Wild Lily (Those Notorious Americans Book 1)(72)

And she came to him again that night and this morning exuberant and loving. Though he hadn’t thought to buy her her instruments to lure her into bed, he relished his reward.

And he took delight in sending away her maid, even before dinner last night, and removing slowly, deliberately, every item of clothing she wore. She hadn’t objected. And it hadn’t decreased his appetite for her. Hours later, here he sat, eager as a boy to sample every tasty bit of her body.

And they were to spend hours in this damn coach. He snorted.

She was the beauty. And he was certainly an unruly beast.

His cock lengthened in awareness of her charms. Her lustrous black hair swept high into a soft coiffure, she wore a bonnet with an ostrich plume to match her outfit. Her eyes twinkled at him and he arched a brow at her, expecting a warning that he keep his hands to himself on this journey. He grinned at her and and shifted painfully against the squabs. He wasn’t used to denying himself the pleasure of her delectable body.

But he perked at the sound of a man yelling at his coachman.

“Wait, milord, wait!”

“Someone calls for you, Julian.” Lily had parted the curtain on the window. “An older man. Running in the rain.”

He glanced out his own window but in the deluge could make out no one. It had been raining ever since they’d arrived home, the thunder rampant. But in his bedroom, he and Lily had not minded so much. Out in the village, his servants told him the crops were submerged in puddles that threatened the saplings.

“Milord?” The coachman jerked open the carriage door, sheets of water dripping from his hat. “Tom Henry from Willow Bend’s here. Quick, he says. Must see you.”

“Bring him inside.”

“Sir?”

“I’ll talk to him. He can’t stand in the rain, man.”

Henry didn’t come to him for any but serious matters. One of the Bend’s village elders, he took his rank with prudence. Sixty years old, if not more, he tended the south fields of Willowreach as had his father and that man’s before him. He was bent, grizzled but with a kind demeanor that the village children loved. They called him Saint Nicholas at Christmas time.

“Milord,” Henry appealed to him, hustled inside by his coachman. He gave a small bow, pulling his forelock and shuffling his wool cap in two hands. “Milady. Fergive me, sir.”

“Yes, Tom. What is it?”

“I didn’t wish to bother ye, sir, but I thought ye should know. We’ve had two more go poorly with coughs last night.”

“Did you get Doctor Winslow up from Ashford?” Julian noted the man’s bleary eyes and slack demeanor.

“Aye, this morn, me wife did.”

“And has he arrived?”

“He did, milord. He’s says four lads ‘ave bronchitis and maybe more to come because two ‘ave fierce coughs.”

“Does Winslow suggest a cure?”

“He made us build tents from our blankets, milord, and pipe in steam.”

“Balsam mist is best,” Lily interjected.

“It is.” Julian turned, smiling at her. He recalled his own childhood malady, the racking pain of inflamed lungs and the aromatic relief of breathing in the moist air. “Did Winslow offer up Balsam mist?”

“He did, milord. But we ‘ave only one copper kettle and we need more.”

“At least one for each patient,” Lily said, frowning at Julian. “Do you have any at the house?”

“One. My governess used it for me when I’d take ill. Henry, go into the house and tell the housekeeper. You need the inhaler kettle and the Nelson inhalers, too.”

“How many of those do you have?” Lily asked.

“Two, three. I can’t recall.” Julian focused on Henry again. “Get your son to run to Ashford and tell Winslow I’ll buy two more copper kettles and three marble Nelson jars. Use them.”

“Thank you, milord. I will.”

“If more become ill, buy as many as you need. I’ll pay for them.”

The farmer bowed in thanks, the coachman closed the door upon them and in minutes, they were off down the road to London.

“That’s serious.” To have so many ill at once suggested a contagion.

“It’s the weather.” Lily shivered. “I’ve never seen so much rain.”

“Unusual and cold for end of June,” he said. “I’d forgotten about the mist. Thank you.”

“You were kind to have them buy more copper kettles and inhalers.”

“Bronchitis is no minor malady. I remember what it’s like to cough your lungs out.”

“Were you sick often with it?”

“Twice. Three times, perhaps.” He shook his head. “I can’t recall. My governess was a wizard, knew exactly what to do and I recovered quickly.”

“Perhaps we should cut short our visit in London and return home the day after the wedding.”

Lily’s generosity always gratified him. She thought of others. So different from most other women he’d known. Her family had recently returned to London from Paris to attend Elanna’s wedding. “Don’t you want to stay in town and visit after the wedding with Ada and Pierce?”

“Your tenants’ health is more important than my need to talk with my brother and sister. Besides, couldn’t we invite them to stay with us for a few days?”