Wild Lily (Those Notorious Americans Book 1)

by Cerise DeLand

  The stable was swathed in pale light and she heard only the flutterings of small creatures in the tall grasses beyond. There at the far corner of the stable was an irregular shadow.

  Before she could speculate what it might be, a man stepped from the wall and into a beam of moonlight. No mistaking his well-cut silhouette anywhere. Dressed in a dark riding habit that fit his firm thighs and strong chest to perfection, he was quite stunning. Her breath stopped. She was meeting a man in the moonlight for the first time and she relished the adventure.

  She grinned at her own boldness—and prayed it would not be her downfall. After all, found out, she’d never do this again. She’d be…oh, she didn’t want to think about the possibility that her father would send her home. Or make her marry some man whom she did not know and could not want the way she was beginning to want this one.

  The joy of it all was too grand not to wish the experience to be repeated. With Julian.

  “I’m so sorry to be late,” she said. “The ladies wanted to talk all night.”

  “The men as well,” he said, his white teeth flashing in a wicked smile. He fell in at her side and offered his arm. “Allow me. Through the woods, you see. I don’t want you to trip.”

  “Terrible. They’d ask how it happened.”

  “And you couldn’t say you’d fallen in your bedroom.”

  She feigned horror. “I tripped over the rug?”

  “How could you be so clumsy?” he asked.

  “So indelicate. My, my.”

  The forest was thick but the path he led her on had been cleared of branches. They trod on a thick carpet of leaves, their footfalls subtle as whispers. They strode on for a while, their quiet companionable and comfortable for two people who’d known each other so briefly.

  “You’ve come this way before, I bet?” she asked him.

  “Often as a boy. I had a friend who was the estate manager’s son and we played together, traipsing through the forest, running like ruffians, pretending we were Robin Hood and his merry men.”

  “Stealing from the rich?” she asked him, catching a glimpse of his far-off expression and smiling at his fond remembrance.

  “Bringing justice to the peasants.”

  “Defying the sheriff.”

  “A noble calling.” He grinned and patted her hand.

  The clearing opened and she halted at the sight of a two-story house of white stone glimmering in the starlight. To one side stood the gray Seton stable block.

  The folly of what she was about to do made her pause. She’d never been a hare-brained girl, taking chances, breaking social rules. But being with him felt not so much risky as audacious. She’d always envied women who could be. Women who said no to marriage, like Marianne. Women who did as they wished no matter the warning from men. Like her mother. What was it then to ride at midnight alone with an eligible man? In a man’s saddle. In britches.

  “I hope you’re not having second thoughts,” he said and she glanced up to see concern wrinkle his dark brows.

  “It’s not wise.”

  “But you’re with me. If you wait all your life to seize the fun of being alive, look what you’ve wasted.”

  “You’re a philosopher?” she quipped, accepting his reasoning.

  “Tonight, I am.” He squeezed her hand. “Come ride. You’ll be so proud you were brave. Mischief is worth the risk. Besides, I bet you’d do it at home.”

  “Oh, but there no one would know.”

  “No one will know here, either.”

  “At home in Texas, no one would blink an eye. Out on the range, women do ride like men and herd cattle, too. But here, Chaumont and others have warned that the whole family could be subjected to ridicule if Marianne and I stepped out of line. What if you have a servant who’s out and about, he could tell others—”

  “He wouldn’t.

  She flung back her head to gaze up at him. “Oh, Julian. I can call you Julian, can’t I?”

  He searched her expression as if he met her for the first time. “I would think you must under the circumstances.”

  “I couldn’t bear it if I were in the newspapers again. That cartoon of me on horseback was hideous.”

  He swung toward her and looped an arm around her waist. “If he saw you now, he’d cry bitter tears that his talents were so shallow.”

  “Your compliment is kind.” Exciting. “But if word gets out…”

  “It won’t. I know that artist. Trust me, he wouldn’t dare it again.”

  “How could you stop him?”

  A mischievous light crossed his eyes. “Shoot him at dawn.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Isn’t that what they do in Texas?”

  She laughed. “Sometimes. Before the sheriff arrives.”

  “We have a sheriff who’s just as slow.”

  She giggled.

  He put a hand to her cheek. His touch calmed her, the heat of his skin on hers an endearment she hadn’t expected. “I’d gladly shoot him for you.”

  “I’d hate to be the cause of you hanging.”

  “I’d hate to see you insulted.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb. His lips parted and he drifted closer. “Lily. I may call you Lily, can’t I?”

  Her heart in her throat, she could only nod.

  “Lovely Lily. Have you kissed a man before?”

  She shook her head. Gulped hard. “Have you?”

  He considered the sky and hooted in laughter. “No.”

  Realizing her mistake, she laughed and rested her forehead against his chest. He stepped against her and the planes of his body were warm, solid temptation. He was aroused. She was flattered that he could be attracted to her…and she wrapped her arms around his waist and nestled closer to him.

  “My lord?” a young lad’s voice interrupted them.

  She pushed away. Where was her brain? Her sense of decorum?

  Julian cleared his throat. “Yes, Colin. Good of you to do this for me.”

  “And for me, Colin.” Lily smiled at the gangly young man who stood before them and pulled his forelock. “We’re grateful you came out so late at night.”

  “Not a thought you should give it, milady.”

  “Oh, I’m—”

  “The lady,” Julian told him, “is honored you’ve done her and me the favor.”

  “I’m pleased to do it, milord. Your horses are ready.”

  “We won’t be long, Colin. Thank you.”

  They mounted and urged the horses to a walk along a country lane. They spoke little, a quiet camaraderie Lily relished. The sounds of the wind rustling the trees was their only accompaniment.

  “It smells like rain. Do you think it might?” Lily asked him.

  “Perhaps. We’re not far from where I wanted to take you. Follow me. We may still have time before it starts.”

  He spurred his horse to a trot and she followed him down the lane. At once, he stopped, turned and waited for her to catch up.

  “There,” he pointed toward a flat plain before them. “If you’d like to try your hand at racing Polly, here’s your chance.”

  She surveyed the terrain, rising in her saddle and smiling. “It seems to be more than three acres.”

  “Four. You cannot see it well in the dark, but it’s a lovely clear expanse where you can enjoy yourself. Trust me when I say that Polly will, too.”

  Lily patted the mare on the neck. “She’s very responsive.”

  “Knows her manners, that one.”

  “Will you ride with me?”

  “Better yet. Shall I race you?” he offered.

  “Why not? You know Polly’s speed better than I, especially against that fine beast you’ve got here.”

  “Horatio knows when to let a lady win.”

  “That’s not very sporting,” she challenged him with a tip of her chin. “You assume I’m no match for you.”

  Horatio snorted.

  Julian chuckled. “He knows Polly and you.”

>   “Doubtful, sir,” she teased him.

  He arched a disdainful brow. “We’ll race. Straight to the stone barrier. You’ll know it when you see it. Four feet high, pale stone. No jumping it, mind you. Turn. Then back to this marker. Here under this tree.”

  “And the winner gets to name her own prize.”

  “Ha! What did you have in mind?”

  “Another run tomorrow night?” she asked with giddy hope.

  “Incorrigible, you are.”

  “A deal?”

  “Of course.”

  She beamed at him. “Ready?”

  Off they went, she in the lead and intent on winning, he at her heels and fast closing the distance.

  Polly was a speedy lady and Horatio had met his match. It tickled Lily to bend low in her saddle, feel the power of the animal beneath her and admit that the surge of excitement flowing through her had nothing to do with the horse, the ride or the moonlight.

  The freedom of it, that Julian had arranged it for her, raised her laughter and her appreciation of him. She liked him, much more than she’d anticipated, more than she’d predicted when they’d met in Paris. There, she’d been struck by his classic handsomeness, his form. There, she’d thought him imperial, so far above her socially that she’d been aghast at his attentiveness. Now that she knew him, she could acknowledge he was generous, kind and so attractive that she could not, would not ignore him.

  At the turn, she stopped and hailed Julian with a grin of delight.

  He scowled at her, his eyes full of mischief.

  “I’ll beat you if you keep doing that,” he shouted.

  She dug in her spurs and Polly responded with speed.

  But Julian gave a good race, digging in only inches behind her.

  At the final mark, she rejoiced in the win, proud that she’d risked exposure, grateful to him for the opportunity.

  “We won!” She whipped her hat from her shoulder where it had fallen and dangled by its pins.

  “By a nose!” He was laughing as he permitted Horatio to prance around her and Polly.

  “Polly deserves a bucket of oats. And I’d like a firm promise of tomorrow night.”

  Julian laughed. “You love the taste of risqué business, eh?”

  “I won’t deny it.”

  “I’ll risk it with you.”

  Drops of rain hit her face. She pushed curls from her cheeks and dragged off her net caul. The wealth of her hair fell to her shoulders, hanging in long curls over her jacket.

  His dark gaze shot to it and back to her eyes, where he lingered. His consideration heated her blood, making her shift in her saddle, noting the tension in her belly was new, welcome and unwise.

  In the distance, the crackle of thunder rent the night air.

  “We should return quickly. Come on,” he said and headed back toward the stables at a trot.

  But the heavens opened in a steady downpour, the rain seeping into her jacket. Julian and she trotted straight into the open doors.

  Julian was off his mount in a thrice and strode over to help her down. “You’re soaked straight through.”

  “You, too.” She felt the wet wool of his jacket as she braced herself on his shoulders and slid to the earthen floor.

  Colin appeared from the back of the barn, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he took the reins of Horatio and Polly.

  “Thank you, Colin,” Julian said and then her turned to her.

  “We must get you home before you catch a chill.” He glanced around the dim interior, then reached over to a line of tack hanging on the wall. He whipped off a horse blanket and stepped to her. “Here, let’s put this around you. I’ll go up to the house and get a coat for you. You can’t go back to Carbury’s in the pouring rain. Not wet as you are. I should have thought of this.”

  “You cannot predict the weather.”

  “Foolhardy of me, anyway. I should have taken better care of you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Now, you are. But if you take sick—”

  “I’ve never been ill a day in my life.”

  “Bloody well good for you.”

  At his rough words, she threw him a smile.

  “Sorry. But you need a change of clothes, a shot of whiskey and a good warm bed.”

  “Hopefully, this downpour will end soon.”

  He was rubbing her shoulders and securing the blanket around her throat tightly. “Only servants are in residence at the house. I’ll run up. My mother’s winter coat would fit you. Elanna’s would be too short.”

  “So why don’t we both go? You need dry clothes, too.”

  He tipped his head. “If we’re caught—”

  “By whom? If no one in your family is there? Where is your father?”

  “London.”

  “So then.”

  “Stay here.”

  “Not on your life!”

  Chapter Eight

  They ran like children along the stone path up to the servants back door. It was unlocked and Julian thrust it open, pulling her inside.

  “Come. Here’s the kitchen. No fire, but it’s warm and dry. Sit there.” He looked her over. “You’re drenched. Hell.”

  He took four huge strides, disappearing into another room and clanging about. If he kept up that racket, the whole house would soon be awake.

  She rubbed her arms, grateful to be out of the storm, but wary of servants who might have been roused.

  When he returned, he had his hands full of toweling.

  Grateful to be rid of the blanket that smelled of horse, she shrugged it off and folded it. He hurried to wrap a large towel over her head.

  She giggled. “You could wake the dead the way you scoured that room.”

  “My housekeeper is quite deaf.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Not at all. She’s never been quick to any sound.” He scrubbed her head with too much dedication.

  “Ooof.” She picked up a corner of the towel to glare at him.

  “Sorry. You need to dry your hair.” He rubbed her scalp.

  She clamped her fingers around his wrist. “If you don’t stop, sir, I’ll be bald!”

  “Sorry.” He bent to peer at her. “Take off your jacket.”

  She balked. She had removed her corset for this adventure and if she took off her jacket, it would be apparent that she was a rather loose woman. In more ways than one. “Ah. I don’t wish to. Unless… Do you have anything to replace it?”

  “Not yet. I will.” He dropped another towel around her neck.

  “Splendid. I’ll wait.”

  “No. You will not.” He began to pick at the buttons on her coat.

  She slapped his hands away. “Stop that.”

  “You do it then. I’ll not have you die of cold at the risk of a layer of clothing.”

  She clutched her stock to her throat. And true, it was wet, but she had few choices here. “It’s not just any layer.”

  Confusion over took his brow. “What?”

  “Can you please find me another coat?”

  “I will if you promise to begin to unbutton that now.”

  She tsked. “Hard bargainer.”

  He stood. “I’ll be back with brandy and when I do, you’ll have that jacket off.”

  “Fine, fine.” Fretting over that, she undid her last two buttons. Beneath it, the cold cotton of her blouse was damp. Under that, her skin was ablaze with the delicious nature of her predicament. But what Julian didn’t know was a good thing. “Hurry, please.”

  He left her, ran up the steps and away. In the silent house, she marveled that no one had yet heard them. How many servants did he have? And were they all deaf?

  She shrugged out of her jacket, covering her wet blouse and her beading nipples with the ends of a towel. Shivering in the damp cotton and trying to focus on how soon she’d be warm didn’t work.

  Julian returned within minutes, a large coat in one hand and a man’s shirt—his?—in the other.

  “I can
’t wear that.” She had admired his form, his broad chest, his muscular build. He was fit, firm, a marvelous example of manhood, but she was more than adequately endowed. And his shirt, tailored as it was, would not adequately cover her attributes.

  “Why not?” He held it up. “Perfectly fine linen. Clean.”

  She ground her teeth. “It won’t fit.”

  “Of course, it will.” He quirked a brow. “Oh. Um. Won’t it?”

  He had this odd expression on his face which by infinite degrees turned to recognition and then, he laughed.

  She tapped her foot on the stone floor. “You’re not helping, dear sir.”

  Still chuckling, he stepped toward her and put his hands around her waist to draw her to her feet. “I see that. I am sorry.”

  She couldn’t help but cuff him. “Take me back.”

  “Wet?”

  “As I am, yes! Now.” She took his hand and marched them both toward the window.

  But lightning streaked the sky and a loud boom shook the house.

  She lurched backward.

  Against his all too solid chest.

  He embraced her, one hand in her hair, one cupped her nape and the lure of his warmth was irresistible. She sank against him, reveling in his support. He was assurance and beneath his riding pants, he was aroused.

  She didn’t want to move or even breathe. Could he find her attractive? Still? Even though she’d told him at the opera to ignore her? He certainly did find her company appealing. Much as she’d always declared she’d never tolerate a man as demanding as her father, she liked a man with a mind of his own. This man.

  “I like you,” she told him astonishing herself for saying what she felt for him.

  He trailed his fingers up into her hairline and turned her head toward him. “Do you?” he asked, his voice wistful. “God knows I like you.”

  Her heart did a little jig. “Now, I know, too.”

  “We are neither of us very clever.”

  “But honest.”

  “Lily,” he said her name, a plea more breath than sound. “Lily, darling. Shall we be more than honest?”

  “Oh, Julian.” In the dim light, she could make out the fire in his beguiling eyes. To wait any longer to taste him would be a waste. Casting caution to the wind, she swung totally into his embrace and pushed up on her toes. She slid her arms around his shoulders, the towel falling to the floor, and with only hot urgency between them, she said, “Yes, let’s be.”