It Happened One Autumn
Page 21

“In a moment. I haven’t finished the story yet.” Withdrawing the vial of perfume from her reticule, Lillian set it in the center of the table, where it sparkled gently in the diffused torchlight on the terrace. “I have to tell you about what happened today.” She proceeded to relate the story of the impromptu rounders game that had taken place behind the stable yard, and Westcliff’s unexpected appearance. Annabelle and Evie listened incredulously, both of them wide-eyed at the revelation that the earl had actually taken part in the game.
“It’s no surprise that Lord Westcliff likes rounders,” Annabelle commented. “He’s a virtual fiend for outside activities. But the fact that he was willing to play with you…”
Lillian grinned suddenly. “Clearly his dislike was overridden by the overwhelming urge to explain everything that I was doing wrong. He started by telling me how I should correct my swing, and then he…” Her smile faded, and she was uncomfortably aware of a flush that spread rapidly over her skin.
“Then he put his arms around you,” Daisy prompted in the avid silence that had settled over the table.
“He what?” Annabelle asked, her lips parting in amazement.
“Only to show me how to hold the bat properly.” Lillian’s dark brows drew together until they nearly met over the bridge of her nose. “Anyway, what occurred during the game doesn’t matter—it was after the game that the surprise happened. Westcliff was guiding Daisy and me along the shortest route back to the house, but we were separated when Father and some of his friends came down the walkway. So Daisy sneaked on ahead, while the earl and I were obliged to wait behind the hedgerow. And while we were standing there together…”
The other three wallflowers leaned forward, all three gazes fastened on her without blinking.
“What happened?” Annabelle demanded.
Lillian felt the tips of her ears turn red, and it took surprising effort to force the words from her mouth. She stared hard at the little perfume bottle as she murmured, “He kissed me.”
“Good Lord,” Annabelle exclaimed, while Evie stared at her speechlessly.
“I knew it!” Daisy said. “I knew it!”
“How did you know—” Lillian began to argue, but Annabelle interrupted eagerly.
“Once? More than once?”
Thinking of the erotically linked chain of kisses, Lillian blushed even harder. “More than once,” she admitted.
“Wh-what was it like?” Evie asked.
For some reason it hadn’t occurred to Lillian that her friends would want a report on Lord Westcliff’s sexual prowess. Annoyed by the insistent heat that was now making her cheeks and neck and forehead prickle, she cast her mind about for something to pacify them. For a moment the impression of Westcliff came to her with startling vividness …the hardness of his body, his warm, searching mouth…Her insides shifted as if they had been turned into molten metal, and suddenly she could not bring herself to admit the truth.
“Dreadful,” she said, her feet fidgeting beneath the table. “Westcliff is the worst kisser I’ve ever encountered.”
“Ohhh…” Daisy and Evie both breathed in disappointment.
Annabelle, however, gave Lillian a frankly doubtful look. “That’s odd. Because I’ve heard quite a few rumors that Westcliff is very adept at pleasing a woman.”
Lillian responded with a noncommittal grunt.
“In fact,” Annabelle continued, “I attended a card party not a week ago, and one of the women at my table said that Westcliff was so superb in bed that he had ruined her for any other lover.”
“Who said that?” Lillian demanded.
“I can’t tell you,” Annabelle said. “The statement was made in confidence.”
“I don’t believe it,” Lillian replied grumpily. “Even in the circles that you move in, no one would be so brazen as to talk about such things in public.”
“I beg to differ.” Annabelle gave her a vaguely superior glance. “Married women get to hear much better gossip than unwed girls do.”
“Drat,” Daisy said enviously.
The table fell silent once again as Annabelle’s amused gaze locked with Lillian’s glowering one. To Lillian’s chagrin, she was the first to look away. “Out with it,” Annabelle commanded, with the tremor of a sudden laugh in her voice. “Tell the truth—is Westcliff really so terrible at kissing?”
“Oh, I suppose he’s tolerable,” Lillian admitted grudgingly. “But that’s not the point.”
Evie spoke then, her eyes round with curiosity. “What is the p-point?”
“That Westcliff was driven to it—to kiss a girl he detests, namely me—by the smell of that perfume.” Lillian pointed at the tiny glimmering bottle.
The four girls regarded the vial with awe.
“Not really,” Annabelle said disbelievingly.
“Really,” Lillian insisted.
Daisy and Evie remained raptly silent, looking back and forth between the two of them as if they were viewing a tennis match.
“Lillian, for you, the most practical girl I’ve ever known, to claim that you have a perfume that acts as an aphrodisiac, is the most astonishing—”
“Aphrowhat?”
“A love potion,” Annabelle said. “Lillian, if Lord Westcliff displayed any interest in you, it was not because of your perfume.”