Lily and the Lion (8 page)

"Of course, Peter," said Julian, undoing his neckcloth in front of the mirror over the dressing-table. "But not tonight. I suspect you will need all of your strength simply to stay awake long enough to eat dinner. Is that agreeable to you, Nephew?"

A soft snore was the only reply.

CHAPTER FOUR

L
ILY STOOD AT THE PARLOUR
window looking out at the courtyard of The Pig and Thistle. The mews were barely discernible through the veil of falling snow. The surrounding beech trees sagged under the prodigious quantities of heavy, white precipitation that nested in the branches. Lily couldn't remember such a storm in many years. One would almost suppose they were in mountainous Cumberland rather than in the mild shire of Kent.

Lily shivered and withdrew from the window, where each pane was laced with crescents of snow in the corners, to stand by the fire. The parlour was small and plain, with comfortable furniture scattered about and a good-sized dining-table placed against the inside wall. The cloth had been laid and the covers neatly set. A brace of candles stood in the middle of the table and the innkeep, or his wife, perhaps, had in lieu of flowers fashioned a centrepiece out of a bowl of nuts and apples.

All was snug and pleasant, yet Lily felt extremely restless. Usually when she felt this sort of half trepidation, half expectation, it was because she'd left something unfinished. She sat in a rocking chair by the hearth and, as she vigorously rocked to and fro, mentally relived the past two hours since they'd arrived at the inn.

No, she could not recall omitting some responsibility. She'd ordered Peter a light but nourishing dinner and had sat with him as he ate. He'd had a nap directly after Lord Ashton and Pleshy had undressed him and tucked him into bed, and had fallen asleep again straight after his dish of stewed plums and cream. He was quite worn out and had a little headache besides, so she hoped he would sleep soundly till the morrow.

While she'd sat with Peter, Lord Ashton and Pleshy had removed themselves from the chamber, but she could not imagine where they'd gone, since she could not picture his lordship hobnobbing with the locals in the taproom. Though perhaps that's where Pleshy had chosen to go to wile away an hour or two. Now Pleshy sat with Peter.

She had left Janet in their shared bedchamber, the girl being quite knocked-up from travel and excitement. Lily owned herself to be tired, as well, but buoyed by some inexplicable sense of adventure. An odd notion, since what could possibly be exciting about spending a quiet night in an obscure inn during a snowstorm?

"You count promptness amongst your list of virtues, I see."

Lily stopped her rocking and turned to observe Lord Ashton standing in the doorway. His tall, athletic frame filled the opening and his presence dwarfed everything in the room to inconsequential comparison. And while he could easily stun the beholder in a frowsy little parlour at The Pig and Thistle, Lily was convinced that he was fully capable of making just as great an impression in any drawing-room in London. Even the Prince Regent's.

"Papa taught us to be punctual," Lily replied rather timidly. She felt inordinately shy.

Lord Ashton stepped into the room. He was wearing buff-coloured breeches and a bottle green jacket. As always, his neckcloth was tastefully and impeccably tied. His hair shone like spun gold in the firelight. He fixed her with a penetrating gaze and a moment passed before he spoke. "Your papa has taught you a great deal." His eyes flickered about the room, then returned to her. "But I perceive that he has not taught you in the correct use of a chaperon."

"Oh!" said Lily, rising from her chair to stand by the fire, nervously chafing her hands behind her as if she were cold. Truth to tell, she
had
got a sudden chill. "Janet was fagged to death. I told her to go to bed."

Lord Ashton seemed to be assimilating this piece of information. He crooked one arm behind his back and pulled on his chin with the long fingers of his other hand as he walked slowly to the dining-table. "She cannot be of much use there, I perceive."

"No, indeed!" said Lily with a forced trill of laughter. "But I cannot help but feel the whole notion of
me
needing a chaperon is quite cork-brained! Don't you agree, my lord?"

Lord Ashton lifted his enigmatic eyes once again to her face, observed her with nonchalant purpose for a full moment, curled his lips in a mocking smile, and pulled out a chair. "Sit down, Miss Clarke. I'm positively feeble with hunger."

Lily did not think such a man could ever
look
feeble, however hungry he might be. And she did not suppose that lions of the jungle, to which the man was compared, looked especially feeble when they were hungry, but rather were more keen-eyed, cunning and purposeful in pursuing a remedy for their hunger. Lily sat down, and catching the sharp look in his lordship's eyes, felt suddenly as vulnerable as a lamb.

"You said I must put up with the toggery you brought on the journey, Miss Clarke," he said once she was seated. "But I find your gown quite charming. The rose patterns bring out the russet highlights of your hair."

"Th-thank you, my lord," Lily mumbled, blushing so furiously she was sure her cheeks were as russet-coloured as the highlights of which he spoke. It had been easy to shrug off Peter's compliments, but attentions of the same sort from Lord Ashton made her as flustered as a schoolroom miss, and her all of one-and-twenty! She supposed he felt it his duty to pay her a compliment or two. She would try not to let it discompose her.

Luckily the innkeep's wife entered just then with a selection of dishes. Apparently the proprietress of the establishment felt Lord Ashton deserved preferential treatment, for she brought the entire meal herself. Once the table was heavy-laden with numerous aromatic dishes, she left them alone. Silence prevailed while they both partook of the variety before them and proceeded to eat.

"Do you drink wine, Miss Clarke?" Lord Ashton presently asked, in a lazily teasing voice as he poured himself a scant amount of a pungent, fruity vintage into a tumbler. "Or does 'Papa' disapprove of strong spirits?"

Lily was slicing a sweet potato with knife and fork, her attention fixed on her task. She wondered if he would continue to enjoy a certain unholy glee at the expense of her vicarage rearing. She stifled her urge to retort something shocking. "Papa does not think wine is sinful in moderate doses," she finally replied in an even tone. "In fact, he drinks it sometimes to enrich his blood. But I prefer milk."

Lord Ashton set down the carafe and reached for the crock of milk, then poured her a glass. "Ah, your preference for such a creamy beverage must account for the milky smoothness of your complexion."

Lily's knife and fork fell from her fingers, clattering on the plate. She lifted her head and met his surprised look straight on. "Please, Lord Ashton, do not assume that, just because I'm a female, you must needs feel duty-bound to offer me compliments. I'm not such a fashionable one who regards flummery as my due. I am simply Peter's nurse and friend, and I would be vastly more comfortable if you would not comment on my person further. And you, I'll wager, will feel a heavy load lifted from off your shoulders. It must be fatiguing to have to cudgel your brain continually to come up with such
original
turns of phrase for every female whose company you happen to share."

Lord Ashton laughed, which robust, delightful sound tickled Lily and made her smile quite involuntarily. "Lord, you offer me the word with no bark on it, don't you? Are you always so painfully honest, Miss Clarke?"

Lily opened her mouth to reply, but Lord Ashton lifted his hand, saying, "No, don't tell me. Your papa taught you to always speak the truth. Such a habit could be inconvenient at times."

"As inconvenient as my trusting nature, I suppose," Lily suggested, placing a piece of roasted chicken in her mouth.

"Neither traits are conducive to surviving in this distrustful, dishonest world, Miss Clarke," he said, abruptly sober again. "But never mind that! I told Peter I wouldn't plague you with my cynical views. What I want to know—and I want you to answer with perfect honesty!—is firstly, why are you so convinced that my compliments are insincere, and, secondly, why do you suppose that you are not in need of a chaperon?"

Lily set down her fork and gave the question considerable thought. "Well, firstly, perhaps I
do
have russet highlights in my hair—Mama and Papa have both said as much—and perhaps I have a tolerable complexion, but whether such attributes are worthy of comment is certainly up to the discernment of the observer. I'm quite sure you, my lord, moving as you do in noble circles, are used to being in the company of very beautiful ladies. If Leonard, the squire's son whose estate marches with the vicarage grounds, were to compare my skin to cream, I might believe him sincere. But from a viscount..."

Lord Ashton's brows raised expressively. "I am at a disadvantage because I am a peer? I would be better believed if I were untitled?"

"You would be better believed, my lord, if you were less a man of the world and more simple—like myself."

"And like Leonard, I suppose. I see. And the second part of my question?"

"I don't think I need a chaperon because I'm not a young girl anymore—"

"How old
are
you, Miss Clarke?"

"One-and-twenty."

"A positive ape-leader!"

"Precisely. And besides that, I don't think you mean to seduce me."

"I've not lived up to my reputation as a man of the world, then. All men of the world are seducers."

"Are they? Well, then you're not so much a man of the world as I had thought!"

"Such a pronouncement, Miss Clarke, quite takes the logic out of your answer to my first question. If I'm
not
a man of the world, you must believe then that my compliments are sincere!"

"Do you take your seat at the Upper House, my lord?" Lily enquired, impressed despite herself and disregarding his flirtatious assault on her logic. "You argue admirably. My brother Paul would find you quite fascinating."

"I don't recall meeting a Paul. Have you yet another brother?"

"Paul's a scholar at Oxford. He has aspirations for a public career."

"Hmm. This squire's son—Leonard, you say?— does he want to marry you, Miss Clarke?"

Taken aback at the viscount's persistent return to the original subject, and the frank question he asked, which was as direct as she herself might have phrased it, Lily answered laughingly, "Why, yes, he does!"

"When may I wish you happy?"

"You may not. I've no intention of marrying Leonard. He's a conceited popinjay. When he declared himself, he gave the distinct impression that he would be doing me and my family a great favour by marrying me."

"Was that the sole source of your aversion to the match—his manner of offering?"

"Heavens, no! I'm not such a noddy as that! I don't love him."

Lord Ashton grinned. "But I thought you loved all of God's creatures?"

Lily laughed. "Will you never stop quizzing me? You know very well that a certain sort of love is required between a husband and wife. I don't feel that sort of affection for Leonard. Indeed, I haven't yet felt it for any man of my acquaintance."

"Your circle of acquaintance is small," the viscount suggested.

Lily arched a brow. "I have gone to many assemblies in Dover. Papa does not disapprove of dancing, my lord. And perhaps we aren't quite the hermit-like, countrified society you imagine. Soldiers and dignitaries abound in Dover on occasion. It may even surprise you to know that I've received more than one offer for my hand!"

"I beg pardon, Miss Clarke, for having been so condescending."

Her eyes twinkled. "I forgive you."

"Somehow I knew you would!" he said. "By the by, it doesn't surprise me in the least."

"You have lost me, I'm afraid. What doesn't surprise you, my lord?"

"The fact that you've received several offers of marriage."

Lily flushed. "Spouting flummery again, I see."

"You forget, Miss Clarke, I'm not a man of the world, therefore you must believe my compliments no matter how uncomfortable they make you. But if you would prefer it, I won't pay you any more compliments for the duration of the trip. I promise."

Lily gave a sigh of relief. "Thank you! Your restraint would be greatly appreciated!"

They smiled at each other, and Lily found herself positively hypnotized by the warm expression in the depths of his strange golden eyes. She dropped her bemused gaze to the contemplation of her cooling plate of food and found she hadn't much of an appetite left. All that flummery must have unsettled her stomach.

Remembering her mama's advice about drinking milk to ensure a straight spine, she took a swallow, then lifted her table napkin to daintily dab at the corners of her mouth in case she wore a milk moustache such as her little brothers sported every morning after breakfast. As she performed this precautionary exercise, she kept her eyes averted to the floor by the sofa. Then she saw it—a fat rat as big as Shadrack the kitten boldly waddling across the rug. Lily loved rats less than any of God's creatures, including leeches. She screamed.