Wild Lily (Those Notorious Americans Book 1)(50)

But no sooner had she registered his emotion than he blinked, stiffened his spine and donned an expression that she swore signaled his indifference. Is it such a catastrophe to wed me?

She halted.

Her father clamped her arm to his side.

Can I run?



Julian blanched.

Does she hate me so much she’d leave me at the altar?

She seemed frozen, staring right through him. But then Killian whispered to her. She inclined her head to listen.

And she walked forward.

He let go his breath.

She was so heartbreakingly lovely in that froth of white tulle and satin—and she should be his. Not because he’d debauched her that night in his home. But because she cared for him. Cared enough to allow him to touch her. She wouldn’t marry him without affection for him. Affection? Or was it lust?

He had enough of that for both of them. God, he’d been so besotted, so heinous to maul her. But he was willing to pay the price. A sweet one it was, too. To have her. All of her. Forever more.

Damn the circumstances of how or why he must take her to wife. Yet he welcomed the timing. Three weeks had gone by like three eternities. He’d been busy preparing for her. In London, he’d registered the banns with the parish church. In Willowreach, he’d had his suite refurbished. He’d met with her father, too. Signed the papers. Agreed to take his money. Enough to swell his bank account. Enough to pay last year’s debts on Willowreach and put him afloat to run the household. Better even than Pinkie’s two thousand a year. Although he hated to admit it to his estate manager, Lily’s dowry would permit him to hold his head up for the coming year. He’d pay off two new reapers for his tenants. In addition, he’d agreed to Killian Hanniford’s stipulation that none of her dowry be used to pay off any of the Broadmore mortgage debts incurred by his father. That last was an easy promise to make. One his father, when Julian had told him of it, had raged against.

But his father’s objections were hollow arguments.

Julian cared for none of them.

He wanted Lily. Just Lily. In his arms and tonight in his bed.

He frowned as he saw her take her measured steps down the aisle. Doubts riddled him. He hadn’t had a private conversation with her since their tempestuous embraces at Willowreach. He’d wanted to ask her if she’d rued the time she’d spent kissing such a craven creature as he. Without that chance, he was left to hope that as her husband, he’d be allowed to do more than kiss her. More than what he’d done that night in his parlor—

And would she let him?

She and Killian stepped right before him and Killian put his daughter’s hand in his. Lily’s flesh was cold as ice. The older man locked his gaze on Julian’s, a warning of unearthly magnitude in the American’s black eyes.

With a tiny hope Lily might one day care for him more than she did today, Julian took her arm to direct her toward the clergyman. The man began a litany of which Julian heard none. At the appropriate times, he spoke, his voice tempered, his words rote.

In unmarked moments, she was his. He was hers. And their future was before them, a set of promises to each other.

He trusted her to keep hers. Yet their shared past and his family’s imperfections meant he would have to move heaven and earth to prove to her he would keep his own.





With polite farewells to her father and the rest of her family, Julian led her from the arms of her father and helped her up into his town coach. His hands were cool. His expression unreadable.

Is he happy?

Can he be? Forced to marry her, he must question his motives that night in his parlor. Lily sought her own. But her answers lay wrapped in the emotions he’d roused in her—and not just that one night, but all the other occasions when she’d enjoyed his company.

Enjoyed, the operative word.

A word too grand for today’s events.

To distract herself, to look busy, she fished in her little reticule for heaven knew what.

She heard the coachman snap the reins. The vehicle lurched forward and the two horses clip-clopped their way along the streets. Jostled in body and spirit, she clamped her hands together.

Julian and she hadn’t exchanged more than ten words since the ceremony this morning and the air was tight with anxiety. Lily smoothed the blue wool skirt of her carriage dress, at odds and ends what to say to her new husband now that they were alone. For many minutes, she busied herself with unbuttoning her pelisse and removing her bonnet. But she finally had to fall back to the cushions, unable to fiddle all the way south to Julian’s country house. He’d think her a nervous ninny. Which of course, she was.

She pressed her lips together, frustrated at her awkwardness.

“I hope you’ll be comfortable in this to go to Willowreach.” He removed his gloves and crossed one leg over the other.

Was he trying to appear nonchalant? “I’m certain I will be.”

“I sold my traveling carriage a year ago. I didn’t need so big a conveyance for only me. Sold the four horses, too. This was less costly to maintain.”

“It’s perfectly fine,” she said, more at ease in the purple velvet squabs now that he attempted to make conversation. “How fast does it go?”

“We should be home before supper.” He cleared his throat and pushed aside the edge of the curtain. “Good weather for us. The coachman should make good time.”