Table of Contents
Legal Page
Title Page
Book Description
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
New Excerpt
About the Author
Publisher Page
Wild Lily
ISBN # 978-1-78686-253-2
©Copyright Jo-Ann Power 2017
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright September 2017
Edited by Shannon Combs
Totally Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2017 by Totally Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, UK
Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Sizzling and a Sexometer of 2.
Those Notorious Americans
WILD LILY
Cerise DeLand
Book one in Those Notorious Americans series
Money can buy anything, can’t it? Those brash Americans—their dollars and charms work wonders. Until they learn that money can buy anything…but love.
Lily Hanniford has all the qualities an impoverished nobleman could want in a wife. She’s beautiful, educated and funny. Too bad, she has a penchant for riding astride like a man. Too bad, she’s an American with a shrewd, wily father. But she’s unwilling to be sold to the highest-ranking nobleman. She wants a purpose in life…other than presiding over a drafty castle and a loveless marriage bed. Then she accidentally meets a man she can’t resist.
Julian Ash, Marquess of Chelton, doesn’t need a wife. He needs luck at cards…or a way to persuade Killian Hanniford to pay more for his family’s shipping line. But Lily is charming and her wild streak appeals to Julian who has always followed the society’s rules. Now he discovers that being wild with Lily is not only fun, it’s necessary to his life. And so is she.
They struggle to throw convention to the wind. But can they be wildly happy together if they can’t heal old wounds?
Dedication
For my friends and colleagues in Romance Writers of America,
Professionals and marvelous teachers, every one!
Chapter One
September 12, 1877
Boulevard Haussmann
Paris, France
“Be quiet as a mouse,” Lily whispered to her cousin Marianne as they took the first step down the central staircase toward the foyer. “Papa arrived home a few minutes ago. I bet he’s in his study and maybe he hasn’t seen that scandal sheet.”
“And never does,” said Marianne, holding her hat on her head as she ran. “Hopefully, the comtesse should be here for our appointment.”
“So we might get past Papa’s study easily if—”
“Oh, no.” Marianne halted mid-stride. “Foster.”
The Hanniford family butler here in Paris appeared at the bottom of the stairs. His wispy white hair fell was combed back in perfection and he focused on Lily and Marianne with droopy eyes like a sad bloodhound. He’d unlocked the front door to them both at midnight with his usual silence. Lily had asked him not to mention to her father what time they arrived home, but she was certain the man, referred to tycoon Killian Hanniford by another American millionaire, would not withhold such information if asked.
She descended the steps, her hope of concealing last night’s escapade from her father, fleeing on a sigh.
“Miss Hanniford,” he said, directing his gaze at her, “and Mrs. Roland, please follow me.”
“Foster,” Lily said, wishing for a clue as she tried to keep pace with the servant’s crisp walk. “Does he know?”
The man turned his head and considered her, dare she say, with pity. “He does, Miss. The tabloid is in his possession.”
Marianne clutched her arm. “I thought the footman said the one he brought to us this morning was the only copy on the doorstep?”
Lily’s heart skipped a beat. “He did.”
“Mr. Hanniford,” said Foster, “brought home his own copy when he arrived minutes ago.”
“Oh, dear.” Lily might have guessed her father, who prided himself on up-to-the-minute knowledge of any importance to his family or his businesses, would learn of her and Marianne’s escape to Montmartre last night. “Not good.”
“Precisely,” said the butler as he knocked on the door to his employer’s study and opened it for the two women. “Sir, Miss Hanniford and Mrs. Roland.”
Lily and Marianne advanced on the carpet in front of the forty-four-year-old millionaire whom many in America feared, envied and even admired. He stood tall and imperious, hands clasped behind his back, still in his evening clothes. The sleek black wool was a match for his thick hair and his large ebony eyes, while the ivory scarf and shirt, the gold waistcoat, were rich counterbalances to his ruddy complexion and the commanding demeanor that beguiled women and intimidated adversaries. In his hand was a copy of the broadsheet that the family footman had given to Lily’s maid this morning.
This interview would not be pleasant. Lily girded herself for the coming storm.
“I understand from Foster and Thomas, the downstairs footman, that you’ve already seen this.”
Lily nodded.
He leaned toward her. “What’s that?”
“Yes, sir. I have.”
“Perhaps you’d like to learn, too, that I sent Thomas out and he has returned, confirming that local Parisian kiosks have hundreds of copies for sale on every corner.”
Oh, a disaster. She clasped her hands together, even as she understood that one did not show weakness in front of a man like her father. “I am sorry for this, Papa.”
“Sorry,” he said as if he considered one who had spilled tea on the expensive Aubusson rug. “Intriguing word.”
She winced.
“Wouldn’t you like to choose another?”
“Sir?”
“Such as ‘appalled’?”
“Regret. That’s a better word.”
“It is. But it does not match my sentiment.”
“No, sir.” She was certain it didn’t.
He stared at her. “I won’t debate this with you any longer, Lily.” Her father threw the scandal sheet on top of his desk and peered at her over his wire-rim
med glasses. “I want only a good marriage for you. Last week it was riding in the Bois de Boulougne without an escort. The week before, trying a bicycle on the sidewalk. Now this. Why must you fight me with these escapades?”
Yes, she’d gone to the Montmartre café and watched those women throw up their skirts in the cancan. Shocking as that was, her night had been thrilling. But she did have two defenses. “I didn’t go to embarrass you, Papa.”
“You did, anyway.”
Still. What was she? His to dispense with? Order about? She was his daughter, almost of age. Almost. And she countered him with her other weapon. “No business dealing of yours depends on my behavior.”
He arched a black brow. “You are not so naïve as that.”
She wasn’t. But she’d gone for another reason. One her father repeatedly refused to accept. “I don’t want a husband—”
“Eventually, every young woman has one,” he countered. “And I have the money to ensure you—”
“Get one. Any one!” She flourished a hand.
“Not true. I would not marry you off to any man unworthy of you.”
“I hope not.”
“I take that as an insult, my girl.”
“I don’t mean to be ungrateful.”
“You are, sadly. But in the meantime,” he said and punched a finger into the paper, “your antics will not endear you to any man, rich or poor.”
Lily Hanniford held her ground. She had twenty years of practice standing up to her sire, a wizard of finance and a ruthless shipping magnate whose wealth stunned many on both sides of the Atlantic. But how could she predict that a Parisian artist might find it amusing to caricature an American girl visiting a cabaret? “I wanted simply to see the cancan, Papa. Not do it.”
He set his jaw and glared first at her and then her cousin by her side. “I hold you responsible, Marianne. You are older and should be wiser. I told you to be prudent. Keep Lily in hand.”
“It’s not Marianne’s fault.” Lily sent a consoling look at her pretty blonde cousin who always withstood Black Killian Hanniford’s outbursts more stoically than she. “I said she could remain home if she preferred.”
“Ah.” Hanniford focused on his niece. “So, will you tell me you went to this cabaret, an innocent to the slaughter?”
Marianne tipped her head to and fro, the look on her face whimsical amusement. She was older than Lily by nine years, a widow, worldly and witness to the savagery of a civil war that had sent her husband to his grave. Because of or perhaps in spite of that, Marianne had a zest for living and a ripe sense of humor. “I may have shown some enthusiasm for the adventure.”
“Some?” Hanniford snorted. “You probably wanted to learn the dance yourself.”
“Hmm. Yes. It is rather difficult,” Marianne proclaimed.
Lily suppressed her laugh.
But her father was not amused. No.
Hands on his hips, he glared at Lily. “Who escorted you inside this—this Café de Abbesses?”
Lily winced.
“Tell me, please, you did not go without a man in attendance.”
“He was kind.” A fellow who had a fancy for her, Lord Pinkhurst, was a sweet man, rich in his own right, and therefore without reason to fear Killian Hanniford.
“Kind! Who. Was. He?”
“A gentleman of our acquaintance.”
“One of my acquaintance?”
Lily shifted from one foot to the other. “Yes.”
Hanniford cursed mightily. “His name?”
Lily hated to admit it. “I will not tell you.”
“If you fail to reveal his identity, I guarantee you it will go worse for him.”
She would not have Pinkie pay prices for his kindness to her. He wanted to marry her, she was certain of it. And perhaps he’d agreed to escort her and Marianne to the guinguette to compel her to become his bride, but she wouldn’t do it. “If you ask about, if you discover who he is, if you hurt him, Papa, I shall leave for America the first chance I get.”
He blinked. “You threaten me?”
She did not flinch. “No, sir. I would not be so unkind.”
“I could lock you in your room and throw away the key.”
“You could.” But won’t. “How then to get a groom?”
“Dear heaven. How can this get worse?” He peered up at the ceiling.
Marianne stepped toward his desk. “Uncle Killian, please. We had a wonderful time. The music was gay and charming. The dancers were—”
“Naked?” He glared at her.
Marianne pulled back. “Partially.”
He ran a hand over his mouth. “You try me, both of you. Did you dance with your escort?”
Lily shook her head. “No, sir.”
“Drink?”
“Oh, yes,” Lily said, recalling the wine with a bitter bite, “but it was terrible vin rouge.”
He snorted. Then he turned to Marianne. “Did you sing?”
Marianne nodded. “Only with the patrons.”
“That’s some reprieve, I suppose. Why wouldn’t you give them your best soprano, Marianne?”
Her emerald eyes sparkled, even as she lifted a shoulder in sheepish delight. “I didn’t know the French lyrics.”
“And your gentleman saw you both safely home?”
“He did.” Lily was happy to tell him that. “In his carriage. We stayed only for a few songs.”
“And do you think that brevity lessens the damage you have done to your reputation?”
Lily had no response for that. “Could I hope a man would value a woman with a bit of courage?”
“Or foolhardiness.”
There was that. “I agreed to sail to Europe with you for your benefit more than mine.”
“Did you now? How kind of you.”
“Papa, I—”
“Enough! This,” he thundered as he put his fist down on the newspaper, “is not to occur again. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Marianne?”
Her cousin bowed her head. “Yes, Uncle Killian.”
“My order is to use this time in Paris wisely. Go to the shops. Buy clothes, perfect your French and make a name for yourselves as the refined beauties you are, not as ladies of the night!”
“Oh, Papa, we wouldn’t,” Lily rushed to add.
“You think it’s fine to drink and dine with artists and riff raff?”
“Oh, sir,” Marianne said, “they are poor but happy.”
“And very polite,” Lily added.
“Dear God.” Her father sank to the chair behind him.
Lily kneaded her hands. When her father reached the end of his patience, he would become quiet. Terribly so. Then burst forth with an ultimatum that would end all hope of compromise. “I didn’t like the cartoon, either, Papa.”
“Oh, really?” He stared at her. “Offended you, did it, that he portrayed you holding up your skirts to show your ankles?”
She nibbled her lower lip. She hated to admit her vulnerable pride. “I hated that he drew me with dollars spilling from my skirt pockets.”
Killian Hanniford’s swarthy complexion turned livid. “And I suppose we must be grateful he didn’t show you lifting your skirts higher like those dancers?”
“Quite so.”
He ground his teeth. “Nonetheless, this is not acceptable by you two, the cartoonist or his publisher. For this artist’s miscalculation to make fun of my daughter, I have sent for the owner of this rag.”
“To come here?” Lily felt as if the air had left her like a pricked balloon.
“Where else?”
“Already?”
He arched a dark disdainful brow. “Would you have me dally?”
“No. No, of course not.” She was gratified he’d act to quell the insult to her. But he was known to overreact. “I’d like the artist reprimanded. Warned, you see.”
“Not the publication set to ruin?” Hanniford smiled with a rueful twist to his mouth, his electric tempe
r masked by his self-deprecating humor.
Lily didn’t like people destroyed for their follies. She preferred them scolded. Shown some mercy. Some hope of redemption. “Exactly.”
“I’ll deal as I see fit.”
Oh, my. The publisher might lose his paper. At the very least, the cartoonist would be turned out on the street. Cartoonists in Baltimore and New York had toyed with Black Killian Hanniford’s image and paid the ultimate price for their aggression against the man who’d first come to public fame as Baltimore’s Black Irish Blockade Runner. Her father had even bought up half share in one of the newspapers who lambasted his actions, silencing any controversy over him.
“Please, Papa. Be kind.”
He eyed her. “You mean that?”
“I do.” She hated vindictiveness. “I really do.”
“What’s it worth to you?”
“Sir?”
He considered her with the gaze he trained on adversaries.
She fought to suppress a shiver.
“You heard me. What will you promise me for the courtesy to deal lightly with these men?”
Lily knew enough of her sire to understand that she held few advantages in bargaining with him. She had only one card to play. And she’d already dealt it.
“Well? What say you?”
Lily lifted her chin and stared him in the eye. She had obligations to Marianne who had eagerly anticipated living in Paris, going to the opera and art galleries while she perfected her French. Lily had also made a promise to her younger sister, Ava, who finished her schooling in Manhattan and would arrive in London next June along with their older brother, Pierce. “I promise to be polite, act properly and cause no more scandals.”
He barked in laughter. “That’s what you were supposed to do, anyway. What’s in this for me, for what I want?”
She stiffened her spine. “I’ll do this for you and Marianne. I’ll do it for Ava and Pierce to smooth their way in society. I’ll do the Season in London, curtsy and simper and—”
He put up a hand. “Stop. Get to your wager.”
Wild Lily (Those Notorious Americans Book 1) Page 1
