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