Wild Lily (Those Notorious Americans Book 1)(86)

Julian swallowed his disgust. What went on his bed was his private purview. “I don’t understand.”

“They say you indulge in erotic play with chains and leather.”

Julian shouted in laughter. “Fantasy.”

But the hesitant look on Leland’s face said there was more.

“Go on.”

“That you married your wife after you compromised her in your stables and your home.”

Foul rumor. What Meg Sheffield had told him he’d put down to fiendish minds not a ninnyhammer who told tales. But certainly only three others had first-hand knowledge of events in Willowreach. “Anything else?”

“That you married her for her money.”

Julian squeezed shut his eyes. This was true. Partially.

“That your wife—” Leland cleared his throat and took a drink of his coffee. “That she rides astride and without her corset.”

“At midnight,” Julian whispered.

“Yes.”

“What else?”

Leland slumped in his chair. “That you took to your bed another duchess and—”

“What?”

“And that your wife on the same night took a viscount.”

His mind whirled with impossible scenes. “The only time— Dear God. The only time we’ve ever been near a duchess and a viscount was at Burnett’s house party.”

“I know.”

“So who—?”

Leland shook his head. “Someone who was there?”

Julian clenched his hands. He was beside himself. Meg? She would repeat such gossip, but she wouldn’t shame herself by reaching so low as to perpetrate such rumors. Who else might have a reason to spread such lies? And who else knew about the midnight rides and lack of corsets and—

Julian shot from his chair, his gaze riveted to Leland. “You have a list of these publications?”

“I do.”

“Give it to me.”

“You wish me to speak with the publishers?”

“No. I will.” He got up from his chair. “Join me please in my office in ten minutes, will you, Leland?”

He got to his feet. “Yes, my lord.”

“Bring that list.”

“I will.”

“Perkins, tell my wife and my mother I want them in my study in ten minutes.”





Lily stared at her bedroom ceiling, counting the acanthus filigree in the stucco frieze. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty white leaves in one ring. Twice as many in the next. They circled the expanse much as her thoughts did. Endless whirls. No beginning. No end. She loved him, her husband loved her not…enough.

She sat up, the linens crumpling around her naked body. Blushing at the memory of how Julian had kissed her minutes ago, she shivered and shook off the thrill of it. She responded to his ardent lovemaking so naturally, so freely.

But his actions weren’t love, were they? Passionate, yes. Erotic, certainly.

Without the full ardor she gave him. Without the regard she wanted from him.

She rose from the bed to walk to the window. In the July sun, she soaked in the warmth. Her skin absorbed the heat, the glow baking into her bones. This was what she missed, the intensity of the earth in her soul. In south Texas, for ten months of the year, you couldn’t escape the sun. It burned your skin, your blood, and if you were not smart and stayed too long outside, it could burn your brain. Your reason gone.

She’d been so cold here, especially here at Broadmore, that her brain hadn’t melted, but frozen.

She could stay so long that her heart would, too. And what then would happen to her love for Julian…or any children they might bear? An icy fear gripped her. Could she turn as cold as his mother? As forbidding? As bitter?

Would he turn against her as his father had his mother?

She pushed back the draperies, the shock of her thoughts acid in her mouth.

She couldn’t let that happen. Not when they’d begun together so well. It was the death of his father that had changed their lives so radically. Julian’s new responsibilities and the virulence of his mother’s attacks against her ate at her confidence.

She couldn’t allow it any longer, lest she lose her own self-worth. But what could she do to change any of it?

She couldn’t change the dowager. She was who and what she was.

She couldn’t change Julian, nor did she care to. She loved him as he was. But she could help herself. The best she could do would be to accept the fact that he might not change. He might not ever love her. Not in the full devotion she wished from him.

Tears welled behind her eyes. She forced them back. She would not cry. What good would it do?

He didn’t love her. Not as she did him.

She had bargained that he would. That he would come to that easily. But it would take longer and she questioned if she had the patience to wait for it. Even now, as she did, she lost a bit of her own integrity day by day, night by passionate night.

She put a hand to her eyes and dug deep inside herself for courage. Whenever she’d been faced with a problem in the past, she had sought solitude. She’d ridden out on the ranch by herself. Society here proclaimed she needed a cursed maid or a groom or a footman ready to hand. She needed or wanted none of them. And because she had married into this strict society, she had been compliant. Agreeable. Too much so.