My Fair Lily (12 page)

Madame de Bressard shrank back against the hats counter, in her distress knocking over several hats and feathers. Her complexion was as ashen as the white satin fabric draped over one of the nearby
armchairs.

Lily moved toward her, determined to get between her and this unwholesome pair before they frightened the woman into giving Meggie away. Though Madame de Bressard appeared to be made of sterner
stuff, not the sort to toss a customer to the wolves, Lily couldn’t be completely sure, so she stepped forward, her chin raised high, and tried a little intimidation of her own. “I’ve waited months for an
appointment with
Madame and will not have it interrupted by pretentious commoners—”

The man’s lips curled in a snarl. “How dare you! Do you know who I am?”

No, but she hoped to find out. “I’m not in the least interested. You’re obviously not quality.”

“Wretched girl!” He raised his arm and struck her on the shoulder with his cane. She hadn’t seen that coming. He’d actually struck her! “I’m the Duke of Lotheil’s grandson! His one and only
rightful heir.”

“An obvious lie, sir.”
Ow, that hurt.
“I doubt anyone secure in his
standing would shout such drivel in a ladies’ dress shop. Now, I
suggest you leave without further fuss or I’ll summon my footmen to toss you out.”

He raised his cane again, but as Lily turned to grab a hat pin off the
counter to defend herself, the man suddenly moved away. Or rather, he
was hurled away. Lifted off his feet and sent flying across the room by... Ewan!

The man landed with a crash atop one of the tables beside Madam
de Bressard’s floral silk sofa. Lily watched in horrified glee (or was it gleeful horror?) as the table groaned and then cracked beneath this
villain’s flailing weight. His companion rushed toward him.

So did Ewan.

Oh, crumpets! Ewan was going to kill the man unless she stopped him. “Ewan, help me! Please!” She pretended to swoon in that
ridiculously theatrical way her mother and Aunt Julia had perfected
over the years. She’d never tried it before. She hoped it
would work on Ewan as well as it seemed to work on most men.

It didn’t.

Crumpets again!
She scampered to her feet, determined to get between Ewan and the man before Ewan lifted him again and tossed him through the window onto the street, because she knew, as surely as she knew the orbits of the various planetary objects in Earth’s
solar system, that Ewan was going to do it.

Fortunately, the man’s companion got to him before Ewan did. She leaned over the villain and promptly burst into tears. Loud,
wailing,
seemingly genuine tears. Lily knew that Ewan wouldn’t shove a lady
out of the way, even if she wasn’t a very nice one. “It’s done. I’m fine.” Lily placed a trembling hand on his taut arm. “Let’s go.
Please.”

She had to tug on his arm to gain his attention.

Ewan finally turned to her.

She tossed him a weak smile.

He glowered at her, not in anger, but in that man-protecting-his-woman sort of way, that strong, aggressive way a lion might look after chasing away male interlopers who’d wandered too close to the females of his pride. Not that she was one of Ewan’s lion pride. “I’m fine,” she repeated, her heart leaping into a happy dance at the hot,
hungry glances he was giving her.

“Lass—” He stopped, his voice raw and rugged, for he could surely tell by the pain reflected in her eyes that she wasn’t fine at all. Her shoulder was throbbing, and the spot where the cane had struck
now felt as though it were on fire.

Ewan clenched his hands into fists, obviously deciding that the villain hadn’t learned enough of a lesson and really needed to be tossed through the shop window. At that same moment, two burly men marched in. Madame de Bressard quickly identified them as Bow Street
runners hired
by the local shopkeepers to watch for criminal activity on the street.
They were older men, their dark hair mingled with gray, and their dark eyes sharp and assessing. “We’ll take care of this unruly pair,
sir. Sorry they frightened your pretty wife. Are you hurt, m’lady?”

“I’m not—” Lily was trying to tell them that she wasn’t Ewan’s
wife, but they mistook her protestations.

“Now, don’t ye deny it,” one of the men said, holding up a large,
callused hand. “Just glad yer husband got here in time to prevent something worse. Now ye just forget this bit of nastiness and let him take care of ye.”

She sighed. “Of course.” And burrowed against Ewan so that he had no choice but to put his arm around her.
Oh, he felt good.
Warm and solid and good. But that wasn’t her true purpose in burying her body against
his...
crumpets
, she had to concentrate on anything but that animal heat radiating off his body. Right, concentrate on her true purpose, which was to keep him from doing permanent bodily harm to this villainous stranger.

At first, she didn’t think her plan was working, for Ewan’s body grew tenser the closer she burrowed against him. However, when he finally spoke, he managed to speak calmly. First he thanked the Bow Street runners, and then he turned to the young couple. “Stop crying, Evangeline. I won’t kill your brother. Not this time.”

Evangeline? He knew this beautiful young woman? Not that she cared. Not that it was her business. But Evangeline’s brother had attacked her. Well, that made it her business.

Ewan turned to stare at the young man who was shakily rising to his feet. “Desmond, you bloody bastard. Set a hand on Lily again, and I’ll kill you. Come near Meggie, and I’ll kill you.”

Evangeline glowered at him. “Who are you to speak that way to my
brother? You’re not good enough to polish his boots. Do you think you
can come here and turn Grandfather away from us? You disgusting heathen. We all know you’re only after his wealth and title. You’re
nothing but a filthy, Highlands pig. Grandfather couldn’t stand the sight of your mother and he can’t stand the sight
of you, so go back to your Scottish hovel before you humiliate yourself. You have no place here among your betters.”

Lily’s fingers dug into Ewan’s hand with enough force to leave the imprint of her nails on his flesh. She was bracing herself to hold him back, for Evangeline was goading him. Especially the remark about his mother. She’d felt Ewan’s heart leap into his throat at that
cruel snipe,
but he’d surprised her by controlling his anger. He turned to the
Bow Street runners. “Take them away.”

“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.