Lily accepted her goblet and took a big gulp, looking as if she needed it. “Rose is very angry with me.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Violet told Ford you’d never consent to wed me, for fear of hurting your sister.” He raised his goblet in a toast. “I’m glad she was wrong.”
They drank, solemnly, gazing at each other over the goblets’ rims—and Rand berated himself for bringing up Rose. He wished he could kiss away the shadow over Lily’s face, but his gaze darted to one of the open doors, leery of her mother’s return.
To his surprise, it was innocent Lily who set down her champagne, leaned forward, and pressed her lips to his, rising on her knees to reach him. It was a slow, consoling kiss, though whether she was drawing consolation or offering it, he didn’t know—with Lily they seemed to be the same thing. Tasting of champagne, she held his head in both hands, unexpectedly strong. Trying to kiss her back with all the tenderness he felt, he thanked God for sending her to him.
Rain pattered on the roof far above. “I love you,” she said quietly.
“I know,” he returned, his voice filled with wonder. Sweet mercy, how incredible to have never had love in his life—and then to suddenly have it. What a difference love made! In the space of a fortnight, his entire life had changed. As if years of shadow had given way to full sun.
He clasped Lily to him like some precious object, tucking her head gently under his chin. ”When shall we be married?”
She gave a contented sigh. “Violet and Ford were wed two weeks after they became betrothed, and—”
“Two weeks?” His fingers played with a lock of her hair. “It won’t be easy, but I suppose I can wait that long.”
“That long? Mum has been complaining about the rushed wedding ever since. She wishes to make a proper job of it this time. Six months, she said—”
“Six months! You can’t be serious.”
He felt her smile against his chest. “Those were my words exactly. That is why I talked her into six weeks.”
“Oh. I suppose six weeks is survivable.”
“It will pass quickly enough. I’ll be busy with wedding plans, and you with your house. We’ll be married before Michaelmas term starts in mid-October. And I hope that in the meantime Rose will come around…”
Her voice trailed off sadly, and she sat back on her heels, not meeting his eyes.
“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”
She took a minute to answer, a minute during which he neither moved nor drew breath. “No,” she said at last. “Not really.”
The words had come too slowly, too reluctantly. Rand’s heart slammed against his ribs. “Lily—”
“I’m not having second thoughts,” she repeated and then launched herself at him, knocking him back to the rug as she crushed her mouth to his.
He kissed her and laughed, sheer joy mixed with relief, keeping just enough presence of mind to steady the champagne bottle she’d nearly toppled…before losing himself completely in the sensation of her slight, warm body sprawled over his. He could have kept kissing her the whole afternoon, spectators or no.
Until he felt sandpaper rubbing his fingers. “What on earth—”
Lily giggled, a sound of pure merriment that drowned out the rain. “Beatrix, stop licking Rand’s hand.” Leaning on an elbow, she held up a bite of cheese, and the cat wandered over to take it with its delicate pink tongue.
At least it looked delicate. “I thought it would feel wet,” he said. “And soft.”
“Has a cat never licked you?” Lily’s eyes danced, and Beatrix hiccuped.
“Does she always hiccup so much?” Rand asked.
“No. Or at least she didn’t used to. She’s been acting a bit odd lately. I suppose it’s a good thing she stopped us, though.” With a rueful glance at the nearest door, Lily sighed and sat up. “Are you still hungry? Try a nun’s biscuit. They’re my favorites.”
Biting into the offered sweet, he tasted almonds and lemon and smiled. But beneath the smile, a twinge of uneasiness returned.
A nun’s biscuit, of all things. Well, he hoped the image of chaste nuns would remind both Lily and himself that that they weren’t married yet, and ought not to be engaging in improper intimacies. It wasn’t worth risking her parents’ ire, on top of Rose’s wrath.
Nothing was worth risking the wedding going forward as planned.
Lady Trentingham soon returned to an innocent scene of two young people munching on nun’s biscuits. Lily was apparently back in all good spirits, and the sight warmed Rand from the inside out. He told himself there was no danger, that their feelings for each other were too strong to be foiled. Not her parents, nor Rose, nor the king himself could come between them.
But all of a sudden, six weeks seemed like a very, very long time.
TWENTY-NINE
IT TOOK THREE carriages to get to Oxford. A valet and two maids rode in the first, along with all the luggage. The second conveyed Father, Mum, and Rose. And the third held Rand and Lily, with Rowan, evidently, as their chaperone.
Rand sat beside Lily on one of the two upholstered benches, holding her hand. Across from them, Rowan chattered, excited about his first trip to Oxford.
“You’ve never been?” Rand asked.
“Never.”
“Neither have I,” Lily added.
He squeezed her hand, praying she would be pleased with the town and with his house—anything that might add to her satisfaction, and hopefully help outweigh the less pleasing consequences of their betrothal.
Though she might have found more enjoyment, Rand thought, had Rowan shut his mouth for thirty seconds in a row sometime during the journey. He was a nice enough child, but spending several hours trapped in a small space with the lad was sufficient to convince Rand he wasn’t quite ready to be a father.
When children
