longed to sleep, longed to allow himself the luxury of resting, but he
couldn't. To remind himself that sleep was an impossibility Dorian pressed
the bony spikes of his elbows into the muscles of his thighs. The slight
nagging discomfort prodded his eyes into remaining open.
Open was a hyperbole of the truth, thin slivers was a more honest
description.
He sucked in a breath and as those thin slivers threatened to become ever
slimmer, he dug his elbows harder into his knees. There was no way on
God's green earth that he could allow himself to sleep, not after the
nightmares that had been his companion this week past.
To actively welcome them by permitting himself to sleep, would be an act of
insanity.
The images that swam around his head . . . that were in the depths of his
brain and memory banks . . . to deal with them, was not a possibility. He
had blanked them out. Blanked out the horrors of the past and had been so
close to forgetting them until a week ago when suddenly the memories had
returned in the form of scream-inducing nightmares.
He felt almost like a child again and wished deeply that his grandmother still
lived. She was the only person he'd ever known who would not judge him
and would allow him to discuss what was happening to him.
But she wasn't alive. She was dead and so, he had to deal with this alone.
And he wasn't dealing with it successfully, as the bloodshot eyes and grayish
skin could attest to. He looked like hell and felt like it, but at this moment in
time, denying sleep was the only answer he had available to him.
Pushing his fingers through his hair, he sighed as the tips grazed against the
skin of his scalp and eased the ache that had lodged itself there. He
continued to strum his fingers against the thin skin that was so close to his
skull and sighed again as sleepy pleasure rushed through him.
His eyes closed, but sleep did not come, for this sensation was too good and
when another set of hands joined his, he let his own fall away and allowed
himself to sink into the gentle massage.
The strange hands traveled over his skull and then down to his neck, where
the pads gently rubbed before they gripped him at the shoulder and began
to massage a little more vigorously. "Who are you, dear lady?” he asked, his
voice husky, as week old strain rushed away from him.
She stilled but he shook his head. “Don't stop. Please.”
He felt her stiffen and then, a whoosh of breath skirted over his hair and the
hands began their rubbing once again.
“Is my name of import?”
It was his turn to stiffen, but he soon relaxed as her fingers continued their
magic. It was almost a relief to understand what had triggered his
nightmares. Until this woman had arrived, until she had silently transported
herself into his study, he had thought her a part of his dreams and then, his
nightmares.
But she was flesh and blood.
He allowed his head to fall forwards and groaned as she continued to rub
him there, easing away any and all tension from his tired and weary body.
“Perhaps. It is of no import for this moment. Why are you here?”
“To give you pleasure.”
He hummed under his breath, for the lady was certainly doing just that! And
she was definitely a lady. Those gentrified and noble tones belonged to a
woman of his class, not of the lower orders, and young too, by the sounds of
it.
He wondered why she was really here, but was too tired to even
contemplate it. His heady relief at realizing that he wasn't insane, that this
woman had been behind the resurgence of dreams that he wanted to forget,
had pushed him deeper into the well of fatigue that came from having slept
only ten hours in the last seven days.
“Why?”
“Because I want to,” the lady replied hesitantly.
At that, he was jerked from his dazed relaxation and frowned. Dorian's hand
shot upwards and he grabbed her wrist and bodily dragged her around his
armchair to face him. He placed adequate pressure on her wrist as she faced
him until she had to fall to her knees or feel pain from his hold.
He stared down at her. His eyes narrowed at further evidence of her youth
and . . . if he were honest, her face. He knew her. Hell and damnation, her
visage had been the last thing on his mind before he'd ultimately tumbled
into the growing hell that was his slumber!
Lady Lily Mercer.
"You fool,” he hissed between gritted teeth and a clamped jaw.
“Fool, my lord? Why?”
He shook his head. “You gave me your virginity, a commodity best served to
your husband, Lady Mercer.”
“Lily,” she inserted quickly before ducking her head.
“Lily,” he growled with another shake of his head. “Why are you here?”
“You would not believe me, were I to divulge the truth, my lord.”
At her shy and quiet reply, he scowled. “You've ruined yourself.”
“Perhaps.”
"You have stirred a hornets' nest in my mind, Lily. Do you know that? I've
not slept, not rested for fear that I was insane,” he whispered with a
grimace.
“Insane, my lord?” the lady, Lily, returned, concern evident in the pleated
frown on her delicate brow.
He reached forwards and smoothed out the lines on her forehead, then half-
turned away from her to point over at the portrait of Camille that he had
hung there as a reminder. “That is . . . was my wife, Lily.”
“I had gathered.”
If his ears did not deceive him, it was loaded with a wealth of hurt. “What
had you gathered?” he asked curiously.
She shrugged and as she did, he could not help but notice her extraordinary
beauty. It shimmered from her in great waves. She was Aphrodite. She was
a Goddess and she was kneeling at his feet. Her hair was curled about her
shoulders and in his mind's eye, he saw those fiery locks swirling about his
manhood. His cock hardened at the thought.
“You whispered her name as you slept.”
“Ah.”
This time, Lily smiled. It was but a mere twitch of the lips, but he
ascertained bitterness therein.
“Unfortunately, one cannot withhold the object of one's nightmares.”
“Nightmares?”
He nodded slowly. Unsure of why he was even telling her all of this, of why
he told her the truth he had hidden these many years past. Especially, when
she hadn't even wanted to mention her name to him! "She is the star of the
hellish world of my subconscious,” he murmured, feeling like a Catholic in
the confessional. Dorian reached forward and gathered some of the red-gold
strands of hair and curled them about his fingers.
“Did you love her greatly?” Lily asked quietly, as she placed a hand on his
knee.
“Aye. I did.” His curt reply had her flinching and pulling back. She winced as
he kept hold of her hair in his hands and moved closer to him to dispel the
hurt. “I still love the memory of what might have been.”
“What might have been?” Her voice trembled and he winced, wondering why
she was even interes
ted.
“Yes, had she not been a whore of the highest orders.”
Lily's eyes widened to an almost comedic level. He could not help it. A low
laugh escaped his throat and a wide grin painted his mouth. For the first
time in a long while, he felt humor and it was so unbelievably refreshing that
he sighed with pleasure as his laughter came to an end.
“A-A whore?”
Raising a brow at her disconcertion, he nodded slowly.
Her mouth formed a perfect O and his cock instantly had ideas as to what he
could fill that pretty hole with.
The thought completely overtook his mind and all memories of Camille were
forgotten, as were the nightmares. His entire being was focused on Lily and
perhaps she realized this, for she had sat up a little straighter and her lips
were moist from the repeated lathings of her tongue.
"If you're here for my pleasure, then please me, Lily. I was far too drunk to
truly remember what happened between us last week, so . . . ,” he grunted,
his tone deep and husky.
She nodded hesitantly, but did not make a move.
He cocked a brow again. "Disrobe before me, Lily. I wish to see what I
thought was only a dream.” She stood but looked at him nervously and held
out a hand for his. “Do you no longer wish to pleasure me, Lily? Does the
fact that I know who you are . . . does it cause you fear?”
She bit her lip and he withheld a groan. That was his lip to bite and nibble,
not hers. “I-I, my lord, I did not expect you to remember me.”
He laughed. “Dorian, Lily, my name is Dorian. Seeing as you know me in the
Biblical sense, I think it wise that you use my Christian name. I will admit to
not being able to understand why you are here . . . unless it is pity for a
hermit widower?”
That had her reacting and with a fierceness that surprised him. “Pity?” she
scoffed and he was amazed at the animation of her features. Incredibly, her
beauty doubled and he felt almost scorched by her radiance. “Why should I
pity you, Dorian? You're a handsome bachelor with a reputation, yes. But
you're one of the richest landowners in the country and have a fine business
head to boot. You've been married, yes and have l-lost your wife
prematurely. For that you have my sympathy, but not my pity.”
“Then why are you here? Why have you ruined yourself? Why have you
given me something that only your husband should have received as a gift?”
“Because I wanted to.”
“You wanted to,” he repeated drily. “I know not if you realize, my lady, but
we live in the nineteenth century and it is hardly a permissive society in
which we inhabit. Young ladies can hardly throw away what their future
spouses prize so dearly.”
“Was it important to you?”
“Camille's virginity?” he asked and abstractedly strummed his fingers
against her hand. He nodded slowly. “At the time, it was. But a virgin in
body did not make her a virgin in spirit. I would have preferred the latter to
the former.”
She frowned in confusion.
“But it is not I, we are discussing, Lily. You do realize if your brother were to
discover . . . what had happened between us, he would most likely accost
me and challenge me to a duel?”
She pursed her lips. “Devlin is not here.”
“Perhaps not. Do you expect a proposal, Lily?” he asked quietly, flicking his
eyes from the fiery locks to her greener-than-grass eyes.
Lily shook her head so fast that it was almost a blur.
“I do not wish to be married to a man who does not love me. I'm far too
proud to lead such a miserable life.”
Unable to help it, Dorian laughed. “I find myself believing you. What a
strange moppet you are, Lady Lily.”
“Mayhap.”
“Mayhap, she says.” He sighed.
She ducked her head. “Are you . . . . Did you know of my parents?”
He chuckled. “Naturally. I do not believe there is a member of the ton alive,
who does not know of your mother and father. Even I, in my semi-hermitic
state know of them. In fact, I wish to give you my respect for your father's
death. He was far too young to be taken by God.”
“T-thank you.” At his nod, she bit her lip. “My father and mother loved each
other greatly, Dorian. It is a love that is quite beyond the comprehension of
most mortals. I was born from it and so I can understand to some point . . .
and while my father was alive, I do not deny that I wished for a love like
that for myself. But now, my mother is almost in some sort of suspended
stupor. She simply cannot cope without my papa and I refuse to place
myself in that position.”
“I do understand, Lily. You might be surprised. My parents had a similar
love. But unfortunately for them, theirs was no peaceful haven. They loved
each other but could not live with one another and even though my own
father has also died, my mother refuses to marry again. She is still young,
still vibrant and full of life. She could remarry and be happy. But she will not,
because she still loves my father. It is strange, how all-encompassing it can
be, no?”
She nodded. “I am in a fortunate position, Dorian. I need not marry anyone.
I can live alone. I am only here to prove to my mother that I don't want or
need to marry. She fears that I am wasting my life on her. But I am not. I
do not want to marry, simply to be married, if you understand my drift. But
between man and wife.”
Despite himself, he was disappointed. "And you chose me as your . . .
victim, why?” he said slowly.
Lily laughed. “Victim? Do you wish me to leave, sir?” He narrowed his eyes
at her smile, but shook his head slowly in reply. “I chose you because of my
response to you during our first dance. I . . . ,” she hesitated.
He leaned forward a little, his interest clear.
“Well, you inspired something in me that has never before been touched, my
lord. To fail to explore that would have been quite foolhardy, don't you
agree?”
He blinked and opened his mouth to speak, but almost as though she saw
the questions in his eyes, she swiftly jumped to her feet, and he allowed her,
releasing her hand to free her from his grasp. As soon as she stood tall, Lily
unfastened the cloak that rested about her shoulders and let it fall to the
ground. His mouth instantly watered . . . she had traveled about London
with nothing more than a light chemise underneath a traveling cloak?
His cock hardened even further and he had to withhold a groan.
Rubbing a hand over his forehead, he grimaced as she began to unknot the
stays on her chemise and that too fell to the ground, baring her beautiful
body to his gaze.
She lifted her hands and cupped her breasts before trailing a palm down
over her belly to cup at her sex. Her fingers slid between her legs and he
watched with wide eyes as they delved into the outer lips of her quim.
Was she more experienced than he had realized? Her self-confidence and
sure and deft touched seemed to imply this . .
. but no, had he not felt the
tightness of her quim around his cock? Had he not felt and pierced her
maidenhead?
Indeed, he felt truly imbecilic for having only just realized that his dreams
had been triggered by a real woman. Not a dream woman. From that
moment, he vowed to stop drinking. It was making a moron out of him!
Killing and dumbing his brain until he was seeing ghosts where there were
none and that simply wouldn't do. He was bound in his misery, caught up in
the past and the hurts that had been laid his way, but he had a
responsibility. He was a major landowner, as Lily had said, he had
responsibilities that he could not forget, to his people, to his investments
and to his staff.
As he thought that, he realized that it was time to let go of the past. To
cease feeling embittered about what was effectively history. What was done
was done. It could not be rewritten.
Yes, William had taken his Camille and sullied her. Had his cousin not always
wanted that which belonged to Dorian? Camille had obviously been weak.
Too weak to withstand William's overpowering nature. She had betrayed
him, but that did not mean that his own life had to cease. She was dead now
and could no longer harm him. If he were to mourn anything, it should be to
grieve the passing of the child. Be she from his own seed or that of
William's, the child had deserved to live despite the weakness of her mother
and Dorian knew that regardless of the true father, he would have loved the
child as his own.
His mind had been caught in a swirl of grief- for what might have been. For
years he'd been unable to process Camille's betrayal and had continued to
think of her as the innocent. Had indeed refused to even think about her
duplicity, preferring to think of her as the woman he had married before
William had forever soiled her . . . . And now, he felt her flutter away.
Why?
He didn't know.
Perhaps it was this woman, her freely given offer.
He sighed and then, was jolted in his seat as his eyes were caught by a
sudden movement and they almost crossed as Lily bowed down and lent
over him. Her mouth hovered over his and his lips were soon captured by
hers. He allowed himself to be swept away into the passion that she so
freely gifted him with and at that moment, he literally rousted himself from
the past, from the specter of Camille.