My Fair Lily

by Meara Platt

  “With pleasure, m’lord,” they replied in unison and promptly did as ordered.

  No one moved until the shop door closed, and then it seemed everyone was moving and speaking at once. Madame de Bressard was going on in an agitated mix of English and French about those horrid people, and how that well-dressed brute wearing an exquisite blue silk foulard (she was in the fashion trade, after all) had struck Lily, and how Lily had been so brave.

  “I wonder how they knew Meggie was here,” Lily mused.

  “Desmond must have bribed someone at Lotheil to keep track of my sister’s whereabouts,” Ewan said. “No doubt my whereabouts as well. Where’s Meggie?” His gaze never left Lily as he made sure she wasn’t hurt worse than she was letting on.

  “She’s in the dressing room. I’ll fetch her.”

  “I’ll go,” Madame de Bressard insisted and hurried off.

  Lily knew that she was the one who should have gone, for Meggie was certainly hiding in a corner, shivering in her undergarments. But her legs suddenly seemed wobbly, and the room began to spin. Ewan’s arms folded around her. “I’m not going to faint,” she assured, though it might have been a lie. She was cold and suddenly shaking. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against his shoulder. “Just give me a moment.”

  “Take all the time you need, lass.” He ran his thumb across her cheek in a gentle, easy motion. Oh, that felt good! Scary, how good.

  “I could have defended myself,” she began to ramble because she didn’t trust herself at the moment. She wanted to reach up and kiss him on the mouth. His warm, nicely shaped mouth. “I was about to grab a hat pin and press it to his throat. It was the only weapon I could think of. Handy things they are, too. But I wasn’t trying to draw blood or pierce his jugular vein. Do you know where the jugular vein is located? It’s the line that runs right here along the neck.” She was about to reach up and stroke his neck, then thought better of it. She eased out of his arms, not far, just a step or two away, and tilted her head to better expose her skin while she slowly ran her fingers down her own neck. “There. See? If you look closely, you can see it throbbing.”

  He suddenly looked as though he’d stopped breathing. He was doing that a lot around her lately. No doubt the musty London air, which was nowhere near as pure as the clean mountain air he was used to breathing in. His emerald eyes turned hot and dark. “Lily... lass…” His voice was little more than a whispered groan as he dipped his head and— “Ewan! Thank goodness!” Meggie tore out of the dressing room and threw herself into her brother’s arms, her red curls bobbing frantically as she hugged him. “I don’t know what we would have done without you. You saved the day. Oh, Ewan! I hate it here. Not Lily, of course. I adore her. She’s perfect. I want to go home. Scotland is where we belong. Evangeline is right. We don’t fit in here.”

  “Now, Meggie—”

  “No!” Those red curls bobbed again. “You see, Lily. See what I mean? Those people were our cousins. They really do want Ewan dead. They want me dead, too!”

  She began to wail again.

  ***

  “Is she feeling any better?” Lily asked Ewan, rising from her chair in the duke’s library where she had been left to wait for him. After departing Madame de Bressard’s shop, they had climbed into Eloise’s carriage—the one loaned to her and Meggie for their shopping outing—and gone straight to Lotheil Court. The carriage was still waiting outside. She could have used it to return home, but she wanted to stay close at hand until Ewan assured her that Meggie was settled in her bedchamber and moderately calmed down.

  He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “She’s a little better. I’ll take you home now, lass. I ought to have done it first.”

  “No, Meggie was hysterical and it was important to take care of her right away.” She had been happy to wait in the library, at first thinking to skim through the duke’s vast array of books. Ewan had also ordered refreshments for her, but she hadn’t touched them. Nor could she concentrate. So while he was upstairs with his sister, she settled in one of the overstuffed chairs beside the massive hearth and did nothing but stare into the fire. She’d needed the warmth of the flames to chase the cold that had set into her bones after the incident with his cousins.

  “You don’t look all that well yourself, Lily.” He knelt beside her, offering the glass of warm milk still sitting on the silver tray beside her. “Drink this. It’s laced with a smooth, aged whiskey to help calm your nerves. Have you ever had spirits before?”

  “Of course,” she said, though she hadn’t really. Nothing more than a mild champagne was all that had ever touched her lips. She took the glass from his hand with a muttered thanks and managed a sip. Ugh! It was vile.

  He let out a pained laugh. “Och, Lily. Drink it slowly.”

  She nodded and took another, more careful sip.

  “Better?”

  She nodded again, for he was kneeling beside her and gently stroking his thumb along the palm of her hand. She took another sip. More of a gulp. Actually three gulps. She gagged, then let out a strangled cough.

  Sighing, Ewan removed the glass from her hand and set it on a nearby table. “Excellent, lass. I think you’ve had enough. Let me take that from you.” He remained beside her, his expression tense and worried. “How is your shoulder?”

  Painful. Throbbing. “It’s just fine.”

  “I’ll take you home now.”

  “No need. Eloise’s carriage is just outside.”

  “Lass, if ye think I’m going to let ye ride back alone, well, think again. And I’ll stay with ye until I’m sure your uncle has tended to yer injuries and confirmed no broken bones.” His face was close to hers, his brow furrowed, and his brogue thick and husky, those deep, melodic tones as soothing to her insides as that vile concoction of warm milk and whiskey that now had her entire body buzzing. Like a little bee. A little drunk bee.

  A very drunk bee.

  Which explained her next inexplicable actions. And had she been sober (alas, she wasn’t, for the whiskey had roared through her bloodstream like a raging current), she never would have closed her eyes, leaned forward, and kissed him squarely on the mouth, that beautifully shaped mouth almost hidden by the auburn bristles of his beard. But she did close her eyes, pucker her lips, and let out that breathy moan as her lips touched his. There was no taking it back. Not that she wanted to. Goodness, no. His mouth felt exquisitely warm against hers, and the soft, bristled hairs of his beard tickled her nose.

  A delightful heat welled within her as Ewan deepened the kiss. Or was she the one doing all the kissing? Then something less delightful welled within her... rather, it heaved upward from the bowels of her stomach. She heaved again.

  Ewan unlocked his lips from hers. “Och, lass.” He reached for one of the duke’s priceless Chinese urns that stood beside the hearth and stuck it under her chin at the same instant she gave a third and final heave that thrust everything she’d eaten since the day she was born—nineteen years worth of digested food and stomach juices—in a perfect arc into that urn.

  CHAPTER 7

  “HOW IS SHE?” Ewan rose as Lily’s uncle George entered the Farthingale salon where Ewan had been waiting—mostly pacing for the better part of an hour—and quietly shut the door behind him.

  “She’ll recover. Her shoulder’s bruised, and she’s still feeling a bit queasy, but that’s all.”

  Ewan ran a hand roughly through his hair. “All? Isn’t it enough?”

  “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

  “It’s all my fault,” Ewan started to say, but George cut him off with a short, rumbling laugh.

  “Lily warned me you’d say that, but she claims you had nothing to do with it. She insists you happened to be passing by the dress shop in time to save her and Meggie. She likes your sister, by the way. Says she’s quite delightful, but cries a lot. Not that Lily blames her. She says that she would cry too if her cousins were that odious.” George motioned to several cryst
al decanters filled with liquids in varying shades of scarlet and amber standing atop an ornate bureau. “Care for a drink? Make yourself comfortable while we talk.”

  Comfortable was not possible, for Ewan was still as angry as a wild boar.

  “What’s your poison? Whiskey? Sherry? This one’s a delightful Madeira.”

  He nodded to the Madeira, though his throat was so parched, he could drain every one of those bottles in a single gulp. Lord, the girl had given him a scare. “Thank you.”

  While George raised a glass and poured, Ewan thought about Lily. Not only that his cousin had attacked her, injured her badly enough to make her ill. No, he was thinking about the kiss they’d shared, the sweet caress of her lips against his own, the mere touch rousing such a hot ache in him that he’d almost lost control.

  When had he ever been driven mindless by a simple kiss? Never. And the girl was an innocent—her kiss hadn’t even qualified as a real kiss, more of a give-your-aunt-a-peck-on-the-cheek-goodbye sort of kiss. Soft, tentative, closed mouth, yet every damned organ in his body had exploded with the force of a hundred cannons going off at once. All aimed straight at his heart. Their aim, dead on.

  Had she not been busy tossing the contents of her stomach into his grandfather’s treasured urn, she would have noticed the wild heat in his eyes and the painful hardness of his rod straining against his trousers.

  He was more or less under control now, though he couldn’t be sure how his treacherous body would respond the next time he saw Lily. Great, just great. First the little bluestocking claimed Jasper’s heart, and now she was threatening to claim his.

  No, his heart wasn’t at risk.

  It sure as hell had better not be. Lily was a Sassenach. He meant to marry a Scottish girl, just as his father had. No English girls for him.

  He drained his drink, finished his discussion with Lily’s uncle, and returned to Lotheil Court to look in on Meggie. Fortunately, she was sleeping. He descended the stairs and headed for the library, wondering whether Jergens had taken care of Lily’s... er, little mishap.

  Apparently he had.

  He must have also reported it to his grandfather, for the old man walked in shortly after him, closed the door, and took a seat behind his enormous writing desk. “Well, Ewan, are you going to tell me what happened?”

  “What for? Haven’t your spies told you all you need to know?”

  “I want to hear it from you. Is it true? Did Desmond strike that girl?”

  Ewan nodded. “She was protecting Meggie. And that girl is called Lily.”

  His grandfather dismissed his rebuke. “But you arrived in time to save her. Isn’t that convenient. Who knows what Desmond would have done had you not been there?”

  Ewan ignored the dry remark, instead stemming his anger by folding his arms across his chest. He’d known where Meggie was to spend the afternoon and had stopped by to look in on her before meeting with his father’s solicitors. Thank goodness he had. He’d send his apologies and reschedule the solicitors for another day. “Fortunately, we didn’t have to find out.”

  “This time. What’s to stop him from succeeding next time?”

  “Nothing, other than he knows I’ll kill him if he dares come near Meggie or Lily again.”

  “My boy, I think you’re serious.” He cast him an approving nod.

  “I am. Deadly serious.”

  “Would you have told me about the incident if I hadn’t learned about it from... my other sources?”

  “No. Meggie is my concern, not yours.”

  The old man gripped the sides of his desk as he rose to face Ewan. “She’s my granddaughter as well as your sister. She’s my concern, too.”

  “Granddaughter in name only. She wants nothing to do with you.”

  “Is that the way it’s to be? You and me at odds for the next three months? I won’t have it. My blood runs through you, Ewan. We’re family, whether or not you like it. We’re more alike than you’ll ever admit, though you try to hide it in every way possible.”

  “I’m not a bit like you.”

  “Aren’t you? Why do you think Desmond is trembling in his boots? He’s afraid we’ll reconcile. He thinks I will restore you as my heir.” He stood up and opened his arms to encompass the grandeur of the library. “Do you want it? You can have the dukedom of Lotheil and all its benefits. Here it is. I’m offering it to you.”

  “In exchange for what? My soul?”

  “Desmond would gladly sell his to me. But I don’t want him,” he said, and Ewan shuddered at the casual dismissal of his other grandson. Though he detested Desmond, they were blood relations, for their fathers were brothers. Desmond’s father had died young. No wonder Desmond had turned out weak and lacking in honor. He’d only known coldness and manipulation from this old man. “I want you, Ewan. Your loyalty. Your affections.”

  “Sorry, those aren’t for sale.”

  His grandfather threw back his head and let out a long, hard laugh. The malicious sound resonated off the soaring, beamed ceiling, crawled into Ewan’s skin, and penetrated his bones. He felt as though he’d just stepped in a stinking pile of manure.

  “Everyone has a price. Even you, my boy. Even that Farthingale girl who seems to have blinded you to her true nature. Mark my words. She can be bought, and cheap, too.”

  Ewan wanted to leap across the desk and pound the old man’s face until it was unrecognizable, but he wouldn’t give the old man the satisfaction of knowing he’d struck a raw nerve. Not that he cared what the old bastard said about him, but he did care what was said about Lily. She was a rare gem, sparkling in her kindness, her honesty, and her refreshing innocence.

  That he was tainted by Cameron blood couldn’t be helped, but he’d never let his odious family taint her. Which meant he couldn’t see her again. Not ever. Not him. Not Meggie. Eloise would have to find another companion for Meggie.

  For her own protection, Lily could have no further contact with him or his family.

  ***

  The only problem with Ewan’s decision was that none of the women would agree to it. Not Meggie, who burst into tears the moment he dared broach the subject with her the next morning. Not Eloise, who later that afternoon yanked the heavenly plum cake off his plate, rose indignantly, and asked him to leave her home and not return until he’d regained his senses.

  And not Lily, who gazed at him as though he’d grown three heads... no, make that four heads... when he’d intercepted her on the way into the duke’s library two days after her incident with Desmond. “You mean I can’t use the library? How am I to help Ashton Mortimer finish his monograph on the evolution of lemur colonies in Madagascar if I can’t use your grandfather’s books? You see, as the continental plates shifted and land masses broke apart to form islands, the animal populations on those islands became quite insular—”

  Bloody hell. “Lily, that’s all well and good, but I’m only thinking of your safety.”

  “Nonsense. The evolutionary development of these lemurs is far more important. So is your sister’s new wardrobe. We had to reschedule our appointment with Madame de Bressard until tomorrow. Dillie and I will take her there. Our cousin William has agreed to come along, but you may join us if you’re still concerned. I doubt your cousins will dare threaten us again, not with Dillie and William with us. Oh, and I had Madame de Bressard send the invoice for the broken table to your grandfather.”

  As she leaned into him, he caught the scent of her warm skin, roses delicately kissed by the evening dew. “He won’t dare ignore it,” she continued. “After all, it was your grandfather who instigated the whole affair, and everyone knows it. Now, are you going to let me get back to Ashton’s lemurs?”

  She gave him a smug, adorable smile that left him momentarily speechless. It suddenly occurred to him that she’d said nothing about the kiss they’d shared. Had she forgotten it? Found him lacking? Bollix, what did the girl know about such things?

  She was the one lacking in that particular reg
ard. He’d only held back to protect her honor. That, and the fact that she was a sickly green and nauseated at the time. She looked healthy now. Dark, silken hair. Pink cheeks, creamy complexion. Dazzling blue eyes, as exquisitely blue as the loch waters on a gentle summer’s day. He dared not glance lower. It wouldn’t do to be caught gawking at her breasts, which were achingly perfect, if she wanted his opinion, though she didn’t seem to be asking anything of him other than to leave her the hell alone and let her get back to those blasted lemurs.

  She placed her hands on his chest. Och, her hands felt good. Warm and gentle against his heart. “Did you ever think of that?”

  He shook out of his thoughts. “What?”

  “Haven’t you been listening to me?”

  Apparently not. “Sorry, I was distracted.”

  She nodded knowingly. “The upcoming sale at Tattersalls. I know how you must feel. Laurel can’t contain herself either. All she’s been talking about these past few weeks is the horse auction. Oh, Uncle George said to tell you that he’ll come around Saturday at half past ten to pick you up. He’ll stop at Laurel’s first. I can’t wait for you to meet her. I wish I could go with you. It’s going to be such fun.”

  “Why can’t you?” Not that he wanted to spend more time in her company than was necessary.

  Her eyes rounded in surprise. “May I? I’d love to, but I don’t wish to be in the way. I’m almost finished with the lemur research, and the Royal Society is threatening to burn my monograph on African swamp baboons, so there’s no point in my continuing that line of research. Too bad Sir William Maitland isn’t in London. He’d set those old fossils straight. Did you know that baboons are a monarchical society, their king constantly keeping vigil against usurpers to his crown? Much like the turmoil in England’s early years when William the Conqueror defeated the Saxons and the Danes. The battle of Hastings was—”

  “Fascinating, lass. About Tattersalls, it isn’t up to me to decide. I have no objection to bringing you along, assuming Laurel and your uncle don’t mind.”