Unlacing Lilly. Gail Ranstrom

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СКАЧАТЬ Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Chapter Twenty-One

      Epilogue

      Chapter One

      London, July 27, 1821

      This was not the first time Devlin Farrell had intruded on the grounds of Rutherford House to watch the people within. Far from it. He knew the residents almost as well as he knew himself. Knew what they liked and didn’t like, who they saw, where they went and what they wanted. And he knew, too, when events would be held at Rutherford House that would allow him to watch them and, occasionally, mingle. Like tonight. There was not much, in fact, that he did not know about Lord Rutherford and his brood.

      Shrouded by the branches of a sheltering willow, he went unnoticed by strolling couples and the occasional straggler. He had little fear of being discovered. There were far too many guests to keep track of tonight. With the right enticement, he might even enter the ballroom and blend. No one would recognize him, and if they did, they certainly would not give him away lest they give themselves away. Devlin was not a man people would admit to knowing.

      Gay paper lanterns lit the paths and the sound of an orchestra floated from the ballroom on a summer breeze as soft as a caress to his cheek. Laughter filled the air, along with the clink of glasses, and he knew the wine would be as free-flowing as the Thames.

      Devlin shrugged out of his jacket and slung it over a branch to roll his shirtsleeves up. The night was uncommonly sultry and he was not in the least concerned about how a gentleman appeared in public. He was not a gentleman.

      “Oh, Lord Olney! You are beyond diverting.”

      Edward Manlay? Marquis of Olney and the Duke of Rutherford’s heir? Devlin turned toward the voice. Coming down the path toward the bench beneath the willow were the Rutherford heir—lean and lanky Olney—and a fairylike creature whose honeyed hair was silvered by the clear moonlight. She wore a deep blue gown, turned almost black by the depth of the night, and trimmed with embroidered white birds in flight. How very appropriate for one so ethereal.

      He moved behind the tree trunk and leaned against it, watching between the branches, curious to see what Olney would do next. Given that this was the cub’s favorite bench for seductions, would he maul his companion as he’d done to other hapless females on countless occasions? Or yawn and make an excuse to return to the ballroom?

      “Then say you’ll be mine and I shall spend the rest of my days diverting you.”

      “Are you proposing marriage, sir, or something else?”

      Olney preened, likely knowing full well a marquis, no matter his character, would be considered a good catch. “Marriage, Miss Lillian. I’ve never wanted anyone as desperately as I want you, m’dear. You’ve quite stolen my heart.”

      The dazzling Miss Lillian sat on the bench and the duke’s heir perched beside her. “I hardly think your father would find me suitable, since I am neither titled nor the possessor of a magnificent dowry.”

      Olney’s brow furrowed. Devlin did not know that look. Was he stringing the chit along, or was he truly vexed?

      “He is anxious to see me married. I can bring him around to my way of thinking. Trust me.”

      The girl opened her fan and began moving it indolently, not an artifice or affectation in the sultry night, but a genuine attempt to cool herself. Devlin could easily see the girl’s appeal—beauty, natural grace, self-possession and a proud bearing. Yes, she was everything Devlin could never have and that Olney would expect as his due.

      “Even so,” the girl said, “I think he would not like it.”

      Olney seized her hand and jerked her around to face him. “I must have you. I cannot countenance the way other men are watching you, courting you, sniffing around you like curs after a…”

      Devlin nearly snorted his amusement. He knew the rest of that sentence and doubted the estimable Miss Lillian would appreciate being likened to a bitch in heat. But then he heard the girl’s giggle and realized she knew full well what Olney had been about to say. Amused rather than insulted? Was Miss Lillian a bit saucy?

      Olney straightened his lapels and continued. “The long and short of it, Miss Lillian, is that I am not willing to wait. If father does not give his blessing, we shall make a dash for Gretna Green. He will accept it after ’tis done.”

      Good God! The dolt meant it! He was willing to wed the girl just to bed her. Well, why not? That was as good a reason to marry as any, as far as Devlin knew. The Rutherford heir did not need a dowry, nor did he require a titled bride. If she came with connections, that would be enough. But the girl’s next words dashed that conclusion.

      “I can only offer you a mediocre dowry, and we have lived so long in Ireland that we have no connections but there. Indeed, we only know a handful of people in town. I have nothing to offer you.”

      Olney stood, gazing down his long nose at a girl he would certainly consider his social inferior. Even at this distance, his desire was clear. “Father’s health is flagging. Marry me, and you will be a duchess one day soon. At the least, you will be a marchioness the moment you marry me. Grace my home, my table and my bed, and I will not ask anything more of you. But I must have you.”

      The old man was ailing? Then time was growing short. Drat. Devlin would have to make a move soon if he was to succeed.

      Miss Lillian’s pause disappointed Devlin. The prospect of being a duchess was undoubtedly more than any woman in her position could resist, but he’d hoped she would prove different. Yes, he would very much like to see Edward Manlay thwarted.

      “I am mindful of the honor you have done me, Lord Olney, but good sense urges me to decline.”

      “I will have you, father’s consent or not.”

      The arrogant bastard took her hand and lifted her to her feet so that he could crush her against his chest. Devlin held his breath. He would like to rescue her, but he never interfered, never gave his presence away. The coy chit would have to defend herself.

      She pushed against Olney’s chest with determination but she was no match for him. He subdued her quickly. Too quickly? She ceased her struggles and allowed Olney to kiss her, though he’d have wagered a good sum that she did not give him access to the full sweetness of her mouth. Clever girl. Keep him wanting more. He was liking this Miss Lillian more and more by the moment.

      Satisfied with her tentative surrender, Olney loosened his hold and she stepped back. Had she known he would release her if she granted the kiss? Canny, coy and saucy—a lethal combination for a man like Olney.

      “I will speak СКАЧАТЬ