It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers, #2)

by Lisa Kleypas

‘I like a long bat,’ Lillian argued, even as he adjusted her hands on the willow handle. ‘The longer the better, as a matter of fact.’

Oh kayy, Lillian!

‘Yes, Mother. I couldn’t breathe properly for a moment. I think my corset is too tight.’ ‘Then don’t breathe so deeply.’

‘Dear,’ Daisy said softly, ‘the next time you face a room full of strangers . . . you might tell yourself that some of them are just friends waiting to be found.’

‘Yes, I and everyone else heard you,’ Hunt said dryly. ‘My question pertains to your tactics, Westcliff. It’s obvious that a woman like Miss Bowman requires a softer approach than outright command. Moreover, I’ve seen you at the negotiating table, and your powers of persuasion are unmatched by anyone except perhaps Shaw. Had you chosen, you could have coaxed and flattered her to do your bidding in less than a minute. Instead you used all the subtlety of a bludgeon in the attempt to prove yourself her master.’

‘Damn it all to hell,’ Marcus said beneath his breath, experiencing, for the first time in his life, the gnawing sting of jealousy.

‘No,’ he said softly. Lillian blinked in confusion, thinking at first that he had rejected her apology. ‘It is for me to apologize, Miss Bowman, not you,’ Westcliff continued. ‘Your spirited actions were provoked by a moment of high-handedness on my part.

‘Did you hate him?’ Westcliff shook his head. ‘Something worse than that.’ ‘What could be worse than hatred?’ ‘Indifference.’

‘I’m a wicked man who can, on occasion, be just a bit nice. And I’ve been searching for a nice girl who can, on occasion, be just a bit wicked.’

Lillian was not disguised. She was foxed, staggering, tap-hackled, top-heavy, shot-in-the-neck, staggering drunk.

Hahahhhhaaaa

‘It wasn’ very good at first. But it improved after a while. I suppose it’s an ac’ - another delicate hiccup - ‘acquired taste.’ ‘It appears you’ve succeeded in acquiring it,’ Marcus remarked, following her.

Staring down at her adorably pursed lips, he felt an insistent warmth invading his heart, overflowing and spilling past its fretted barriers. God in heaven, he was tired of fighting his desire for her. It was exhausting to struggle against something so overwhelming. Like trying not to breathe.

‘Lillian, forget the damned pear.’ ‘How did it get in there, d’you think?’ She poked her finger experimentally into the neck of the bottle. ‘I don’ see how something so big could fit into a hole that small.’

Nooooooo..hahahahaaaa

The Earl of Westcliff, known to his acquaintances as an eternal proponent of moderation and self-restraint, was the last man Hunt would have expected to be rolling on the study floor with a woman clad in her nightgown.

‘I’ll leave you here to finish your, er . . . conversation.’ As he withdrew from the room, however, it seemed that he couldn’t keep from ducking his head back in and asking Marcus cryptically, ‘Once a week, did you say?’

‘She could never fit into the mold of a Marsden wife.’ ‘Then the mold will have to be broken.’

She had not realized until this very moment how much she wanted to understand Marcus. Never before had she comprehended why lovers were preoccupied with collecting keepsakes; letters, locks of hair, a lost glove, a ring.

filial attachment

‘I love you, Marcus.’ Taking the napkin from him, Lillian blew her nose noisily and continued to weep as she spoke. ‘I love you. I don’t mind if I’m the first one to say it, nor even if I’m the only one. I just want you to know how very much—’ ‘I love you too,’ he said huskily. ‘I love you too. Lillian . . . Please don’t cry. It’s killing me. Don’t.’