Lily and the Lion (15 page)

But looking at Lord Ashton in his deep blue jacket and black pantaloons, glossy boots and snowy neckcloth, she did not wonder at her sudden digression into a poet's metaphorical inclination. However, it was the man inside the clothes that inspired her, rather than the clothes themselves. The superb elegance of the tailoring only served as a becoming setting for his exquisite manly beauty. Lily blushed at the continued poetical nature of her shockingly wayward thoughts.

Could Lord Ashton possibly be aware of how flattering a picture he and the majestic Sebastian presented? If he had been a tulip of the ton intent on making a great impression upon first entering an exalted drawing-room, he could not have chosen a companion that would have had more effect on the sensibilities of the inhabitants of said drawing-room. The cat, with its regal bearing and aloof demeanour, was a perfect complement to Lord Ashton's particular kind of beauty. And they matched. Perfectly. Yellow hair, golden eyes, large, graceful figures. But they were related, were they not? Each was either a de-scendent of or compared to the King of Beasts.

"You do not speak, Miss Clarke," Lord Ashton said in a low voice. "Are you wishful of not waking your chaperon?"

Lily might have imagined it, but she had the distinct impression that while she had been openly staring at Lord Ashton, he had been returning her perusal with equal interest. She trembled at such an idea. Certainly he could not be admiring
her
as she had been admiring him! She self-consciously smoothed the skirts of her sprigged gown. In the same travel-creased dress of the night before and with her hair all in a tumble, she could hardly hope to inspire admiration even remotely similar to that which he inspired in her.

She ducked her head. "No, my lord. I don't mind if you rouse her, but I still do not see the need for a chaperon," she finished, a hint of dejection creeping into her voice despite her earnest endeavour to sound unaffected.

She felt rather than heard him approach her. His footsteps were hushed by the carpet. She felt the tip of his finger under her chin. He pressed gently and tilted her face so that their eyes met. "You are a fool, Miss Clarke, if you do not perceive the need for a chaperon," he said in a whisper, his voice seducing all her senses at once. "Either that, or you're the most modest young woman I've ever encountered. But I can assure you of this—tonight you most definitely require a chaperon."

He removed the intoxicating pressure of his finger and turned to Janet. "Wake up, Janet," he said in a slightly raised voice. Janet's head jerked up and her hands splayed over her open workbox. When she saw Lord Ashton, she sat up as straight as a maypole.

"Goodness, miss!" she said, her eyelids fluttering in an attempt to recover a measure of wakefulness. "How
ever
did I nod off like that? I assure you, miss—my Lord Ashton—I will
not
fall asleep again. See, I'm as watchful as a hungry buzzard!"

Janet demonstrated her good intentions by assuming a pose not entirely dissimilar to the morbid posturing of the scavenger she had compared herself to. Lily nearly laughed, and welcomed the inclination towards merriment as a diversion with which to break the spell Lord Ashton's closeness had weaved upon her. She must be "sensible," she told herself firmly.

"I'm famished, my lord," she lied, standing up and moving quickly to the table. "And I don't think I ought to linger over my dinner tonight. I'm anxious to look in on Peter."

Lord Ashton set down Sebastian and followed her to the table. His fluid, graceful movements were most disconcerting. "And I'm just as anxious that you do." He reached for the bell-pull that hung by the rough mantelshelf over the rustic fireplace. "We'll eat immediately."

Dinner was served promptly and Lily forced down as much food as she could. They ate pretty much in silence, with only an occasional comment on the most commonplace subjects. Sebastian paced back and forth in front of the door which led into the hall, now and then letting loose a mournful "meow." Lily had fed him a few morsels from the table when they'd first sat down, but once his appetite had been satisfied he could not be tempted away from his vigil at the door.

The beneficial effects of the food on her depleted energy also helped calm Lily's nerves, and she was able after a while to compose herself sufficiently to look shyly up from her plate at the viscount. She encountered a warm gaze that nearly made her return to the contemplation of her raisin pie. But she steeled herself and said, by way of light conversation, "I see Sebastian is as devoted as we feared he'd be."

Lord Ashton grinned ruefully and did not reply.

"I'm curious," Lily continued, smiling. "How have you managed to bed down all of the various members of your circus caravan?"

Lord Ashton lifted his table napkin and dabbed at his mouth before speaking. "It was not easy, Miss Clarke," he confessed. "Belle is sharing quarters with one of the inn's chambermaids, the coachmen are berthed as usual with the stable-lads, and Pleshy does indeed boast possession of his very own chamber. No! Don't apologize—I don't mind. We were fortunate that the proprietor had another room, because there are other patrons and the inn is not very large. As you may well imagine, the undertaking of such a task as this has made me feel rather like the headmaster of a board-school, or like the old woman who lived in a shoe, perhaps."

Lily laughed. " 'She had so many children, she didn't know what to do!' A comparison I would never have conceived in a million years! Rather you should be called
'Father
Goose!' "

"So, you don't think all this nurturing I'm doing has unmanned me, eh?"

His voice was teasing, but his eyes held a serious expression. She replied in kind. "Hardly, my lord. As I told Peter, a man's mettle is not measured entirely by his physical strength or the other masculine attributes we admire in the male sex, rather he is shown to be most manly when he is not afraid to demonstrate his tender side, as well."

Lord Ashton had no reply to this, but his look was eloquent. Lily could hardly credit it, but Lord Ashton seemed most interested in her opinion on this matter and appeared pleased with what she'd said. Could it be that their philosophies were not so opposite as she'd supposed?

They smiled at each other over the table for some time, till the sound of a soft thud recalled them to their surroundings. They looked towards the sofa and observed that Janet had fallen onto her side, her head resting on the sofa arm, and she was softly snoring.

"She had been weaving to and fro for some time," Lily commented with a chuckle.

"But she might have stayed awake a
little
longer. It seems we were not alarming her enough by our behaviour to keep her sufficiently interested. How ironic that she should fall fast asleep just when her chaper-onage was most needed!''

Lily turned abruptly to look at Lord Ashton. What could he mean? He rose from the table and moved to stand in front of her. He had the oddest, most compelling expression in his eyes. He reached for her hand and she gave it him, mindlessly. He pulled her to her feet and against his chest, where she nestled quite agreeably. He lifted her chin with his forefinger, just as he'd done earlier. Her eyes met his, his head bent to hers. Their lips were nearly touching.

"My lord?" It was Pleshy's voice that intruded into Lily's misty state of pleasurable confusion. "Oh— Good God—you must excuse me!
Achoo!"

Lily wasn't sure whether she pulled away or was gently pushed away. All she knew was that she had one moment been in Lord Ashton's arms and on the point of being kissed, and in the next, she was standing alone and feeling bereft. But as the yearning to be back in his arms was viciously suppressed, a feeling of embarrassment stole over her. She had been foolish, and Pleshy had witnessed her folly. Not that he was making her uncomfortable by staring at her, for he was too busy sneezing.

"What is it, Pleshy?" Lord Ashton asked his valet in a rather hoarse voice. "I should hope it's something important to have left Peter alone!"

"It is, my lord.
Achoof
It's Peter, my lord.
A-achoo!
He's so restless. He's asking for Miss Clarke. I said I would fetch her. He's doing poorly, my lord. Has a fever. Oh, drat this nose!
A-a-achoof"

"I will go to him immediately," said Lily, slipping past Pleshy and into the hall. Sebastian had already darted between Pleshy's legs and was quickly ascending the stairs to the upper floor. Lily was concerned about Peter, but she was also glad to be able to remove herself from Lord Ashton's presence long enough for her blush to subside and her heart to resume its normal rhythm. No doubt she would lie awake half the night chastising herself for behaving so stupidly, but for now she would try to forget that she'd allowed herself to be so easily pulled into the viscount's arms. While it troubled her that Lord Ashton would trifle with her in such a manner, her response was what alarmed her the most. What would Papa say if he knew she'd behaved like a positive
lightskirt?

When Lily reached Peter's chamber, Lord Ashton had caught her up, having bounded up the stairs two at a time. They entered the room together and discovered Peter trying to get out of bed. He had pushed himself to a sitting position and had thrown one emaciated leg over the edge. He looked dazed and unsteady. Lily and Lord Ashton both hurried over to the bed, standing one on each side, and gently urged him to lie down again.

Peter grasped Lily's hand, and she was alarmed to find his palm so hot and dry. "Lily...? Where've you been? I'm thirsty!"

Lily straightened his blankets and pulled them up to just below Peter's chin. His lips were parched and his sunken cheeks glowed with high colour. "Stay still a moment, Peter, and I'll pour you a glass of cool water. There, there, now. Don't squirm so!"

But Peter
would
squirm. "Can't get comfortable, Lily. Feel as though I'm still lurching along on that dreadful road! All my bones ache. Julian?"

Lord Ashton leaned over the bed while Lily poured a glass of water from a crock which had been placed on the table next to the bed. "What is it, Peter?"

Peter smiled wanly at his uncle. "Feel like the veriest fribble, lying here! Got the headache, you know. Seems like there's a herd of cows running from ear to ear!"

"You're understandably exhausted, Nephew," Lord Ashton soothed him. "You'll feel better tomorrow."

"My lord, please support Peter while I help him take a sip of this water," said Lily. "Not too much at once, Peter," she cautioned as he gulped greedily from the glass. "You can have more in a few minutes." Lord Ashton lowered him back into his pillow.

"Just like Pleshy," Peter complained teasingly. "You won't let me drink a whole glass at once. He says I'd likely cast up my accounts if I drank too much too fast."

"He's right," Lily assured him. "And now the best thing for you to do is sleep." She reached for Peter's hand and put two fingers on his wrist to check his pulse.

Peter turned his hand and grasped Lily's. He looked up at her pleadingly. "Stay for a while. I feel better when you're nearby."

"Sebastian's not enough?" she
quizzed
him, smiling. The cat had nestled against Peter's thigh and was already purring.

Peter chuckled weakly and reached down to stroke Sebastian's fur. "He's well enough, but I'd still like
you
to stay, Lily." Peter's eyes drifted shut, his forehead creasing in an expression of pain. "You and Julian, of course," he said, his voice fast fading.

"Lie very still, Peter, so you don't disturb Sebastian," Lily whispered, hoping the idea of pandering to the cat's comfort would encourage him to be less restless.

His eyes opened fractionally, then closed. "Still as can be, Lily," he promised.

Judging by his even breathing, Peter seemed to have fallen rather abruptly to sleep. Lily looked across the bed at Lord Ashton. Their gazes met in mutual worry. "I won't go to bed," she said. "He'll have need of me, I'm sure. His fever is high. He'll probably sleep for a few minutes, then awaken again. You don't mind if I—I mean, you can't really go to bed with
me
in here, can you? Ah, but there's Pleshy's room, isn't there?"

"You don't seriously imagine that I would go to bed in Pleshy's room, leaving you alone to stand watch over Peter all night, do you?" He gestured towards the truckle-bed that stood against the opposite wall. "When you get tired, you can lie down there and nap while I sit with Peter. We'll take turns."

Lily felt her former embarrassment return. She remembered how he'd nearly kissed her, and would certainly have done so had Pleshy not interrupted them. And she remembered, too, that she would have
let
him kiss her. Now she was destined to spend the entire night in the same room with him. Though Peter would be present, he would be asleep or confused most of the time. But under such circumstances, surely Lord Ashton would not attempt to kiss her again!

"I don't expect I shall be able to rest at all, Lord Ashton," she said quite truthfully, fussily smoothing Peter's pillow casing. "It's hard enough to try to sleep in a strange bed, but when you are worried about someone—"

"About whom are you worried, Miss Clarke?" Lord Ashton asked her quietly.