notions only they comprehend. It hardly matters why. The fact is Malleville did deplete his fortune buying himself an earl’s daughter for a bride. And he is not going to break the marriage contract on the strength of a few kisses and a quick grope of my breasts. Nor will I whore myself out to save you from a fate far better than that Dunaway’s other daughters will face when, and if, they marry!”
Sissy blinked and took a step back, her mouth falling open to form a perfect little pink O of surprise. All was quiet but for the whisper of the breeze through the grass and birds chirping in some distant tree.
Lilith tilted her head back and drew in a deep breath, expelling it on a fractured sigh.
The sky was a startling, lovely shade of blue. As blue as the bouquet of wilted hydrangeas a freckle-faced boy had given her once, long ago. Patrick had been his name, Patrick O’Riley. He’d been down from university, visiting London for the first time. Lord, how sweet and naïve he’d been, calling upon her and taking tea in Gwendolyn’s scarlet and gold parlor, oblivious to the fact he was in the home of London’s premier courtesan.
“What’s a grope, Princess Lilith?”
Meg’s voice shattered both the silence and the odd memory.
“A grope is what happens to girls who ignore their instincts and allow themselves to be led down the primrose path,” Lilith answered, lowering her head to find the entirety of Malleville’s family looking at her from various locals upon the lawn. “Be sure to stay off primrose paths as they are invariably twisted and rutted and lined with thorns.”
“Er, I believe it’s your shot, Lilith,” Matthew said with a smile and a wink.
It was a shame he hadn’t a preference for females. Harry needed a gentle sort of husband, one who might smooth her jagged edges and buff away the fine cracks.
“So it is,” Lilith agreed, crossing the lawn as if she hadn’t a care in the world. As if she hadn’t engaged in a shouting match with Dunaway’s spoiled, petulant daughter. About kissing and groping and enticing and entrapping.
Her ball was barely six inches from the wicket, six relatively weed-free, smooth inches. It needed but a soft tap to send it gently rolling through the arch.
Lilith swung the mallet back and brought it down with all her might.
The crack of wood on wood reverberated around the lawn.
The little, green speckled ball, chosen by Sissy because it matched her eyes, sailed over the wicket and through the air, growing smaller and smaller until it landed and disappeared in the tall grass sprouting along the cliffs in the distance. Likely splashing into the ocean she’d yet to see, what with the weather proving as tempestuous as Gwendolyn on a good day.
A queer little chill raced up Lilith’s spine, lifting the flyaway curls at her nape and setting her scalp to tingling. For a moment, no longer than it took to draw in a trembling breath and release it on a sigh, she was standing on those cliffs with Malleville, his brawny frame sheltering her from the wind, his big callused hand gently clasping hers. Protecting and anchoring her to his side, to his family and to the untamed corner of the world he called home.
Lilith shook off the odd, unsettling image and pulled her gaze from the jagged line of the cliffs rising to meet the blue sky. Turning toward the house, she discovered Malleville standing on the terrace. With his hands braced on the stone balustrade, he leaned slightly forward, his gaze focused intently upon Lilith as if she were the only person on the lawn, rather than the only one raising a ruckus and knocking balls into the ocean.
“Well, I think on that note we ought to call it a game,” Rossiter called out with forced cheer. “Surely it’s tea time.”
“And nap time,” his wife agreed.
“I’m not tired,” Meg cried predictably. “And I promised Princess Lilith I’d take her exploring.”
Lilith remembered exacting no such
Sissy blinked and took a step back, her mouth falling open to form a perfect little pink O of surprise. All was quiet but for the whisper of the breeze through the grass and birds chirping in some distant tree.
Lilith tilted her head back and drew in a deep breath, expelling it on a fractured sigh.
The sky was a startling, lovely shade of blue. As blue as the bouquet of wilted hydrangeas a freckle-faced boy had given her once, long ago. Patrick had been his name, Patrick O’Riley. He’d been down from university, visiting London for the first time. Lord, how sweet and naïve he’d been, calling upon her and taking tea in Gwendolyn’s scarlet and gold parlor, oblivious to the fact he was in the home of London’s premier courtesan.
“What’s a grope, Princess Lilith?”
Meg’s voice shattered both the silence and the odd memory.
“A grope is what happens to girls who ignore their instincts and allow themselves to be led down the primrose path,” Lilith answered, lowering her head to find the entirety of Malleville’s family looking at her from various locals upon the lawn. “Be sure to stay off primrose paths as they are invariably twisted and rutted and lined with thorns.”
“Er, I believe it’s your shot, Lilith,” Matthew said with a smile and a wink.
It was a shame he hadn’t a preference for females. Harry needed a gentle sort of husband, one who might smooth her jagged edges and buff away the fine cracks.
“So it is,” Lilith agreed, crossing the lawn as if she hadn’t a care in the world. As if she hadn’t engaged in a shouting match with Dunaway’s spoiled, petulant daughter. About kissing and groping and enticing and entrapping.
Her ball was barely six inches from the wicket, six relatively weed-free, smooth inches. It needed but a soft tap to send it gently rolling through the arch.
Lilith swung the mallet back and brought it down with all her might.
The crack of wood on wood reverberated around the lawn.
The little, green speckled ball, chosen by Sissy because it matched her eyes, sailed over the wicket and through the air, growing smaller and smaller until it landed and disappeared in the tall grass sprouting along the cliffs in the distance. Likely splashing into the ocean she’d yet to see, what with the weather proving as tempestuous as Gwendolyn on a good day.
A queer little chill raced up Lilith’s spine, lifting the flyaway curls at her nape and setting her scalp to tingling. For a moment, no longer than it took to draw in a trembling breath and release it on a sigh, she was standing on those cliffs with Malleville, his brawny frame sheltering her from the wind, his big callused hand gently clasping hers. Protecting and anchoring her to his side, to his family and to the untamed corner of the world he called home.
Lilith shook off the odd, unsettling image and pulled her gaze from the jagged line of the cliffs rising to meet the blue sky. Turning toward the house, she discovered Malleville standing on the terrace. With his hands braced on the stone balustrade, he leaned slightly forward, his gaze focused intently upon Lilith as if she were the only person on the lawn, rather than the only one raising a ruckus and knocking balls into the ocean.
“Well, I think on that note we ought to call it a game,” Rossiter called out with forced cheer. “Surely it’s tea time.”
“And nap time,” his wife agreed.
“I’m not tired,” Meg cried predictably. “And I promised Princess Lilith I’d take her exploring.”
Lilith remembered exacting no such
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