Page 45 of Broken

Reluctantly, Giles released her and moved to stand at her side, no longer blocking her view. Lilly took in a sharp breath. Sliding behind her, he pulled her against him and she leaned back into his embrace. In fact, she appeared to be attempting to push him back away from the edge.

He squeezed her close and his pulse jumped erratically at the contact. Anyone would think he was an untried boy at his body’s antics. “It’s all right. I won’t ask you to show off and climb the wall again.”

“Of course I won’t climb the wall. I am afraid of heights, silly. Can we go down now?” she asked urgently, turning in his arms, her face pinched with anxiety.

Her innocent movement rubbed against his groin and he shuddered. Yes, he had regressed to a green boy. If he ever got inside her, he would probably come on the first thrust.

“It is understandable. You had a nasty fall, after all. These things can get better if you are prepared to face them, I understand.” Although that opinion might have related to remounting a horse that had thrown you, he decided it could have some merit in this situation too.

“I have always been afraid of heights, Giles. I remember I once became stuck up a tree. I can’t quite recall why I was up in the branches now, but Pinkerton had to carry me down. Poor man was as hysterical as I.”

“Who is Pinkerton?”

“He’s Papa’s valet. At least, I think he is still his valet. I have not seen him for some time. I remember now, my kitten was stuck in a high branch. Ooh.”

Lilly slithered through his lax grip and hurried off the bridge. As he trailed after, he had time to consider her words. Boys would go to ridiculous lengths to overcome a fear, even risk injury to prove that they were not afraid of something. If a girl was afraid of heights, would she be willing to do the same?

For some reason, he doubted Lilly had been that type of young girl. Lord Winter had said, after all, that his daughter was an angel. If Lilly had not climbed the bridge, then how did she come to fall in the water that day?

A prickle of unease stirred as Giles remembered something Lord Winter had mentioned on the first night of his stay. Drunk at the time, the man had worried that too many accidents occurred around Lilly.

Without a male child to inherit, the estate—minus Lilly’s dowry—would pass out of the family, and to the next male relation. Giles wondered who Lord Winter’s heir was, and what he thought of Lilly’s up-until-now fragile existence.

Lord Winter’s family was too staid to allow a woman more than a modest dowry. But unease nagged at Giles, and he wondered if their long-forgotten betrothal agreement was here or at his London residence. There might be details of the Winters’ finances in the document.

Ah, hell. What was he doing?

Did he really believe anyone had tried to harm this woman? Unfortunately, he feared someone had. Giles was supposed to use discretion and keep Lilly’s presence a secret. The nurses kept leaving, and Lilly had overindulged in an opium-based medicinal. Then there were the injuries she sustained in the fall from the bridge, a feat that may very well have not been accomplished by a young girl, an angel, who was afraid of heights. Had someone tried to make the angel fly?

He needed to see that document again.

Lilly called to him and stopped his speculation. The light in her eyes reminded him that kissing her might not have been such a good idea. Yes, he had gotten her along the bridge, but he had created another problem. One he might have trouble denying.

He wanted to kiss her again. She had lips meant for it, and her mouth tasted like honey. He shuddered to think what she would taste like elsewhere.

That thought undid him. Giles fought the urge to grab her and sink to the green grass. He wanted to slide her skirts up between them and brush his cock over her blonde curls. He longed to sink his length into her soft depths and pleasure them both blind.

Giles decided he really should stop trying to talk himself out of seducing her. It made him realize that there were far too many opportunities to play, and far too many experiences he wanted to share. If he continued as he was, he would be begging Lilly to put him out of his misery. Lilly could make him her slave, and he probably wouldn’t even protest. Hot, willing and throbbing—that was how she would conquer him.

“Do you know what I think, Giles?” Lilly’s low voice teased him, her fingers brushing his sleeve.

“What is that, oh frightening ghost?”

She laughed and danced away a few steps. “I believe you want to kiss me again. Your face is quite stern.”

“That could be an accurate assumption, Miss Winter.” At her giggle, he added, “It is altogether possible for me to assume, in turn, that you wish to kiss me as well.” He raised an eyebrow and then lunged for her, pulling her to him, pressing his lips to hers, and sweeping his tongue into her mouth.

* * *

Across the bustling village street, a tall, well-dressed gentleman laughed as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Bartholomew hated him and everyone like him. This man, this viscount, was a favored son of the ton. Oscar Ryall, Viscount Carrington, held the opinion of society in the palm of his pampered hand. He could do wrong and get away with it because of his charming smile.

Foolish bloody society. He’d bet there was a nasty skeleton or two in the viscount’s closet he could exploit. He’d learned every family had something to hide. As the fair-headed man stepped into the tavern, Bartholomew toyed with the idea of exposing his secrets. For a price, anyone would talk. And then society would speak of nothing but the prattling fool’s less than perfect behavior.

Still, Carrington bore watching and imitating. Society expected a certain kind of gentleman and Bartholomew had to keep up appearances until he had the title and the necessary wife. But once he’d accomplished his goal, society—at least parts of it—would learn his true colors.

“My lord, I might have some intelligence.”

Bartholomew seriously doubted that statement, but he turned toward his servant. Given Brown’s confident bearing, the man was obviously pleased with himself, with a rare straightening of his shoulders that Bartholomew would happily crush soon. “What news?”