didn’t answer, just waited for him to make up his mind. She’d said all she could on the matter. For all their fighting, the time for talking had passed, and action was the name of the game tonight.
A groan emanated from him before he relented. “So be it, then.”
Victory.
He walked her backward until her back hit the wall with a thud and his mouth landed on hers in a rush of lust. Eagerly awaiting him, she resumed her attempts to remove his clothing as she reveled in his kiss. The ravenous nature echoed her own urgency as she finally met the bare skin of Owen’s taut stomach—a mutual sound of pleasure passing between them at the contact.
Rough, biting nips traced down her neck and claimed her chest, the tops of her breasts blooming red beneath Owen’s tongue and teeth. This differed from their trysts from before. They’d been hesitant, careful not to push the other too far.
Clearly, they were past such fear.
The rustle of bunched fabric incited Lily further as a cool breeze washed over her exposed legs. Owen shoved the mountain of skirts higher and brought a hand between quivering thighs to her core, and an unrepentant moan vibrated in her throat.
It had been so long since he’d touched her like this.
“Christ, you’re already wet,” he growled before deepening their kiss and starting to rub the bundle of nerves at the top of her sex between two fingers, surprising her with his memory of what pleased her.
“Is it any wonder?” Her breath caught at the building sensations centering in her quim. “We’ve spent years circling this moment like cats in heat. It’s only natural for my body to respond in full approval of our long-awaited joining.”
“And we shan’t wait any longer.”
Lily watched beneath slitted lashes as he released his engorged member from its confines and fit himself between her legs. A shadow of doubt passed over her—a worry that perhaps she should tell him the truth first—but it became too late when he pushed inside, and a cry of pain echoed in the room as she tensed at the breach.
Owen stopped immediately, a horrified look of knowledge dawning. “You’re a virgin?”
He tried jerking away, but she held tight to him, determined even as tears formed. “Just finish it.” She needed this completion. The pain would stop. Even now it ebbed to a dull ache, but things between them would still balance on a pin needle and she needed them to fall one way or the other.
Please, finish it.
Her heart throbbed—begged—for completion.
Wresting her hands from his waist, Owen stepped back, and she flinched at the emptiness he left behind. “Why would you... How could you let me...?” He tucked himself back into his trousers and began pacing around the room, a shaky hand ruffling his hair.
“How could you do this? Our first time together and this? Frenzied, passionate, I could handle. But for you to...” An agitated arm swept out and a cream vase full of roses careened towards the carpet, shattering.
Lily jumped at the muted crash as shards of ceramic scattered on the floor. “It's done now,” she said numbly, brushing at her skirts in a hopeless effort to smooth out the wrinkles. Unfortunately, taffeta didn’t smooth out.
And neither did the lingering effects of desire clinging to her body.
Or the wash of heartache besieging her soul.
Disbelieving eyes speared her to the wall. “Done? It’s only bloody begun. We’ll need to marry now.”
Incredulous laughter burbled up. Perhaps hysterical? “Now, who’s mad? I’m not marrying you. I’m not marrying anyone. It’s entirely unnecessary. No one knows what we’ve done, and if they did, it’s not like I can be ruined twice.”
At least her brain function seemed to be returning. That last point seemed rather clever.
“I know what I’ve done, and I take responsibility for my part in this farce.” He stalked nearer though kept a respectable distance as if he couldn’t bear risking a touch. “You will marry me, Lily Taylor, and you will be the next Countess of Trent.”
“Never.” She shook her head, which set the flood of waiting tears free. Wiping a hand over her cheeks, she weakly repeated the promise. “Never.”
Whipping around, she struggled with the locked door before flipping the latch and fleeing the room, crushing her skirts in a sweaty grip as she ran down the hall, frantic gaze searching for a way out. Think, Lily. She envisioned past visits to the Trent home—elaborate games of hide and seek with her sisters and Owen—until a vague map arose, and she followed defining landmarks—plum drapes with fringe along the bottom which she’d loved to comb her fingers through, an elaborate peacock planter housing large leafy fronds.
Soon, her memory proved reliable when gardens appeared through a closed set of French doors, and Lily eased past the unlocked barrier into a wonderland of color highlighted by moonlight.
Leave it for Owen to notify her abandoned sisters of her departure.
Lily gulped in the fresh air before removing her slippers and taking off at a sprint home. A miracle feat considering the layers of fabric weighing her down.
Owen.
If she couldn’t marry him at eighteen, she most certainly couldn’t marry him at twenty-five! The reasons they shouldn’t remained as tall and foreboding as Mount Everest.
He’s noble; she’s not.
He’s respectable; she’s a ruined woman.
And a whole host of other reasons she’d written down all those years ago. She just needed to find that list again.
When the cottage rose to the forefront, Lily added one last burst of speed and hurried inside before collapsing on the wooden floor, struggling for breath. A scream stuck in her throat. She wished she could rid herself of the roiling darkness sweeping through her, but it was there to stay—a part of her now.
Hiccupping gasps filled the room as salty tears tracked down her cheeks. Soon, she’d need to escape upstairs before her sisters returned to find her in a sniveling heap. Answering inquiries about her disappearance from the ball would be too much for her.
A vague explanation would come tomorrow. Until then she wanted to be alone.
Forever alone.
Well and truly now.
***
A VIRGIN!
Disbelief radiated from his pores.
A fucking virgin.
That incredible fact bounced around in his addled brain. All these years she’d let him believe—let everyone believe—Lynch’s claims of her lost virtue, yet they’d obviously been false.
Sinking into a leather chair, Owen hung his head in shame, even though fury raged in his blood. It was an odd combination that made him sick to his stomach.
They’d waited all this time, and to finally consummate their relationship in such a horrid way tore at him. Two virgins no longer.
And throughout all of it, a spark of hope sprouted deep inside his soul. He didn’t know why she’d lied for so long, but Lily wasn’t immune to him. Tonight proved a modicum of feelings on her part. Perhaps they could start again. After all, he couldn’t let her act as if their joining never happened. They must marry.
But she lied. And she did kiss Lynch. You saw it.
Yes, he did.
Owen would have to get to the bottom of why she betrayed him in such a way, but kiss or not—ruined or not—he’d have her as his wife.
Who she was always meant to be.
Passing conversation in the hall filtered into the room, and he knew it was time to return to the ball. Standing to his feet, a neutral expression on his face, he started to leave when the broken vase caught his eye, recalling his outburst with guilt. He’d need to send a servant in to clean it up before someone injured themselves.
After mentioning the mess to a maid, he rejoined the party and made his way to Caraway and Iris, who stood like wallflowers, hugging the edges of the ballroom.
“Where have you been? Have you seen Lily? We seem to have lost her.” Caraway searched the ballroom for her wayward sister, her heels lifted off the floor to help her small stature see through the crowd.
“She went home,” he explained, avoiding her gaze. “She wasn’t feeling well.”
“Oh, dear. I hope it’s not serious like one of her migraines. Perhaps we should leave.” Iris wrung her hands in concern.
Her odd statement confused him—one of her migraines. The Lily he’d known exuded an aura of health, never ill, and a change in that assessment troubled him.
“No, you must stay; she doesn’t want you to worry.”
“I’m surprised she chose to confide in you.” Caraway turned speculative eyes on him, and he felt like one of those plants their father used to study under the microscope.
“It was less of a confidence rather than an opportunity to relay the message before leaving. If not me, it would’ve been a servant, I’m sure.” He brushed over the speculation before she could dive too deeply. It wouldn’t do to share anything about his and Lily’s scandalous encounter. He’d deal with her privately.
Catching his mother holding court across the room, Owen dipped his head in farewell. “I must see to the guest of honor. If I don’t see you again tonight, I hope you enjoy the evening.”
“Thank you, and good luck.” Caraway glanced over his shoulder. “She seemed quite keen on a match for you.”
“Try as she might, I won’t be marrying until I’m ready.”
Which will be fairly soon.
Lily would not escape his grasp, and the irony wasn’t lost on him.
An earl didn’t chase; women sought him.
Yet he intended to chase Lily Taylor—he would not give her up again.