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“Oh yes,” came Daisy’s cheerful reply. “We have appalling manners, and we’re far too loud. Americans, you see.”
“It’s expensive,” Nettle warned. “That’s all right, our father’s rich,” Daisy told him. “It’s the only thing we have going for us.”
“He’s longing to find his true love—he just doesn’t know who you are. But very soon, he’ll find out you’re the one he’s been waiting for, and then—” “He’ll run away screaming.”
“No, he’ll take you into his arms, masterfully, and gaze into your lustrous orbs—” “My what?” “—and press his burning lips to yours with passionate ardor—” “You’ve read too many novels,” Lillian said.
“She’s not a lunatic,” Daisy told her sister. “She’s a New Yorker.”
“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.” A distant snicker from one of the stable boys caught her attention, and she glanced at him suspiciously before turning to face Westcliff. His face was expressionless, but there was a glitter of laughter in his eyes. “Why is that amusing?” she asked.
Lillian lifted herself on his chest and glared down at him. At first she thought that he had been winded, but it immediately became apparent that he was choking with laughter. “You cheated!” she accused, which only seemed to make him laugh harder.
Marcus shook his head helplessly. “I’m sorry,” he rasped, even as he knew what he was about to do. “My God. Sorry—” His mouth clamped over hers, and he began to kiss her as if his life depended on it.
“Such as?” St. Vincent inquired with the exaggerated patience of a rebellious lad being subjected to an unwanted lecture from his decrepit grandfather.
St. Vincent shot Marcus a glance of bright mischief. “God spare me from ever letting a woman put a ring through my nose—and worse, appearing so bloody pleased about it.”
“You believe yourself to be in love with her.” “No,” Hunt countered in a relaxed manner, “I am in love with her.”
“Then my guess is that simple proximity to you made him lose his head.” “Oh, well, obviously,” Lillian said with self-deprecating sarcasm. “I’m a world-renowned temptress.”
Leaning one shoulder against a column in a relaxed pose, he cut a commanding figure. Everything about him, from the arrogant tilt of his head to the physical confidence of his posture, bespoke the result of generations of aristocratic breeding. Lillian experienced an overpowering urge to sneak up to him and poke him in some ticklish place. She would have loved to make him roar with annoyance.
“Coward.” Westcliff had begun to turn away, but the word caused him to swivel back to her with sudden incredulous fury. Lillian guessed that it was an accusation that had rarely, if ever, been leveled at him. “What did you say?”
Oh shit 🫣
“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.”
Oh . . . pardon . . . I don’t think I’m supposed to say the word ‘stomach’ in front of a gentleman.” “I’m shocked,” St. Vincent said gravely, “but I’ll recover.”
The good news is that your husband seems to be on the way.” “If so, the bastard is late,” Lillian retorted, causing Daisy and Evie to laugh.
“You’re making me afraid to go back to my own dinner table.” “You should be!” she replied emphatically, and he could no longer restrain a deep laugh.
“Do I strike you as the kind of man who would bully his sixty-year-old mother?” “Yes.”
St. Vincent responded with a dazzling smile. “No, sweet, I’m a cannibal.” “St. Vincent,” Westcliff growled in warning, seeing Lillian’s confusion.
“She and her sister are meeting with the countess.” “Ah, what a magnificent old dragon,” St. Vincent mused, drawing Lillian through the doorway.
“Where did you come from?” “Were my mother alive, you could ask her,” he replied pleasantly. “But I doubt she knew.”
“In my opinion, my lord, an excessive preoccupation with manners and rituals is a strong indication that someone has too much time on his hands.”
“I’m trying to remember everything the countess told us,” she lied, “and keep it all straight in my head. Especially the bowing rules. If someone bows to me, I’m going to shriek and run in the opposite direction.”
As he hurried through the hallways, a host of irrelevant thoughts flashed through his mind. How cavernous the house seemed when it was devoid of guests, with its miles of flooring and infinite clusters of rooms. A grand, ancient house with the impersonal ambiance of a hotel. A house like this needed the happy shouts of children echoing through the halls, and toys littering the parlor floor, and the squeaky sounds of violin lessons coming from the music room. Marks on the walls, and teatime with sticky jam tarts, and toy hoops being rolled across the back terrace.
“Now all that’s left is the pear.” She swirled the bottle, making the plump fruit slosh juicily at the bottom. “I want to eat it,” she announced.
Drunk Lillian is the best 😂
“Rest your tongue on the edge of your teeth and . . . it’s all about the tongue, really. If you’re agile with your tongue, you’ll be a very, very good”—she was temporarily interrupted as he covered her mouth with a brief, ravening kiss—“whistler. My lord, I can’t talk when you—”
🤣🤣
“I can’t! It’s truly stuck. I need something to make it slippery. Do you have some sort of lubricant nearby?” “No.” “Not anything?” “Much as it may surprise you, we’ve never needed lubricant in the library before now.”
His voice faded as she turned the thing toward him. “My lord,” she pronounced in solemn concern, viewing him through the cylinder, “you have three . . . hundred . . . eyes.”
“Would you mind telling me why you were drinking pear brandy in the middle of the afternoon?” “Because I couldn’ open the sherry.”
He could no longer deny that for the rest of his life, he would measure every other woman against her, and find them all lacking.
“You demanded that I make love to you, and ripped three buttons off my waistcoat.”
“Because you’re mine now.”
“I don’t want to talk to Mother or Father just now. But I need to know what Westcliff told them. If you could manage to find out—” “Say no more,” Daisy replied promptly, striding to the door.
Sisterhood 🤌
“You’re right, of course.” Hunt opened his mouth to add something, appeared to think better of it, and cleared his throat roughly. “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?”
Oh my god 😂😂
“You’ve made rather a late appearance this morning, dear. Didn’t you sleep well?” Lillian slitted her eyes as she stared at her gleefully mocking friend, while she heard Evie choke on a mouthful of tea.
“Miss Bowman is the one I want.” “She could never fit into the mold of a Marsden wife.” “Then the mold will have to be broken.”
Pausing, the enraged woman labored to catch her breath. Glancing from Marcus to Livia, she exploded, “What is the source of this family’s infernal obsession with Americans?”
Do not doubt me when I say that Lillian Bowman is the only woman on this earth whom I would ever consider marrying. Her children will be my heirs, or else the Marsden line stops with me. From now on my overriding concern is her well-being. Any word, gesture, or action that threatens her happiness will meet with the worst consequences imaginable.
“Whatever comes of it, marrying her will be the least foolish thing I’ve ever done,” he replied, and took his leave of her with a shallow bow.
“Go to the last row on the right, two shelves from the floor,” Lady Olivia advised. “And look behind the books in front. I’ve hidden my favorite novels there—wicked stories that no innocent girl should read. They’ll corrupt you immeasurably.”
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. But now she knew how it felt to be obsessed by someone.
“What a relief it must have been when the old earl passed away,” she murmured. “Yes. A sad statement of a man’s life, that the world should have been so improved by his absence.”
Biting back a smile, Lillian narrowed her eyes. “Don’t be saucy, or I won’t tell you the lurid details later.” “I don’t need to hear them from you,” Daisy said airily. “I’ve been reading the novels that Lady Olivia recommended . . . and now I daresay I know more than you and Annabelle put together.”
Daisy regarded her with sincere disgruntlement. “Not even a little swooning?” “For heaven’s sake, you wouldn’t want to swoon, or you might miss something.”
“Hunt has behaved like a boar in rut around Annabelle since the first day they met. It’s typical behavior for him where she’s concerned.”
“I couldn’t have borne it,” he admitted, “seeing you married to anyone but me.”
“You’re a delight to me, Lillian Bowman,” he whispered. “Everything about you.”
“I’ll send her to her eternal fucking rest,” Marcus roared, “if this door isn’t opened now.”
YES! 🧍🏼♀️🫶🏻 🔥
