Wild Lily (Those Notorious Americans Book 1)(2)

“Eventually, every young woman has one,” he countered. “And I have the money to ensure you—”

“Get one. Any one!” She flourished a hand.

“Not true. I would not marry you off to any man unworthy of you.”

“I hope not.”

“I take that as an insult, my girl.”

“I don’t mean to be ungrateful.”

“You are, sadly. But in the meantime,” he said and punched a finger into the paper, “your antics will not endear you to any man, rich or poor.”

Lily Hanniford held her ground. She had twenty years of practice standing up to her sire, a wizard of finance and a ruthless shipping magnate whose wealth stunned many on both sides of the Atlantic. But how could she predict that a Parisian artist might find it amusing to caricature an American girl visiting a cabaret? “I wanted simply to see the cancan, Papa. Not do it.”

He set his jaw and glared first at her and then her cousin by her side. “I hold you responsible, Marianne. You are older and should be wiser. I told you to be prudent. Keep Lily in hand.”

“It’s not Marianne’s fault.” Lily sent a consoling look at her pretty blonde cousin who always withstood Black Killian Hanniford’s outbursts more stoically than she. “I said she could remain home if she preferred.”

“Ah.” Hanniford focused on his niece. “So, will you tell me you went to this cabaret, an innocent to the slaughter?”

Marianne tipped her head to and fro, the look on her face whimsical amusement. She was older than Lily by nine years, a widow, worldly and witness to the savagery of a civil war that had sent her husband to his grave. Because of or perhaps in spite of that, Marianne had a zest for living and a ripe sense of humor. “I may have shown some enthusiasm for the adventure.”

“Some?” Hanniford snorted. “You probably wanted to learn the dance yourself.”

“Hmm. Yes. It is rather difficult,” Marianne proclaimed.

Lily suppressed her laugh.

But her father was not amused. No.

Hands on his hips, he glared at Lily. “Who escorted you inside this—this Café de Abbesses?”

Lily winced.

“Tell me, please, you did not go without a man in attendance.”

“He was kind.” A fellow who had a fancy for her, Lord Pinkhurst, was a sweet man, rich in his own right, and therefore without reason to fear Killian Hanniford.

“Kind! Who. Was. He?”

“A gentleman of our acquaintance.”

“One of my acquaintance?”

Lily shifted from one foot to the other. “Yes.”

Hanniford cursed mightily. “His name?”

Lily hated to admit it. “I will not tell you.”

“If you fail to reveal his identity, I guarantee you it will go worse for him.”

She would not have Pinkie pay prices for his kindness to her. He wanted to marry her, she was certain of it. And perhaps he’d agreed to escort her and Marianne to the guinguette to compel her to become his bride, but she wouldn’t do it. “If you ask about, if you discover who he is, if you hurt him, Papa, I shall leave for America the first chance I get.”

He blinked. “You threaten me?”

She did not flinch. “No, sir. I would not be so unkind.”

“I could lock you in your room and throw away the key.”

“You could.” But won’t. “How then to get a groom?”

“Dear heaven. How can this get worse?” He peered up at the ceiling.

Marianne stepped toward his desk. “Uncle Killian, please. We had a wonderful time. The music was gay and charming. The dancers were—”

“Naked?” He glared at her.

Marianne pulled back. “Partially.”

He ran a hand over his mouth. “You try me, both of you. Did you dance with your escort?”

Lily shook her head. “No, sir.”

“Drink?”

“Oh, yes,” Lily said, recalling the wine with a bitter bite, “but it was terrible vin rouge.”

He snorted. Then he turned to Marianne. “Did you sing?”

Marianne nodded. “Only with the patrons.”

“That’s some reprieve, I suppose. Why wouldn’t you give them your best soprano, Marianne?”

Her emerald eyes sparkled, even as she lifted a shoulder in sheepish delight. “I didn’t know the French lyrics.”

“And your gentleman saw you both safely home?”

“He did.” Lily was happy to tell him that. “In his carriage. We stayed only for a few songs.”

“And do you think that brevity lessens the damage you have done to your reputation?”

Lily had no response for that. “Could I hope a man would value a woman with a bit of courage?”

“Or foolhardiness.”

There was that. “I agreed to sail to Europe with you for your benefit more than mine.”

“Did you now? How kind of you.”

“Papa, I—”

“Enough! This,” he thundered as he put his fist down on the newspaper, “is not to occur again. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Marianne?”

Her cousin bowed her head. “Yes, Uncle Killian.”