Wild Lily (Those Notorious Americans Book 1)(34)

As they reached Lily’s door, Marianne stopped. “Tired? Come to my room?”

“No. I can’t.”

Marianne tipped her head in question.

Lily hoped no sign of her coming escapade played in her expression. “I’m done in.”

“All right,” she said with some misgiving in her voice. “Good night, then.”

“Sleep well.”





The night air was brisk, the wind sharp as it rustled through the treetops and cut into the wool of Lily’s riding jacket. She’d escaped the house easily, shooing her maid off to bed. She’d dressed haphazardly, tucking her hair up in a net under her pert little hat and then running down the back servants’ stairs and out into the yard. She’d donned her trousers that she’d brought with her from Texas. The ones she usually wore on the ranch in south Texas fit her like a second skin, the wool tailored to her curves by her seamstress in Corpus Christi. She was far from fashionable but only Julian would see her. Somehow, she didn’t mind that. Despite the fact he was so high born, he seemed accepting of her American idiosyncrasies.

She strode across the pebbled yard toward the stables, pleased that the moon was bright enough to pick her way easily.

No one, thank goodness, was about. The lights from the house were few. Most of the guests had gone to their beds and she hoped that Marianne was among them. Lily had no desire to meet her cousin in the hall upon her return. She welcomed the secrecy of her rendezvous, treasured it even.

The stable was swathed in pale light and she heard only the flutterings of small creatures in the tall grasses beyond. There at the far corner of the stable was an irregular shadow.

Before she could speculate what it might be, a man stepped from the wall and into a beam of moonlight. No mistaking his well-cut silhouette anywhere. Dressed in a dark riding habit that fit his firm thighs and strong chest to perfection, he was quite stunning. Her breath stopped. She was meeting a man in the moonlight for the first time and she relished the adventure.

She grinned at her own boldness—and prayed it would not be her downfall. After all, found out, she’d never do this again. She’d be…oh, she didn’t want to think about the possibility that her father would send her home. Or make her marry some man whom she did not know and could not want the way she was beginning to want this one.

The joy of it all was too grand not to wish the experience to be repeated. With Julian.

“I’m so sorry to be late,” she said. “The ladies wanted to talk all night.”

“The men as well,” he said, his white teeth flashing in a wicked smile. He fell in at her side and offered his arm. “Allow me. Through the woods, you see. I don’t want you to trip.”

“Terrible. They’d ask how it happened.”

“And you couldn’t say you’d fallen in your bedroom.”

She feigned horror. “I tripped over the rug?”

“How could you be so clumsy?” he asked.

“So indelicate. My, my.”

The forest was thick but the path he led her on had been cleared of branches. They trod on a thick carpet of leaves, their footfalls subtle as whispers. They strode on for a while, their quiet companionable and comfortable for two people who’d known each other so briefly.

“You’ve come this way before, I bet?” she asked him.

“Often as a boy. I had a friend who was the estate manager’s son and we played together, traipsing through the forest, running like ruffians, pretending we were Robin Hood and his merry men.”

“Stealing from the rich?” she asked him, catching a glimpse of his far-off expression and smiling at his fond remembrance.

“Bringing justice to the peasants.”

“Defying the sheriff.”

“A noble calling.” He grinned and patted her hand.

The clearing opened and she halted at the sight of a two-story house of white stone glimmering in the starlight. To one side stood the gray Seton stable block.

The folly of what she was about to do made her pause. She’d never been a hare-brained girl, taking chances, breaking social rules. But being with him felt not so much risky as audacious. She’d always envied women who could be. Women who said no to marriage, like Marianne. Women who did as they wished no matter the warning from men. Like her mother. What was it then to ride at midnight alone with an eligible man? In a man’s saddle. In britches.

“I hope you’re not having second thoughts,” he said and she glanced up to see concern wrinkle his dark brows.

“It’s not wise.”

“But you’re with me. If you wait all your life to seize the fun of being alive, look what you’ve wasted.”

“You’re a philosopher?” she quipped, accepting his reasoning.

“Tonight, I am.” He squeezed her hand. “Come ride. You’ll be so proud you were brave. Mischief is worth the risk. Besides, I bet you’d do it at home.”

“Oh, but there no one would know.”

“No one will know here, either.”

“At home in Texas, no one would blink an eye. Out on the range, women do ride like men and herd cattle, too. But here, Chaumont and others have warned that the whole family could be subjected to ridicule if Marianne and I stepped out of line. What if you have a servant who’s out and about, he could tell others—”