Maybe if he closed his eyes he could ignore the fact that they were there. He did that and went back to kissing Lily. She felt so warm against him, and so soft, her curves melding to his body, her mouth tasting so right. He wished he could kiss her forever.
Or at least his head wished he could kiss her forever. Other parts were telling him that would never be enough.
“When shall we be married?” he asked the next time he came up for air.
Looking flushed and a little bit flustered, Lily levered herself back to a sitting position. “Violet and Ford were wed two weeks after they became betrothed, and—”
“Two weeks?” Still lying on his side, Rand leaned up on an elbow. He propped his head on one hand and reached to play with a lock of her hair. “It won’t be easy, but I suppose I can survive that long.”
“That long? Mum has been complaining about that rushed wedding ever since. She wishes to make a proper job of it this time. Six months, she said—”
“Six months! I cannot wait six months.”
She smiled. “Neither can I. 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.
“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”
She took a minute to answer, a minute during which he held his breath. “No,” she said at last. “Not really.”
The words had come too slowly, too reluctantly. Rand’s heart hitched. “Lily—”
“I’m not having second thoughts,” she repeated and then launched herself at him, knocking him back to the pallet as she crushed her mouth to his.
He kissed her and laughed, sheer joy mixed with relief. But something inside him had shifted. All at once, even more than he wanted to show her how grateful he was that she’d come into his life, he wanted to make her his. Permanently.
Six weeks suddenly seemed a long, long time.
With a wistful sigh, he pulled away before things could go any further. Lily’s little sound of frustrated disappointment matched his own feelings all too well. He sat and reached for another strawberry. “Does she always hiccup so much?” he asked, indicating the cat.
“No. Or at least she didn’t used to. It’s odd the way she’s been doing that lately.” She pulled off her shoes and reached beneath her skirts to untie a garter.
Rand blinked. “What are you doing?”
She rolled down a stocking. “Do you usually wear shoes to picnic?”
“I don’t usually picnic,” he said dryly. He’d allowed little time for idleness in his life. As her other stocking came off, he swallowed hard. “You’re not going to take anything else off, are you?”
“No,” she said quickly; then her eyes glittered. “Unless you want me to.”
Oh, he wanted her to, all right. He forced a laugh. “Your mother shouldn’t have left us here alone.”
“Perhaps not.” She looked down, then raised her lashes slowly, revealing a steadfast blue gaze that pierced him to his soul. “But I’m glad for it,” she added in a breathy whisper.
Rand was finding it hard to breathe. He sipped more champagne and watched her stretch her bare feet out before her, fluffing her skirts over her legs and allowing him a glimpse of slim ankles.
Her actions were innocent, he was sure. But innocently seductive.
She wiggled her pretty toes. “Oh, that feels so much better.” Leaning forward, she smiled. “Let me help you with your boots.”
Not sure he could stand her help, he tugged them off before she had a chance. She smiled knowingly, as though she were aware of her own allure and his resulting discomfort.
Maybe Lily wasn’t as innocent as he’d thought.
“Have a nun’s biscuit,” she said. “They’re my favorites.” She handed him one of the round treats. “You look hungry.”
He was, but not for almonds and lemon. A nun’s biscuit, of all things. Just what he needed: a vision of chaste nuns while the woman he loved was tempting him to sin.
He bit into the sweet, crisp biscuit, then tensed when she reached to wipe stray crumbs from his mouth before replacing her fingers with her lips.
Lily’s mouth was sweeter than any biscuit he’d ever tasted. It was all he could do to keep from tearing her gown off then and there. As it was, he found himself drawing her down to the pallet again.
Or maybe she drew him down. He wasn’t sure. And lost in the moment, in the pleasure of her mouth on his, he didn’t care. For several long, heady minutes, his world was he and Lily and the incredible wonder of two people made for each other.
Until he felt sandpaper rubbing his toes. “What the devil—”
She laughed, a sound of pure merriment that drowned out the rain. “Beatrix, stop licking Rand’s feet.” 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 laughed again. “Beatrix seemed to find you so delicious, I’m tempted to taste your toes myself.”
That would be his undoing. Just imagining that scenario made the aforementioned toes—and other parts of him—prickle with awareness.
He sat up and shoved the rest of the nun’s biscuit into his mouth, and then, for good measure, began humming a distracting tune.
Only it wasn’t nearly distracting enough.
TWENTY-NINE
LILY SMILED to herself. That song again. She’d almost worked out how to play it, and she looked forward to the surprise.
But not right now. Now she only wanted more kisses.
Rain beat on the roof above, blending with the tune that wafted from Rand’s throat. The sounds combined to create a rhythm that went right through her, mirroring the
