Lady Lily Lupine, a young and gorgeous widow with too much time on her hands and an abundance of love to give, fills the void in her life with an array of willing lovers. Men embittered by life and its woes, seeking respite with her, while slaking t...
The problem with having multiple lovers is that, at some point, one always ends up mixing up their names.
Lady Lily Lupine finds that the best way to deal with the possibility of such a disaster is never to call them by their names when she's with them. Instead, she uses the endearment "Gem" for all of them. That is, in fact, what they are to her: precious gems brightening what would've been the rather dreary life of a very young and ardent widow.
This is why, as she stares down into the lifeless eyes of the young man lying dead in a tangle of limbs and a splash of blood on the marble tiles of the foyer, her heart breaks at the thought of never again hearing his voice or seeing his wonderful smile, and yet, she cannot, for the life of her, remember his name.
The shock and horror of it all might, of course, also have something to do with it.
Lily was happy when she got out of bed this morning, feeling fresh and well-rested for a change. She'd slipped off the long frilly nightgown she seldom has any use for these days and thought that the day held the promise of being a good one. Now, as her small, white hand creeps to her throat and her eyes fill with tears, she is quite sure that it is not going to be a good day at all.
"He... he was lying here just like this when you... f-found him?" she asks Andrew Pritchard, her devoted butler. The dapper man on the farthest side of middle-aged touches his thick moustache (a thing of beauty and a source of envy in his circles) and solemnly nods.
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"Yes, my lady. I haven't touched the body or anything in its vicinity."
Lily does not enjoy hearing her gem referred to as a body and 'it', but as usual, she carefully schools her features to hide the depths of her despair and returns Andrew's nod with one of her own.
"Very well, Mr. Pritchard," she says, swallowing hard to remove the knot from her throat and force her voice to sound almost normal. Her fingers are trembling, giving away her inner turmoil and she hastily links her hands to still them.
"I have sent for the police, my lady," Andrew informs her, and Lily blinks away the visions she had of wrapping the young man in a thick blanket and depositing him on his doorstep for his poor family to take care of him. Calling the police does make a lot more sense. Her usually quick wit is not coming to her aid at all right now, but her brain has at least found her one piece of important information.
Oliver French... Ollie to his friends and women with their legs wrapped around his neck... Unless that woman is her, then he is passionately called Gem.
She once again has to fight off an overwhelming wave of emotion when memories of callus-free gentleman's hands (manicured to perfection), soft blond curls and twinkling blue eyes assault her. Eyes that were once alive and bright in comparison to the ones staring up at her now.
