His beautiful eyes shadowed. “My father.”
“You do not like speaking of him?”
Oliver took several sips of his brandy, his gaze considering her for several seconds. “My father was quite a brilliant businessman and strategist. From the age of twelve, I was at his side, learning how to manage the estate and other investments. He was not like other lords who believed owning businesses and working to ensure those interests remain profitable were bourgeois. He was a good father to my sisters and me.”
“And you have businesses outside of your lands and property?”
“Several.”
“May I ask, how did he die? The marchioness never said.”
A frown split her lover’s brow, and a faraway look appeared in his eyes. “In his sleep.”
“Oh!”
> “He was in robust health and had only ever gotten a good report from the doctors when they attended him. My father complained of a headache. He went to lie down, and a few hours later when my mother went to check on him…he was gone.”
“Oh, Oliver, I am so terribly sorry.”
“It was years ago, Lily, and the passage of death is normal,” he said flatly.
Yet there were still shadows in his eyes. “Then why do you seem so troubled, angry even?”
Lily pushed aside the chess set, uncaring when the pieces fell from the board onto the carpet. She shifted closer to her marquess, and it felt so natural to press a kiss along the strong line of his jaw. She wanted so much to comfort him, even if she hardly understood the source of his discomfort.
“We had an argument the day before he died,” Oliver said gruffly. “I felt we never repaired the hurt our words caused, and then he was gone.”
She leaned back, searching his shuttered expression. “One argument and heated words can’t replace a lifetime of love.”
“It was rather vile, and I did not temper my anger. I found him with a kitchen maid…he was tupping her, and the girl was only fourteen.”
Lily gasped.
“It was my father’s vice to dally with whomever he pleased, whenever he wanted, and he often turned his lascivious attention to the servants in our household, women who I believe had little choice, even if they had wanted to decline.”
“They wouldn’t have refused for fear of losing their position without a recommendation,” Lily said.
He tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling. “And despite his proclivities, I loved him, Lily. I loved my father still.”
“I think that is the best kind of love, knowing the fault of the person and still feeling such strong sentiments.”
Her lover regarded her. “I like you, Lily. I’m very glad you are Dahlia, for you see, I’ve been having very explicit thoughts about Lily Layton and hardly knew what to do with them.”
A piercing awareness blossomed through her. “You wouldn’t have seduced me,” she whispered. “For I’m a dependent within your household.”
“Never. I would have fought the temptation with everything in me.”
“And you are not angry with me?”
There was a significant pause as he considered her question. “The very opposite. I am enthralled.”
Sweet pleasure burst into her heart. “Sentiments I return wholeheartedly.” Yet she wondered if, after tonight, he would ever touch her again.
Ignoring the dart of anxiety, she crawled closer and pressed her lips to his and kissed this delightful man who she wished was hers. Lips fused to his, their hearts jerking in tandem, she explored the hard planes of his chest. Within seconds, her body quickened, and passion overwhelmed her.
He eased her over, his hands strong and gentle as he turned her. Wet kisses trailed along her spine as he twisted her so she lay on her stomach. A tremble of uncertainty coursed through her when he nudged her legs wider, arching her hips to his questing fingers. Her shivering grew more pronounced, and she gripped the cushions above her head as he parted the globes of her buttocks.
When his fingertip reached the curve of her buttock, her breath audibly hitched.