My Fair Lily

by Meara Platt

  Lily expected to recognize her assailant, believing it was Desmond once again releasing his fear and frustration on her, but when she turned, she saw a large, unkempt ruffian with a knife in his dirty hand and an evil gleam in his bloodshot eyes. “Is it my purse you want? Here. Take it.”

  “I’ll have it an’ ye as well. Think ye can get the better of m’master. This’ll teach ye.”

  Lily had to think quickly. She pretended to surrender, and then at the precise moment brought her knee to his privates with all the force she could muster. As he bent over with an angry yelp, she grabbed the pin from her hat and stabbed it into the hand that was holding the knife. He shrieked and dropped his knife. Lily used his momentary distraction to race from the stall.

  She darted out and fell against another hard wall. Ewan. He tightened his arms around her. “What’s the matter?”

  Laurel was two steps behind him. “She’s afraid of mice. Did you see one in the stall?”

  Lily was too frightened to answer.

  Ewan took a closer look at her. “Bollix,” he muttered, handing her over to Laurel and heading into the stall before she could stop him. “Bloody bastard. Who are you working for?” Ewan growled, then she heard the thud of fists against bodies. To Lily’s frustration, she couldn’t make out the rest, for Laurel was tugging her away.

  A group of men heard the commotion and began to gather by the stall, further shutting her out. Men being men, they were quick to take bets on who would come out the winner, though she could have told them the blackguard stood no chance against Ewan. As the fight spilled out into the pathway, she saw Ewan knock the man to the ground with two swift punches. He hauled the dazed man to his feet, obviously searching for a Tattersalls official to take him into proper custody.

  Lily could see he was angry, his dark eyes blazing as he scanned the bloodthirsty crowd. And angrier as his gaze fell upon someone else of interest. He released the man and shouldered his way through the crowd, grabbing his cousin. “Desmond,” Lily muttered, drawing Laurel toward the pair.

  “Who’s Desmond?”

  “His despicable cousin. The one who threatened me and Meggie at Madame de Bressard’s shop. We’d better stop Ewan before he kills him.”

  Laurel held her back. “Are you serious? You can’t get between those two. It’s too dangerous.”

  As if to prove her point, Ewan drew his fist back to begin pummeling his cousin. At the same time, the blackguard he’d released a moment earlier and three of his friends ran forward, quickly surrounding him. “What are you waiting for? Get him,” Desmond ordered, sneering as the assailants obeyed him and attacked Ewan.

  Desmond hurried off, leaving Ewan alone to defend himself against the unsavory foursome. Though there were dozens of bystanders nearby, not one man stepped forward to help Ewan. He was in trouble, clearly outnumbered, and he stood no chance of escaping unharmed, especially if those men carried weapons. “Laurel, find Uncle George.”

  Laurel nodded. “Stay out of it, Lily. Promise me.”

  “I can’t. Someone has to even the odds until help arrives.” Lily grabbed a wooden board that lay near her feet. Ewan had shattered it over one of the brigands a few moments ago. She avoided Laurel and rushed forward with careful purpose, holding her breath in order to remain calm as she entered the melee. She struck two of the assailants with precision, catching them at the back of the knees. Their ungainly bodies responded as she knew they would, the precise blows causing their legs to buckle. They lost their balance and fell to their knees.

  She swung the board at each man’s head, each time striking with a resounding thwack!

  “Lily, by all that’s holy!” Her uncle grabbed her and lifted her out of harm’s way.

  “No! I have to help him.”

  “I’ll do it.” George unceremoniously dumped her beside Laurel, quickly removed his jacket, and rushed forward to haul the other assailants off Ewan.

  The crowd cheered. Big bodies flew into the makeshift stalls, splintering wood and frightening horses. Several horses broke loose and galloped across the auction grounds, chased by their owners... angry owners, for no one wanted to lose a precious source of income. Buckets were overturned, bystanders splattered by more big bodies falling into water troughs.

  Though it seemed to Lily as though years had gone by, the fight actually ended almost as quickly as it had erupted. Ewan and her uncle were the only ones left standing. Lily let out the breath she had been holding. “Thank goodness.”

  She rushed to Ewan. “Are you hurt?”

  He didn’t have time to respond before the Tattersalls officials arrived and promptly ejected them. Lily was surprised and indignant. “Us? You’re tossing us out? We’re the victims here. Where were you when that ruffian shoved me into the stall and tried to steal my purse? And when his companions attacked Lord Carnach and my uncle? I’m appalled. Your directors will hear about this, mark my words. I won’t let the matter—arghh!”

  Ewan picked her up by the waist, scooped her over his shoulder, and hauled her to their waiting carriage. “Och, lass, you’re wasting your breath. They don’t care. Leave it alone. Your uncle and I will deal with the matter privately.”

  “When? After everyone hears your cousin’s lies and believes them? They’ll never listen to the truth, no matter what you or Uncle George say.”

  Ewan nudged her into the carriage. Laurel and her uncle scrambled in after her. Ewan stepped in last, settling his brawny frame beside her. He cast her a warning glower when she opened her mouth to utter more protest. “Enough, lass. M’head’s still spinning.”

  She stopped complaining. Ewan was the victim in all this and he’d already heard her righteous indignation. “What about Hades and the little mare? We ought to have picked them up.”

  “They’ll be delivered to my stables,” Laurel assured. “What shall we name the little mare?”

  Lily knew that her sister was trying to distract her from the incident. “We should leave it to Meggie.” She sighed, knowing nothing could be done until Ewan and her uncle spoke to the authorities. She glanced at Ewan. He was rubbing his jaw with his left hand and resting his swollen right hand on his thigh. Though his expression was stoic, there was a glint in his eyes that revealed he was in pain. “Oh, dear. Is your hand broken?”

  “No.”

  She turned to her uncle. “How are you? Any bruises? Cuts? Broken bones?”

  “I’m sure I’ll be full of aches and pains tomorrow, but no serious harm.” He grinned. “Felt good to throw a few punches, but I think this afternoon’s bout will satisfy me for the next forty years.”

  Laurel leaned forward. “Lily, how did you fell those two brutes? You hardly swung that wood board but they tumbled to their knees so fast, I’m sure they had no idea what struck them. And come to think of it, how did you escape that ruffian who had you pinned in the stall?”

  “What she lacks in brawn,” her uncle explained, “she makes up for in brains. She aimed for the pressure points, the parts of the body that respond in a predictable way to contact. The backs of the knees are exceptionally sensitive.”

  Lily nodded. “And when the villain drew his knife, I simply stabbed him with my hat pin.”

  There was a collective gasp from all three companions. Ewan pinned her with his glower. “He drew a knife on you? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You didn’t wait long enough for me to say anything. You simply went after the man in that protective animal rage of yours. Anyway, the knife had fallen under the little mare’s hooves and she wasn’t going to let him get anywhere near her. She probably kicked him for good measure.”

  “Och, Lily. He might have killed you. I should never have left you on your own.”

  “You? I’d think Laurel and Uncle George are more responsible for me, they’re my family after all. Not that anyone is responsible for me. I can take care of myself. As I said, I got him with my hat pin. I doubt he meant to hurt me, just scare me.”

  “He drew his knife,”
Ewan muttered, the quiet menace in his voice sending a chill through her.

  “Well, yes. That is a fact.” She swallowed hard. “Oh, my goodness! Ewan, is that blood on your shirt? Your blood?” She leaned closer, but it was hard to see in the dim light of the carriage. “Take off your coat. Now. Or does it hurt too much? I’ll do it.”

  Her uncle held her back. “Lily, leave him be.”

  “But he’s hurt!”

  “I can see that.” He thumped on the carriage roof and ordered the driver to take them straight to the Farthingale residence. “My medical bag is there. Ewan, our footmen will help you into the house.”

  Lily shook her head. “There isn’t a spare bed in the house. And there are too many Farthingales about. Laurel and I will help him next door to Eloise’s while you grab whatever supplies you need and meet us there.”

  Which is what they did, Eloise’s footmen assisting Ewan into one of the several available guest quarters, while Lily, Laurel, and Eloise hurried upstairs before them to ready the chamber. Ewan looked pale. Angry, but pale. He was now clutching his side with his swollen right hand. There was a widening crimson stain on his dark brown jacket, but Lily allowed herself a small breath of relief. The stain appeared too far above his liver and other vital organs for the villain’s knife to have struck one of them. Still, if he were stabbed, the knife point might have pierced his lung. She studied the rise and fall of his chest to assure herself that he wasn’t wheezing or having other difficulty breathing.

  “Does Meggie know about this?” Eloise asked.

  Laurel shook her head. “No, she wasn’t with us.”

  “The girl must be told. She’s fragile and will fall into hysterics when she hears the rumors. And she will. These things have a way of burning through London with the speed of a wind-driven fire. I’m of no use here. I’ll fetch her. Lily, why don’t you come with me? She won’t be so frightened if you’re there to calm her.”

  “No, I want to stay.”

  Lily kept her gaze on Ewan, expecting him to protest, but he didn’t. Her heart lurched. He was more seriously injured than he’d let on. Though she’d only known him for a little more than a week, she understood his nature. Were the injuries minor, he’d be on his feet ordering everyone to stop fussing over him. But he was silent. “Please, Eloise. Laurel will go with you. I need to stay here.”

  Ewan finally did protest, a weak attempt that quickly died out when he saw the determination on her face. “Och, lass. It won’t be a pretty sight.”

  “I know. That’s why I want to be here. I can help my uncle tend to you.”

  Lily waited until her sister and Eloise left the room and then helped Ewan off with his jacket. “Uncle George will be here soon. Can you raise your left arm?”

  “Aye.” He surprised her by obeying, which meant he was hurt even worse than she’d thought. “Good, now your right. Can you lift it?”

  “Aye, lass. Let me do it myself.” A request that she ignored because he was pale and she was now terrified that he might actually die from his injuries.

  She set his jacket aside and moved to his shirt, the fine white lawn bearing a fat, crimson stain along the front. She helped him to remove his shirt and used it to apply pressure to the site of the wound that was still spewing blood. Oh, God! “Ewan, why didn’t you tell me how bad it was?”

  ***

  Ewan was worried. He’d been stabbed between his ribs, and though it was not a life-threatening injury, it was serious enough to worry about fatal complications if not properly cleansed and treated. He didn’t want Lily here, yet her gentle touch and the no nonsense manner in which she moved around him was incredibly soothing. Her hands trembled as she carefully lifted his shirt to see if the blood had stopped pouring out of him.

  “Oh,” she said in a choked whisper.

  Guess it hadn’t stopped yet.

  She looked ready to cry, her beautiful blue eyes laden with unshed tears. For him. Just for him.

  “Lass, it’s just a nick.”

  She blinked her eyes—still beautiful—and cast him a look of exasperation. “The heroes in Eloise’s books are just like you. Strong, ready to suffer in silence so as not to overset the delicate sensibilities of the young lady in question. Their behavior is supposed to be manly, but I think it’s idiotic.”

  He tried not to laugh. Damn, even the smallest chuckle sent pains shooting up his ribs. Hot, intense pains as though someone were jabbing a hot poker in him. “Why idiotic? It seems quite noble to me.”

  “Noble and foolish in the extreme. How is the young lady in question to know how seriously the man she loves is hurt? And if she doesn’t know, then how can she do something about it? The answer is that she can’t. She has no choice but to watch the man she loves fall into manly unconsciousness and die in manly silence at her feet.”

  He arched an eyebrow, wondering whether Lily loved him. She’d mentioned the word twice, but the look on her face was one of frustrated disgust and not wide-eyed adoration. She thought he was an ass. He probably was. “Point taken.”

  “Here, keep the shirt firmly pressed to the gash while I look at the rest of you.” That she thought so little of him did nothing to stem the desire he felt for her. He almost leaped out of his skin when she put her soft hands on his shoulders and began to run them outward down his arms, then across his chest, then downward in a slow, sensual stroking motion to his waist.

  A little lower, he silently urged, knowing he would die happy and with a smile on his lips if she unbuttoned the flap of his trousers and took him firmly in hand.

  He was beginning to like that expression.

  Then she did move lower, to the top buttons of his trousers.

  His heart exploded and whatever blood had not yet seeped out of him pooled in his groin. “What the hell are you doing?” Besides torturing me. He caught her hands in his when she moved between his legs and placed her roving fingers on his thigh. She would be the death of him. The hot, delicious death of him.

  “You have the start of some serious bruising at your hip. I need to examine it, as well as take a closer look at your extremities.” She grabbed the shirt he should have been pressing against his bleeding wound, caught it as it slid down his chest, and quickly set it back in place. “Your limbs. You know, arms. Legs.”

  “Not necessary, lass. My hip is just bruised, that’s all. And the rest of me is fine.”

  “Are you certain? Because I don’t need you being stupid and dying in manly silence in my arms.”

  “I’m quite certain, Lily.” The lie rolled off his tongue with ease. In truth, none of him felt fine. He was writhing in agony, aching to strip the clothes off Lily, toss her beneath him on the bed, and bury himself deep inside her. It didn’t matter that one of his ribs was probably broken, or that his damned wound was still gushing. If it didn’t stop soon, he’d bleed to death. All worth it to feel Lily’s soft body beneath him.

  “Oh, dear. You’re hot.” Her hands were on him again. All over him, bless her adorably methodical brain. “I hope you aren’t developing a fever.”

  “No, lass. It’s simply my body’s response to pain.”

  “Pain makes you hot?”

  You do.

  She nibbled her lower lip. He really needed to taste her lips, drink in their cherry sweetness.

  “How odd? I thought pain left one cold.” She shook her head and sighed. “Let me see your wound again. How deeply did the knife penetrate?”

  Deep. Really deep. About as deep as I’d like to penetrate you.

  Bollix. Now he was just being an idiot male again. A dying, idiot male whose last thoughts were to seduce his ministering angel. Nothing noble or valiant. No. Just hot, baboon male lusting after virginal baboon female.

  “Oh, thank goodness. It’s small. No bigger than a thimble.”

  He was not. He was big and hard as a stallion. Hades big and hard. All she had to do was spread her legs and he’d prove it.

  “Lily, where are the others?” George’s voic
e was like a splash of cold water, the icy splash Ewan desperately needed, for he was within a hair’s breadth of doing something very, very stupid. Why did Lily have to be so pretty? And smell like roses in the evening dew? Why did her hands have to feel so soft and loving on his skin?

  “They went to fetch Meggie. What took you so long, Uncle George? I’m worried about him. He’s been rambling about baboons and stallions and roses. I couldn’t make out any of it. I’m afraid he’s delirious. His skin feels hot.”

  Her uncle frowned at Lily. “You touched him?”

  “Of course. How else was I to check for hidden injuries? I’m sure there’s more than that one knife wound. There must be. He shot off the bed each time I touched him.”

  Ewan coughed. Ow, that hurt like hell.

  George turned his frown on him. “I’ll take over from here. Lily, why don’t you go downstairs and wait for the ladies?”

  “I couldn’t. Please don’t make me go. Please, Uncle George.” She cast him the most sadly pathetic gaze she could muster, and Ewan had to admit, were he her uncle, she would have had him in utter surrender.

  “Very well. Sit over there and be quiet,” her uncle said.

  She nodded. “Be very careful when you touch him, Uncle George. He must be developing a fever. That’s why his skin is so hot and sensitive. I tried my best to be gentle whenever I touched him, but I only seemed to make matters worse. Was I doing it wrong?”

  Ewan coughed again. The girl obviously didn’t understand the meaning of quiet, which was fine if she were naked and writhing in ecstasy beneath him, crying out his name between breathy moans. But right now, not so fine.

  Her uncle glowered at him.

  Indeed, George understood exactly what was going through his depraved Scots mind. Perfect. The one man he depended on to save his life now wanted to pull out his own knife and mercilessly cut him to pieces.