It had been a blow to his father as well, surprisingly enough. Before Camilla’s death, his father had been a staid, boring, deadly dull stick in the mud. And afterward, Simon had become more like a corpse, as if the very life had drained out of him. He’d withdrawn even further into his shell, closed himself off to any kind of joy or pleasure.
Heath was adamantly determined never to turn out like his father, which was why he’d pursued his own pleasures all those years—to prove he was totally different from his illustrious sire.
His desire for excitement and adventure had been a chief source of argument between them when Heath was in his salad days. His father had put great store in responsibility and duty, perhaps because he had so little in his life to fulfill or gratify him.
The fact that his parents had been so unsuited to each other in personalities and temperament was a prime reason Heath had resisted matrimony in the past. His greatest fear was that he would end up wedding an insipid, spiritless gentlewoman merely to sire necessary heirs.
But he certainly needn’t fear that with Lily. She was the first woman he’d ever met who could lure him into wanting to give up his freedom. If he’d had any doubts about wanting to wed her, they had been vanquished during their ride.
He wanted her. And he intended to have her. As his wife. Nothing less.
It wasn’t a rash decision, made with his usual impulsiveness. There were several practical reasons to choose her for his bride. In terms of birth, breeding, and compatibility, Lily would make him an ideal marchioness. Moreover, it would save him the trouble of having to search for a wife in the near future.
But mainly his decision was based on sheer instinct. He feared if he didn’t act now, he would let something precious slip through his fingers.
It remained for him to convince Lily, however. An immense challenge, Heath was well aware.
But fighting it would do her no good—
“You there! Stop that at once!”
Her sudden shout startled him abruptly out of his reverie.
Lily was staring down an alley they were passing, Heath realized an instant before she suddenly whirled her mare and took off down the narrow lane, leaving him in her dust again.
Chapter Six
Perhaps my agreeing to play the game was a mistake after all. At this rate he could very well win.
—Lily to Fanny
Heath muttered an oath under his breath, but when Lily shouted once more, her fury told him this was not another attempt to elude him and make it harder for him to win points in their game.
Her mare’s hooves clattering on the cobblestones, she charged down the alley toward a gathering of brawny youths at the far end. It took Heath another moment to understand what had infuriated her so: The ruffians were brandishing thick sticks at a dog, taking turns beating the animal’s cringing body.
Voicing a more vivid curse, Heath turned his horse and set off after Lily. He was hard on her heels when she drew rein and practically threw herself from the saddle.
His heart in his throat, he watched as she waded into the throng of rowdies, her fists flailing, her cries of outrage startling the lads.
“Stop tormenting that poor creature, you louts! Stop this instant!”
Since she had the advantage of surprise, every one of the half-dozen toughs staggered back defensively, clearly stunned by the Fury who had descended in their midst. But when they realized their attacker was only a woman—and a genteel lady at that—the rabble turned on Lily in unison, waving their sticks threateningly.
She got the better of the nearest one, ferociously kicking him in the shins just as Heath flung himself off his horse and entered the fight. Fear and fury flooding him, he grabbed the shoulder of a muscled lummox, dealing a punishing blow with his fist and knocking the oaf to the cobblestones.
Seeing another burly youth raise his stick high to strike Lily, Heath jerked the wood from his grasp and swung it like a club at his gut, landing a powerful whack that elicited a sharp cry of pain. Clutching his belly, the lout reeled backward and then lunged off, groaning.
In the face of Heath’s relentless wrath, the other bullies capitulated at once. And when they raced away, their fallen accomplice struggled to his feet and limped off after them.
“Yes, run, you worthless mawworms!” Lily shouted in their wake.
She had sunk to her knees, Heath saw, and was cradling the trembling dog in her arms, shielding it from harm with her body. She had lost her hat and veil in the melee, and her dark eyes were giving off sparks.
His own fury ebbing a small measure, Heath joined Lily on the ground as she bent over the shaking animal and crooned softly.
“Oh, you poor, frightened sweetheart. No one will hurt you now, I promise.”
The dog was a mongrel bitch, Heath realized, mangy and flea-bitten and clearly battered. Her brown fur was matted with blood while a nasty gash welled over one eye.
As Lily stroked the ragged head gently, Heath ran his hands carefully over the mutt’s body. When he reached the ribs that stuck out beneath her coat, she whimpered at his touch, but that seemed to be the most serious of her injuries.
“Her ribs are bruised but likely not broken,” Heath said, finishing his examination.
“Thank heavens,” Lily breathed, even as she glanced murderously back down the alley. “But those sorry wretches may return to torment this poor creature. We cannot leave her here.” She glanced down tenderly at the dog. “And her wounds need tending.”
The “poor creature” seemed to understand Lily’s intent, for she licked her hand feebly in gratitude, the brown eyes looking up at her with adoration.
“I shall take you home with me,” Lily said, bestowing a soft smile on the animal.
“To the boardinghouse?” Heath asked dubiously.
“Yes. She can stay in my room.”
He couldn’t quite picture Fleur and Chantel welcoming the dirty mongrel into their elegant abode. “Your friends will hardly thank you.”
“I know, but this sweet beastie needs a safe place to live. And food. She looks as if she is starving.”
“And a bath,” Heath murmured dryly.
“Yes, of course.”
There was no point in arguing with Lily, he realized, since she had her mind set on rescuing the dog. So he rose to his feet. When Lily had carefully gathered the animal in her arms, Heath helped her rise and went to collect their horses, which surprisingly were standing docilely nearby.
Leading the two horses to Lily, he reached for the dog. “I will take her.”
But Lily shook her head. “No, she trusts me. I can hold her while I ride.”
Having seen her skill on horseback, Heath repressed the urge to argue and lifted her into her sidesaddle, then helped arrange her position so that she cradled the trembling dog in her lap while clutching the reins one-handed. But he kept a wary eye on them both as he swung up into his saddle and led the way back down the alley. And he remained close on the chance that she needed help controlling the spirited mare.
Offering reassurance to the dog, Lily spoke softly to her for the first few minutes as they rode down the busy streets, ignoring Heath completely. When the animal seemed finally to relax, however, she glanced over at him with a faint smile.
“I haven’t properly thanked you, my lord. I could never have overpowered those brutes alone. You were truly magnificent.”
When Lily’s marvelous eyes regarded him with gratitude, Heath felt a strange lurch in the vicinity of his heart. She was the one who was magnificent, plunging into the fray, heedless of her own safety. It was one of the braver things he had ever seen.
Yet that didn’t mean he condoned her rash leap into danger.
“You left me little choice but to follow you,” Heath replied. “I lost a year off my life, seeing you attack that riffraff. It was valiant of you, but foolhardy as well. You could have been seriously hurt.”
Lily shrugged. “But I wasn’t hurt because you were there to save us. Not many noblemen would
bother to help a stray dog.”
“Nor would many ladies,” he pointed out.
He’d been given yet another glimpse of Lily’s compassionate nature…and her single-minded zeal. She was passionate even in her faults. That inner fire was evident in everything she did, Heath thought, surveying her still-flushed cheeks and overbright eyes. And it made him want her even more fiercely.
Yet he didn’t believe her courtesan friends would share her desire to rescue a mangy mongrel. “Can you honestly see your friends deigning to take in your new canine companion?” he queried.
Lily’s smile was rueful. “I will just have to convince them. Thankfully she will be much more presentable once she is clean and her wounds are tended.”
“I doubt that will be a significant improvement.”
“Well, she is obviously not an aristocrat like you.”
“Indeed.”
Lily smiled at his dry tone. “But she is very sweet. Just look at that darling face.”
“I would not exactly term it ‘darling,’” Heath remarked, examining the bloodied features.
“Perhaps not, but I am not about to turn her back onto the streets. Although….”
“Although what?” he asked at her pause.
“London is no place for a dog.” Lily frowned thoughtfully. “She would probably be happier living in the country. Perhaps I should send her to Danvers Hall…but no. She needs special care, and Roslyn is in the midst of planning for her wedding, and Arabella is extremely busy helping.”
“I expect I could take the dog off your hands,” Heath said slowly.
Turning to survey him, Lily appeared skeptical. “You, my lord? What would you do with a stray with no pedigree?”
He sent Lily a glance of humorous reproach. “I am not offering to make her my personal pet. She could have a home on the farms at my family seat in Kent.”
Still Lily hesitated. “I would rather not be so beholden to you.”
“I know—you wish to remain unequivocally independent of any man. But think of the poor dog. She would be better off living in the countryside than in the city, you said so yourself.”
“I suppose you are right. And doubtless you have an army of servants who could look after her.”
“Yes. She will be well cared for there.”
Lily gave him a searching look. “You would do that for her?”
“I would do it for you, since you are so concerned about her welfare.”
“Your kindness would be much appreciated,” Lily said finally. “By both of us.” She gazed down at the dog lovingly. “We will have to think of a suitable name for you, won’t we, sweetheart?”
“How about Fortune—the French word for lucky?” Heath suggested.
Her brow furrowed. “Why that choice? She seems terribly unlucky to me.”
“Until now, yes, but she is highly fortunate that you decided to come to her rescue.”
“And you as well. Very well, ‘Fortune’ it is.”
She included Heath in her warm, endearing smile, and he couldn’t regret his impulsive offer to take responsibility for the dog, even when Lily returned all her attention to the mutt.
When they arrived back at the rooming house, his groom went dutifully to their horses’ heads.
“You can hand Fortune over to my man,” Heath told Lily. “He will take her to the stables so she can be bathed and bandaged and fed.”
Rather than complying, however, Lily tightened her arms around the dog and regarded Heath with an imploring look. “She might be frightened of a stranger. Won’t you see to her care, my lord? I will happily tell our judges about your magnanimity. Just think, you could win another point or two in our game.”
Heath couldn’t help but chuckle at her devotion to her new charge, yet it was a significant step that Lily had actually asked him for something.
Therefore, even though he would have preferred to hand the animal over to his footman, Heath nudged his horse close to Lily’s and reached out for the dog. “Come here, little mutt. It seems you are coming home with me.”
The dog licked his fingers once, then scrabbled over onto his lap. Heath winced as her claws dug into his loins, and felt relieved when she finally flopped down across his thighs.
Lily’s eyes danced. “She likes you.”
“Animals usually do. As do women.”
He could see Lily’s effort to repress a rejoinder at his quip. Instead she merely said sincerely, “Thank you, my lord. You have my profound gratitude.”
Her soft, husky tone raked across his nerve endings. Locking gazes with her, Heath went very still. For a span of several heartbeats, he stared at her, desire rushing though him like a warm tide.
He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to take down her hair and see how it would look tangled after their lovemaking. He could picture Lily breathless with passion, her skin glowing, her eyes languid with sensuality, her ripe mouth parted.
He craved that sweet mouth under his. He craved her luscious body beneath his.
He was sorely tempted to carry Lily off right then and take her someplace where he could spend days teaching her about the delights of passion that she so ardently denied wanting.
But now was certainly not the time, when he had the dog’s welfare to see to.
The moment would come, he had no doubt. He would make Lily his wife and have a long future ahead with her, enjoying the pleasures of their marriage bed.
Even so, subduing his lust required a greater struggle than anticipated, and his voice was unexpectedly husky when he spoke. “I will find a way for you to reward me when I return this afternoon. And we still must score this round of our game, remember?”
Although looking a trifle wary, Lily nodded. “If you will call this afternoon at three, I will see that our judges are there to welcome you.”
“Three o’clock, then.”
Allowing his groom to help her down from her sidesaddle, Lily reached up to gently stroke Fortune’s head once more. Then flashing another ravishing smile at Heath, she turned and ran lightly up the front steps.
Heath remained sitting there, totally immobile, as she disappeared inside the house. His mouth had gone dry, while his loins had tightened at the impact of that breathtaking smile.
A wet tongue licking his hand suddenly recalled him to his surroundings.
“I trust you do realize how lucky you are, my girl,” he said, glancing down at the dog, “garnering such singular attention from your new mistress. Would that I could say the same.”
Another lick was the response he got.
Repressing a wry grin, Heath waited while his groom took the mare’s reins so as to lead her and mounted the hack.
Only then did Heath turn his gelding away from the house.
The desire to make love to Lily was still stinging his body. But he promised himself that it wouldn’t be long before he fulfilled his urgent need for her.
Lily was more upset by her confrontation with the brutish youths than she let on, for the encounter had forced her to recall an even uglier memory. One that was branded into her heart and soul.
But once her rage dissipated, she was determined to put it from her mind.
She was exceedingly glad, however, that the marquess had been with her when she’d impulsively charged down that alley. He had dealt with those louts in heroic fashion, not stopping to question that he was risking injury or worse to help her rescue a mongrel dog. And she trusted that he would provide for the injured animal’s welfare.
She had considerably less trust, Lily admitted as she sought refuge in the calming privacy of her bedchamber, in her own ability to withstand his masculine allure.
She’d found herself enjoying his lordship’s company far too much. He was delightful to converse with, charming and witty and interesting. He made her laugh, and he made her think.
What was more, she felt completely at ease with him.
Which was patently absurd. How could a man make her feel safe and so unsettled at the sa
me time?
Lord Claybourne had only to look at her to make her heart beat faster. And when he smiled at her in that captivating way…There was something in his smile that made her feel special, appreciated, valued.
Perhaps that was the secret of his devastating success with the fair sex. He treated women as individuals in their own right, not simply as objects of desire.
Yet she had to remember he was only employing his well-honed amatory skills. She had to keep in mind the danger of letting herself become spellbound by his appeal.
And she would have to do better to resist him. He was winning their competition thus far, Lily acknowledged. And once she reported back to their judges about the events of the morning, he would be even farther ahead.
The judging went much as she predicted.
By the time Lord Claybourne was shown into the courtesans’ private sitting room that afternoon where Lily was waiting for him with Fleur and Chantel, she had truthfully recounted what had happened in the park and the alley.
And her friends were charmingly effusive in their welcome.
“Hail the hero,” Chantel declared, fluttering her eyelashes provocatively at the marquess when he bent over her hand in greeting.
“Indeed,” said Fleur just as fervently. “It was splendid, how you championed Lily in that brave manner, my lord.”
“You give me too much credit,” he responded lightly, shooting a glance at Lily. “Miss Loring was the brave one.”
“And foolhardy, too,” Fleur added tartly. “Who knows what would have happened to her had you not been there to save her from her own recklessness?”
Subduing her own absurd pleasure at seeing him again, Lily resumed her seat in a wing chair so he couldn’t kiss her hand as he’d done her friends. “Did you have any trouble caring for Fortune, Lord Claybourne?”
He smiled at her swift change of subject but remained standing. “Your canine has been bathed and doctored. And I personally fed her half a mutton chop in bite-sized pieces. She will be given the other half this evening. I thought it wise to take her recovery slowly, since I doubt she is accustomed to such rich fare.”
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