Merrick stepped closer. “I quite like her.”
Lily nodded. “Yes, most do if given the chance to get to know her. She’s everything I am not. Demure, kind, conservative.” She couldn’t quite bring herself to look at him this morning. She was beginning to realize just how at fault she’d been for the two-year gap in their friendship.
His silence unnerved her. “Why did you come over here if you are so put out with me?”
Merrick touched her cheek, causing her to shiver when his fingers gently slid down her skin as he turned her face toward him. “Like ivory,” he murmured.
Heat filled her cheeks, sliding down her neck as she turned to look into the chocolate brown of his eyes. “Merrick?”
“We did not finish our conversation last night. Tell me what happened to you.”
She shook her head. “I already told you. Abigail and I had a falling out—”
“Who cares about her? Tell me what happened to you. Why do you cough?”
He was so close and she thought about Marigold’s words. Should she allow people to see her weaker side? Her lip trembled as she pressed her lips together. “I was sick.”
“How sick?” He slid his fingers down her arms, taking both of her hands in his.
“Very.” Her voice came out in a whisper. “I nearly…” She couldn’t say the last word, but his grimace told her that he understood.
“You nearly died.”
She nodded. “I was in bed for months. The doctors, they didn’t expect me to live. I didn’t expect to make it, either. Days would go by where I was barely…” A shudder ran down her spine and he squeezed her fingers tighter, pulling her hands to tuck them against his chest.
“As you’ve noticed, my mother is no longer able to deny me anything. I suppose the thought of losing me shifted her perspective. She’s so grateful to have me alive she’s forgotten what a disappointment I can be as a daughter.” Lily shook her head, blinking her eyes to control her emotions. “When I finally began to recover, I begged her to allow me to participate in my first season as planned. I wanted my life back.” She shook her head. “I should have known it was never going to be the same.”
He was silent for a moment and then quite without warning, he leaned down and planted a large kiss on her forehead. “I’m glad you told me. Thank you for trusting me.”
She tilted her head to look up at him then. “What does it change?”
His eyes crinkled. “It changes everything.”
“Really? I don’t understand what you mean.”
He laughed, just a small chuckle that reverberated through her hands and down her arms. “Because. I now understand that I was wrong. You should have been sitting on the sidelines that season. Though, to be fair, your mother might have been right. You likely should have stayed at home.”
She huffed a breath, trying to pull away, he didn’t let her. “See. This is why I don’t tell people things.”
He cocked a brow. “Because they might give you sensible advice that would make your life better?”
Well...that was just...did he actually think...the nerve. Her shoulders wilted with a sigh. “I should have listened to my mother. You’re right.”
Amusement glinted in his eyes. “See? Because you told me about your past, you are experiencing personal growth.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Growth is overrated.”
He laughed again. Then slowly, he dipped his head down, softly rubbing his nose against hers. She ceased breathing as he tipped his chin until his lips just touched hers. The touch was so light, she wondered if she’d imagined it. But then he pressed a bit closer, his mouth against hers as sparks of longing coursed through her body. It was heady and intoxicating and...magic.
Then he lifted his head again. “Overrated? And what of my growth? You seem to think I could use some improving.”
For a moment, she couldn’t remember what they discussed. What did it matter compared with that kiss? But then reason slowly returned and her shoulders straightened. They needed to understand one another now more than ever. “Good point.”
“Let me see if I have this correct.” His fingers laced through hers. “Rather than doing what my family thinks is right, I should do what I think is best.”
She nodded. “Exactly so. You know better than anyone what will make you happy.” Did she make him happy? Her heart fluttered in her chest. Was that even possible?
He cocked his head to the side. “It’s an interesting idea. I always thought it was true in my youth. But let me give you a counter example. What if murder made me happy? Should I indulge in that?”
She huffed a breath. They were getting very off topic. “Now you’re being dramatic.”
He shook his head. “Perhaps. But I only wished to prove a point. Some rules are in place for a reason.”
“Fair enough. But let me ask you this. If you choose your own bride, for example, your family will not die from disappointment. And in my opinion, you will be immeasurably happier.” She notched her chin to prove her point. She was right about this.
He gave her a soft smile. “What if making others happy is what makes me happy?”
She shook her head, irritation flaring. Did that mean he still wished to marry Abigail? Or perhaps someone else just like her? Did that kiss mean nothing to him?
“It’s been ten minutes,” Marigold loudly called from the other side of the hedge. “I’ve lost the butterfly and now must return to the house so that I might break my fast.”
Merrick chuckled. “Your new friend is an absolute delight.”
A touch of jealousy made her chest tight. Marigold was a delight in all the ways that Lily was not. “She’d make an excellent wife.”
He squeezed her hands, pulling her the tiniest bit closer. “I’m sure she will. She’s an excellent friend to you.”
She nodded, staring up into the warmth of his gaze. “She’s the best.”
“I am glad we talked, Lily,” he said. “I am glad you trusted me with the truth.”
Her throat grew tight at the sincerity in his eyes.
He squeezed her hands. “I’d like to think that you’ve come to regard me as a friend again.”
She nodded. Friends. Yes, that was what they were. But...were they not more? His kiss still lingered on her lips, and her whole body was still warm from his touch.
Did he not feel it too?
She took a small step back, not sure how to say everything she still wished to express.
She wished to tell him that a woman like Abigail would never make him happy. Not even a Marigold would suit him. He needed a woman who would help him to challenge his family and carve out his own place in this world.
Merrick needed a woman like her.
“I think we’ve more to discuss,” he rumbled low. “But Marigold is right. You should be seen at breakfast.”
“I agree.” She slid her hands from his pressing them against her stomach. “I’ll find you later.”
“Later,” he said. And then he was gone.
Chapter Eight
Merrick resisted the urge to crane his neck to eye the grandfather clock on the far side of the drawing room, which had been converted into a small theater for a musicale.