Not Wicked Enough (31 page)

“Two o’clock?”

He nodded. “I should be delighted.”

As the meal came to a close, the staff brought out plates of fruit and cheese, which were, naturally, arranged so they were before Mountjoy since he presided over the table. Lily took his knife and cut and cored an apple and then a pear. She arranged the fruit and added slices of cheese until the contents were balanced and pleasing to the eye. Ginny and Lord Nigel snickered while she did.

When it came time for them to leave the men to the table, she and Ginny walked arm in arm to the salon. There, Ginny leaned against the wall beside the door and laughed. “Oh,
Lily, you were astounding. Priceless. The way you waited on Mountjoy— Oh, I will adore you forever for this night.”

She, too, thought Mountjoy had been magnificent. He’d played along wonderfully and made the evening much more amusing that she’d ever have expected. She took a seat near the fire and retrieved her embroidery. She was working on new trim for one of the gowns she was having remade for Ginny. Ginny brought over the lamp and placed it so she had the best light for the work.

“Thank you, dear. So thoughtful of you.” She was going to miss the companionship when she was back at Syton House.

“It’s the least I can do.” She sat on the chair beside Lily. “What else will you do for him?” she asked. “Please torture him. It’s so wonderful to see him suffer. He cannot bear being made a fuss of.”

She set her needlework on her lap, smiling. “You’re so very right, Ginny. I really must make him suffer. Until he begs me to stop.”

“Oh, do, please do. This is much better than going to London.”

“He won’t last another hour.”

The door opened and Lord Nigel came in, followed by Mountjoy. The duke’s eyes flicked to her, and Lily’s breath caught in her chest.

“What shall we do to entertain ourselves tonight?” Lord Nigel made for a seat near the fire. When Mountjoy sat, she hurried to spread a blanket over his lap. Lord Nigel snorted when Mountjoy pushed away her hands. “You look a proper old man now, Mountjoy. Miss Wellstone, I think he needs a blanket for his shoulders, too.”

“No, I do not.”

“I’ve grown accustomed to our nightly discussions of strategies and plans for finding treasure.” Lord Nigel grinned at them. “Now that we’ve found it, what’s left for us?”

“I am compelled to point out we may not have found Roman artifacts,” Lily said. She retook her seat and put away
her embroidery. “Nor did we uncover a foundation. No, there is yet a great deal of work remaining, despite our initial successes.” She addressed Mountjoy next. “Your grace?”

He threw the blanket off his lap. “Miss Wellstone?”

“May we continue our excavation, or have you given up on that?” She pulled a skein of green yarn from her basket and held it up, squinting at Mountjoy as she did.

“Dig as many holes as you like, so long as they are filled in when you are done with them. May I ask why you are waving that yarn in my face, Miss Wellstone?”

“Ginny, what do you think of this color for your brother?”

“It matches his eyes.”

“Old men need mufflers,” Lord Nigel said. “Wards off the chill in their creaky bones.”

“I intend to knit you a scarf, your grace.”

“I don’t need a scarf.”

“In respect of your wardrobe, sir, you have no authority.”

“And you do?” The man knew very well that she did.

“I have decided you must have something to remember me by once I’ve gone home. And as your brother so wisely points out, a scarf will ward you from chills. Very useful, I should think. I am contemplating whether I should work your coat of arms into this. What do you think, Ginny? Is that not an excellent idea?”

“Oh, yes.”

She found the loose end of yarn and proceeded to make a neat ball. Mountjoy, however, brought his chair closer to hers and dutifully held up his hands to act as a guide for her winding the yarn into a less tangled form.

“My father used to do this for my mother,” he said. He watched Lily over the tops of his fingers.

“Yes,” Ginny said. “I remember Papa would read to us or recite a poem. Or sing. Do you remember that, Nigel?”

“I do.”

Instead of feeling left out of these reminiscences, Lily felt as if she belonged. As if the memories, though not hers, were hers to share. She could almost believe that she, too,
had grown up in a warm and loving family. They spent the next hour taking turns reciting poetry or singing or telling tales. Lord Nigel and Ginny both sang very well, Lily had a tolerable voice, and even Mountjoy wasn’t as bad as he’d claimed he was.

Lord Nigel knew long passages from Milton’s
Paradise Lost
, and he recited them beautifully. After that, Mountjoy fetched a copy of
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
and she wanted to hug him close for remembering her childhood dream of running away to tread the boards. She did love to act out a scene. They read scenes from the play, at one point swapping the roles so that the ladies read the parts of the men, and Lord Nigel and Mountjoy the parts of the ladies, and it was great fun.

For the first time since Greer’s death, Lily felt there were people on whom she could rely. People who welcomed her for who and what she was. Flaws and all. The feeling that she was wanted here, a friend even, made the evening magical. Like her time here at Bitterward, the feeling that she belonged would end too soon.

Lord Nigel was the first to retire, as he had an early day tomorrow. Mountjoy remained to talk for a while longer, and the subjects were never anything deep, just stories about how the Hampton children had grown up, a bit of politics, though not much, and then Ginny yawned and Mountjoy stood.

“Come ladies, I’ll walk you to your rooms and say good night to you both. I want to see Nigel off in the morning.”

Ginny’s room was closest and they stopped before her door and said good night. As Ginny went inside, Mountjoy made it seem he would walk away once her door closed. But he didn’t.

Lily and Mountjoy were alone with fifteen paces yet to travel before they reached her door. “Wellstone.”

She looked up at him. “Your grace?”

He came close and studied her so intently she wasn’t sure what to think. “Thank you for a lovely evening tonight.”

“Thank you.” She touched his hand. “When I was a girl, I had to read all the parts myself. It was great fun reading with you.”

“I’m pleased you enjoyed yourself.”

“I did. This isn’t a night I’ll soon forget.”

“You’re sure you’re well after all you endured today?”

“Perfectly.” She took a step back, but somehow the distance between them did not change. She took another step back and found her shoulders pressed against the wall. The distance between them still had not changed.

“I’m glad you are here with us at Bitterward,” the duke said. “I can’t recall the last time I saw Eugenia smile as much as she did tonight. Or when I’ve had my every comfort so thoroughly looked after.”

“You are ingratiating yourself with me, aren’t you?”

“I am,” he said.

She put a hand on his chest. “You do it beautifully.”

“Thank you.”

“Diabolically clever of you, sir.” His mouth was inches from hers, and he was stealing all the air.

“There are one or two more things I’d like from you tonight, Wellstone.”

“What could that be?”

“Come with me, and we’ll discuss it.”

They returned to the east tower room, but, as it turned out, there was very little to discuss, and in any event, Lily was kept busy seeing to Mountjoy’s every whim. He had a great many.

Eventually, she lay in his arms, exhausted and happier than she’d been in longer than she could recall. Her last thoughts before she gave in to sleep were that she’d come out the winner in their wager and that she would be very sorry to leave here.

M
OUNTJOY LOOKED AT HIS REFLECTION IN THE CHE-
val glass and tugged on his waistcoat. A man’s clothes didn’t prove much besides how much money he wasted on his tailor. Except now that he was studying himself, he wondered if Lily wasn’t right. She’d been to see his tailor and there were, he was told, great events in the works. “Elliot. Are you sure this fits as it should?”

His valet hovered behind him, squinting, hands clasped in front of his heart. His graying eyebrows made a straight line across his forehead, then smoothed out. “Your grace?”

The note of resignation in his valet’s response pricked his conscience. True, he’d made it clear he didn’t want Elliot fussing and interfering with his wardrobe. He wanted to get dressed and go about his business. “The truth,” he said. His favorite coat hung over the chair behind him. “It doesn’t fit properly, does it?”

Elliot blanched. “I don’t presume, your grace, to have an opinion about what suits you.”

He turned around, irritated beyond belief to have his
words of so long ago parroted back at him. “It’s your bloody job, man.”

“Sir.” He backed up a step then bowed. “Your grace.”

“Elliot. I beg your pardon. That was not fair of me.” Elliot bowed but his expression remained cautious. Mountjoy sighed. “The waistcoat does not fit, though I’m damned if I can tell why.”

“Perhaps if you had allowed your tailor to do the additional fittings…”

“Does it matter when my coat will hide it?” He remembered the days after he’d ascended to his title and how Fenris and others had sneered about farmers dressing up as dukes. Mountjoy’s response had been hardly more than irritation. He simply hadn’t cared much for anyone’s opinion of his clothes when so many other things mattered more. For some absurd reason, it mattered to him that Lily found his wardrobe inferior.

Elliot shifted his weight between his feet, and his eyebrows met again. He coughed once. “Your grace is concerned with fashion?”

“No.” But for his promise to Lily, he would barely have glanced at himself in the mirror this morning. He wouldn’t have given a moment’s thought to the fit of his waistcoat. “Perhaps a change is in order.”

“A change, sir?” He licked his lips, slowly, plainly considering what words he would use. “Do you intend something more substantial than new buttons? If I might inquire. So as to be prepared.”

He tugged on the bottom of his waistcoat again. The moment he let go, the sides sagged. She was right about his clothes. “Is there another tailor you’d recommend?”

Elliot sucked in a breath. “In High Tearing or Sheffield?”

“I was thinking of London.”

There was a moment of heavy silence. Elliot coughed softly. “London, your grace?”

“Yes, London.”

“Oh,” Elliot said. “Oh. Do you, by any chance, mean a
Bond Street
tailor?” He whispered the words
Bond Street
as if the mere mention would bring God himself down to earth.

He could hear himself telling Elliot, not so long ago and quite possibly in a curt tone, that he was forbidden to mention the words
Bond Street
and
tailor
in the same sentence. He’d also said he didn’t give a damn what he looked like, and that he didn’t need any tailor but the one he’d patronized since he was expected to buy his own suits.

“We shall see.” He turned back to the mirror. He’d let his prick do his thinking for him, and now he was fending off a rapturous valet. He didn’t regret it as much as he ought to.

In fact, both he and his prick wanted Lily again.

If letting Lily dress him up meant he would have her again, she could put him in tassels and purple silk, and he wouldn’t care. Except she wouldn’t, because Lily had exquisite taste. “What about the color?” he asked.

“The color, your grace?”

His coat was green. So was his waistcoat. Why wouldn’t green go with a coat that was nearly the same color? He thought of Lily’s reaction to his banyan, the way she’d smoothed her hands over the fabric. She loved beautiful things. Beautiful to look at, to touch, and to taste. “Does this waistcoat go with that coat?”