Wild Lily (Those Notorious Americans Book 1)(52)

Her cheeks flamed. “I see.”

“Now. Tell me something else.”

“As long as we’re not talking about that.”

“We won’t.”

“What would you like to discuss?” she asked with some trepidation.

“Were you drinking alcohol before the ceremony?”

She clamped a hand over her mouth.

He took it away and he was grinning at her. “You were, weren’t you?”

“I had a few glasses of brandy.”

“Good for you. I had a few myself. Scotch.”

She made a face. “I like gin.”

He hooted. “Wonderful.”

“Now, you think I have no taste.”

“Why? Because you like gin?” He lifted her chin with a finger. “That’s ridiculous.”

“A coal miner’s drink?”

He rubbed his thumb along her cheek. “It doesn’t matter, Lily. You like what you like. Like who you like.”

She liked him this way. Kind and affectionate. “You’re not ashamed of me. That I’m American and my father is—”

He slanted a finger across her lips. “I’m proud to call you Lady Chelton.”




“I worried,” she admitted with trepidation in her mellow voice.

“You mustn’t.”

For him to admit that was equal to a confession for him. And a change of mind and heart. It had been a revelation to him only in the past few weeks. Like the dawning of a new sun over his all-too-barren landscape, he’d risen each morning welcoming more and more the day he’d marry this young woman. And his pride was not so much assaulted by the prospect of calling her his wife, as it had been when listening to his father stipulate the terms that Seton demanded of Hanniford for its promulgation.

Julian had stood before his father in the house on Green Park and gaped at the duke’s audacity.

‘I told Hanniford I want ninety thousand pounds for the majority stock in the company.’ His father had practically preened.

‘What?’ Julian had been astonished.

His father had grinned. ‘Over and above any marriage settlement.’

Julian had scoffed. ‘You’re quite out of your mind.’

‘He’s got the funds. And then some.’

‘It’s no reason to rob him.’

‘He needs a husband for his wayward chick,’ his father had said, rocking back on his heels, his hands over the swell of his belly.

‘I’ll marry her without him buying control in the company,’ Julian had threatened.

His father had flushed an unnatural red. Even the whites of his eyes had been bloodshot. ‘Do that and your mother and I will not attend.’

‘I’ll take Lily to Scotland.’

‘Marry her over an anvil? Ha! Hanniford would set the dogs on you. Never forget he wants her accepted. Shame her with a hasty marriage and tongues will cut her dead.’

‘That would change with time.’

‘But Hanniford is not the patient kind, my boy. Ninety thousand. It’s mine and Hanniford has not objected. I have him by the short ones. So you negotiate whatever you want from him to live off.’

Disgusted with his father’s demands of the American tycoon, Julian had wanted a quick and bloodless marriage settlement with Killian. Taking no part in the discussions, he ordered his lawyer to negotiate with Lily’s father. Last week, Julian’s lawyer had sent him the final marriage contract. He’d opened the envelope with a heavy heart. He’d never indicated to the lawyer any desired sum. Her dowry, he’d said, whatever it was, would be satisfactory with him.

But when he’d read the first page, he had to sit down to cope with the shock. He re-read it twice. Lily Hanniford would come to him with sixty thousand dollars in settlement. That was fifty more thousand than he’d had his hands on at any one time in years. The astonishing sum would be paid in full to his London bank on the day of the wedding. It was to be invested in transportation stocks, spinning off enough income for them both to live on handsomely. One quarter of that was to be Lily’s pin money to do with as she wished. Her father had made only one stipulation on use of the money. None was ever to be used to service debt on the estate of Broadmore. In other words, Julian’s father and mother would never see benefit from Black Hanniford’s wealth.

All of which was just fine with Julian.

He had never intended to marry for money. Abhorred the very idea. That he had torn himself apart, liking her, wanting her, desiring her in spite of his endeavor to remain free of financial obligation, was all for naught. But he’d learned a valuable lesson.

He’d thought the barrage of American millionaires and their darling daughters an assault on British pride. Instead, he’d discovered his pride was very much intact. So was his integrity. He was doing the right thing by Lily to marry her, after nigh unto debauching her in his stables. But he was also doing right by himself, because he cared for her. More than he’d ever intended to care for a woman.

He squeezed her hand. “I’m proud to call you my wife. Who you are has less to do with where you were born or to whom and more to do with what you say and what you do.”

“I want you to be proud of me.”

“And you of me,” he said with solemnity at this new endeavor to please her.