Читать книгу The Complete Ravenscar Trilogy: The Ravenscar Dynasty, Heirs of Ravenscar, Being Elizabeth - Barbara Taylor Bradford - Страница 17

SEVEN

At thirty-two Lily Overton was a wise woman, and over the years she had acquired a degree of sophistication and worldliness. She had been married and widowed twice. Her first husband had been a surgeon and her second a solicitor who was head of his own law firm, and both men had left her their considerable wealth. She was a widow well placed.

During her marriage to Oscar Overton, the solicitor, she had met all manner of people from all walks of life, and she had benefitted enormously from this. It was because of her wisdom, insight and bright intelligence that she had rapidly come to understand Edward Deravenel, from the first moment they had met.

Their initial encounter had been a year ago, and she found herself thinking about that evening now, reliving it, as she waited for him to return to the upstairs sitting room after going down to talk to the hansom cab driver.

Last January she had been invited to a small dinner party at the Kensington home of her dear friend Vicky Forth, the newly-married sister of Will Hasling. Will had arrived with his best friend Edward Deravenel, and it had been patently obvious to Lily that Edward was instantly drawn to her the moment he set eyes on her. He had gravitated to her at once, making a beeline across the long stretch of drawing room, and had remained glued to her side until they had gone in for dinner, not saying much but focused on her to the exclusion of all else.

Much to her surprise, she had been filled with genuine disappointment when she had found herself seated between Will and a middle-aged banker with a walrus moustache and a slight lisp in his speech; a moment later, she had smiled with delight as Edward was shown to the chair opposite her.

His brilliant blue eyes had barely left her face throughout dinner; they had greedily devoured her as he had left his food untouched. His interest in his female dinner partners on either side had been vague, brief, only just meeting the usual standards of courtesy. His concentration had again been focused entirely on her, and she had understood exactly what he wanted from her. It was reflected in the expression in those mesmerizing eyes which left little to the imagination.

After dinner the women had retired to the drawing room whilst the men had remained alone to enjoy their port and cigars. She had been restless, impatient, and on a knife’s edge until he had appeared in the doorway of the drawing room half an hour later. Relief had flooded through her as he walked towards her, holding her with his eyes, not caring what anyone thought. Neither had she, much to her amazement. Lily had been somewhat surprised that she had remained taut inside, excited and anxious to have him closer to her.

Once he had come to a stop, he had said, ‘I need to speak to you alone, Mrs Overton.’

She had simply nodded and he had put his hand under her arm and carefully ushered her to a distant corner near a potted palm.

‘I must see you again, and as soon as possible,’ he had muttered in a low voice once they were by themselves, his eyes on hers. ‘And I do believe you would like that, too.’ As he had spoken he had inched closer and increased the pressure of his hand on her arm, and there was such naked desire written across his face she had found her mouth suddenly turning dry.

For a moment she had not been able to speak, had simply gazed up at him, totally entranced, under his spell.

‘Please,’ he begged.

Bright colour had flooded her face and she had felt extremely hot, flushed.

‘Tomorrow,’ he murmured hoarsely. ‘Better still, tonight. Later tonight. Oh, please say yes.’

Finally finding her voice, she had whispered, ‘Tomorrow. In the afternoon. At four.’

‘Shall I come to your home? Or do you want to—’

‘My home,’ she had cut in, dreading the thought of a meeting at a hotel. A public rendezvous would be improper, disastrous, and she had quickly told him where she lived.

The following day, Lily had wondered about herself and her behaviour, asking herself why she had become so quickly entranced by this young man, one who was obviously so much younger than she. And she had known the answer immediately. Instant attraction. Overwhelming sexual desire. On both their parts. And so she had told her housekeeper to leave early that day, had seen her off at two o’clock; fifteen minutes later she had sent the maid home as well.

Alone, she had bathed and perfumed herself, brushed and dressed her golden hair in a loose, girlish style, put on pretty white undergarments and selected a pale-green chiffon-and-lace afternoon tea gown. The style was simple, loose and floating, tied around the waist with a broad, pale-green ribbon belt. Even though it was a cold day she had wanted something young and pretty to wear which also gave him easy access to her. She had already known instinctively what to expect when he arrived; she knew he would make a move on her very swiftly, attempt to seduce within the first half hour. His lust for her had been only too obvious and too urgent the night before.

She had been ready for an hour before he was due, and had paced the floor, prowled around the house, checking on everything, and as she did this she discovered she was hardly able to contain herself. She was trembling, excited inside, acting like a young girl without experience. These feelings had truly taken her by surprise, since she was experienced.

Edward had arrived at five minutes to four, for afternoon tea. She had served him herself, and his gaze had never left her. Lily had been fully aware that the absence of staff and her flushed face signalled to him that her aim and intentions were indeed the same as his. But then he had already known that before he had come here today.

He had taken a sip of tea, and so had she; he had talked to her for a short while about Oxford, his close friendship with Will, and how much he liked Vicky Forth, her friend.

Lily had listened attentively, loving the timbre of his voice, as she had the night before, a voice which was deeply masculine, mellifluous and cultivated.

And then, unexpectedly, Edward had stopped abruptly, risen and walked over to her chair. Bending over her, he had said in the softest of voices, ‘Won’t you come and sit with me on the sofa? You seem so far away.’

Before she could even answer he had taken her hand, brought her to her feet and led her to the sofa positioned near the fireplace.

‘You’re trembling, Mrs Overton,’ he had said, sounding surprised, as he had pressed her down onto the sofa, seated himself next to her. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Perfectly,’ had been all she could manage to say.

‘I’m afraid I’m not,’ he had murmured and immediately drew closer. ‘I’ve been extremely agitated since last night. You see, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.’ When she did not respond he asked, ‘Dare I hope that you’ve given a little thought to me?’

She nodded.

He leaned into her then, put his arm around her shoulders and brought his mouth to her cheek. She had not flinched, had remained quite still as he had kissed her cheek again and found her mouth with his. She had kissed him back. Why pretend, she had thought, why pretend to be overly virtuous when he knows how much I want him. Within the space of a few seconds his hand had been on her breast; he had pulled her closer to him, holding her tightly in his arms and with one dexterous hand he had unbuttoned the front of the gown and slipped his hand inside, lightly touching her nipple. When she had not shown any resistance to these advances, he had grown infinitely bolder, had slid his hand down her leg, lifted the loose flowing skirt of her dress, slipping his fingers along her inner thigh and between her legs. It was at this moment that she had stopped him, exclaiming softly, ‘Please, we must stop. This is most unseemly.’

He had pulled away from her gently, staring into her face, an amused look on his, and he had laughed. ‘Oh, Mrs Overton, really.’ He had laughed again, and so had she, and then he had shaken his head and asked, ‘Could we perhaps go upstairs, Mrs Overton? I do believe it has become quite pressing for us to find a bed.’

‘Only if you stop calling me Mrs Overton and call me Lily instead, Edward,’ she had answered with a light laugh.

‘And you must call me Ned.’

Together they had climbed the stairs and she had not been at all self-conscious; she had led him into her bedroom, then had suddenly turned her head and given him a most cryptic look.

His response had been to immediately take her in his arms, press her close to his body, his hand sliding down onto her buttocks. She had felt so small, feminine and defenceless because he was so tall, broad and masculine, the most masculine man she had ever met.

When he had pressed her even closer, moulding her to him, she had felt his erection against her body, and she had begun to tremble.

As if he understood her instant trepidation he had not made another move, had simply stood perfectly still, looking down at her, his expression suddenly loving. Very slowly, he had begun to remove her clothes, untying the ribbon belt around her waist, letting it drop to the floor, unfastening the rest of the buttons on the front of her dress. Slipping it over her shoulders, it had fallen to the floor, a pool of pale green lace at her feet. A moment after he had started to loosen her undergarments, he stopped and led her over to the bed. Without a word, he had taken off everything else until she was completely naked.

It was only then that he had spoken, saying in an awed voice, ‘Oh, Lily, Lily, you are very, very beautiful.’

She had remained silent, simply staring up at him through eyes filled with longing for him, desire written all over her face.

Everything had gone very swiftly after that. He had risen, shed his own clothes quickly, stretched out next to her on the bed. Pushing himself up on one elbow, he had leaned over her, kissed her deeply, passionately, his tongue sliding into her mouth for a moment of true intimacy. All of his movements were slow, gentle, tender, and soon one hand roamed over her, stroking and caressing every part of her until she cried out in pleasure.

Soon after this he had taken her hand and placed it on his groin, and she had been startled by the size of him. But when he entered her he had done so with immense gentleness, and she had found herself opening up to him, thrilled by his virility, knowledge and experience. Their coupling had been rapturous, ecstatic, as they had both known it would be from their first moment of meeting.

Edward had stayed with her for the rest of the day and into the early evening. She had made supper for him, and he had stayed on and on, in the end not taking his leave of her until the early hours of the morning. He had been insatiable and so had she, and she had realized that night that he was the best lover she had known.

And so had begun the most extraordinary relationship Lily had had with any man, one that over the months had given her unusual happiness.

Ned saw her whenever he came up to London, and occasionally, giving in to his pleading, she visited him in Oxford. With the passing of time she had grown to love him, whilst understanding that the gap in their ages was far too enormous to bridge. Nonetheless, she resolved to remain his mistress for as long as he wanted and needed her.

There was very little she did not know about him, and she understood him completely. He was a highly-sexed, sensual and extremely romantic man; she found him mature for his age and extremely intelligent; he had a brilliant, analytical mind that would sometimes stun her. These attributes aside, his looks were heart-stopping, and yet there was no personal vanity in him about his appearance, and he was kind, compassionate. Perhaps the most unique thing about Ned was his charisma. He possessed a special kind of natural charm that was so captivating it ensnared everyone. This characteristic, plus his amiability and friendliness, immediately put people at ease. All gravitated to him, wanted to be part of his circle.

Yet Lily was very much aware that behind that charming, polished façade there was a wholly different kind of man, one of dogged determination, who harboured great ambition, was full of resourcefulness and had a will of iron that was formidable. Very quickly in their relationship she had come to accept that he could also be absolutely ruthless when he deemed it necessary.

Few people recognized any of these characteristics, because they took him at face value, and also because he did not permit them to know him intimately. Inevitably they underestimated him, much to her amusement and frequent irritation. They tended to characterize him as lazy, indolent and a pretty boy, and therefore dismissed him as a man of no consequence. How wrong they were.

Lily rose from the chair when she heard the front door bang, and her ponderings about Ned and their first meeting were pushed to one side. He was on the staircase, coming back to her, and her look was questioning as he entered the small sitting room. ‘Was the cabbie willing to wait?’

‘For as long as I wish,’ he answered, giving her a faint smile. Striding over to the fireplace he seated himself on the sofa and stretched out his long legs.

‘Do you want me to give you a shoulder massage?’ she began, and instantly stopped as she saw him shaking his head.

‘I just wish to sit here with you, Lily, for a while, and relax, if I can. I’m so filled with grief I feel that anything I did which gave me an ounce of pleasure tonight would be completely wrong.’

Looking across at him, Lily merely inclined her head. A silence fell between them, but it was a compatible silence, and for a while the only sounds were the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner and the crackling of the logs on the fire.

Eventually, Lily ventured, ‘I felt the same way as you do now when my first husband died…that I shouldn’t enjoy anything, that it was somehow disrespectful. But that’s not the case, you know. And having a woman love you, and loving a woman in return, is actually a wonderful affirmation of life.’ When he made no response, Lily pushed herself to her feet and went to sit next to him on the sofa.

Resting one hand on his leg, she said with great care, ‘Do you think that making love to me when you are in mourning would be unseemly? Or something like that, Ned?’

‘I suppose so…’ He left his sentence unfinished, leaned back against the sofa and stared at her, his expression both worried and perplexed.

‘I fully understand, and as I said, I have been where you are at this moment in time, so full of sorrow,’ Lily murmured. ‘It’s sorrow mixed with anger, and a sense of helplessness. It’s only natural to feel like that, and perhaps worse for you, because you have lost your closest and dearest family.’

He took her hand in his, held it tightly. ‘Yes,’ he murmured, ‘you’re correct.’

‘I learned long ago that it is important to put death to one side, and get on with everyday things. Life is for the living, Ned, and understanding that does help to ease the sadness.’

He ran his hand through his red-gold hair and sighed heavily. ‘You’re wise, Lily, and I agree with you on an intellectual level, but it’s very difficult to accept that emotionally.’ He sighed again and offered her a rueful smile. ‘Anyway, I don’t think I would be able to make love tonight, I really don’t.’

But he was. And he did. With Lily’s loving help. Life was for the living. And tomorrow was for revenge.