Wild Lily (Those Notorious Americans Book 1)(92)

That Lily would offer him this in her own room was a kindness he savored. “I will. I brought this for you. Perhaps there’s something in here that you’d need now.”

He put the leather satchel into her arms.

“What’s this?”

“A gift.” He gave her a smile and to the child, a small wave. “Until later.”





The hall clock chimed nine when Lily made her way through the house to the foyer. She was bone tired, the ordeal of the ten-hour long labor and breach birth of a boy sapping her of strength. Julian’s leather case in one hand, she dropped it to the first step of the landing, not knowing what to do with such a marvelous collection of medical instruments and devices. He’d paid a lot of money for them. The very best, she could tell by the exquisite cut of the steel. Honored, humbled by his thoughtfulness, she was overwhelmed, too, by the fact that he’d found her.

And that he’d come to her.

That gratified her even as if made her question what he meant by appearing on her doorstep. The medical case was a superb gift but it could not compensate for what she truly wanted from him.

And she wondered if he even knew what it was her heart required of him.

This time, she must tell him.

This time, he must tell her if he was capable of it.

“Is she safely delivered?” Julian’s grave words enveloped her.

She turned.

He stood in the entrance to the salon. In a light blue waistcoat and white shirt, his dark hair tousled, he was a heart-warming sight.

“Yes. A healthy boy. He was breach. I had to turn him and it was not easy for her.”

“I’m sure you were a help.”

She noted how weary he looked, even in the faint moonlight streaming through the windows. “You waited for me.”

“I could not sleep. I came to see you. Talk. There is no rest for me until I do.”

She bit her lip. “I am so tired, Julian. I doubt I can do this tonight.”

“Please hear me out. I have rehearsed this so often to myself that if I don’t say it soon, I’ll be quite mad. You needn’t decide anything tonight. In fact, I wish you wouldn’t. But listen to me. Will you?”

She nodded and walked around him into the salon she loved. In daylight, the room seemed a continuance of the lovely green of the countryside. Light and gay in sunshine, the room in moonlight had an ethereal quality that spoke of sighs and kisses. How often had she longed for Julian here to embrace her and tell her he adored her?

She sat in one of the sumptuous chairs by the fireplace. She looked up at him and waited.

He inhaled. “Do you like it here in Ireland?”

Happy for the reprieve not to delve into their conflict, she glanced around the room. “I do. The house, the land, the tenants are—were a boon to me when I arrived. The house was a shambles. We cleaned it, though, it needs more. The stove in the kitchen must be replaced. The floors could do with a proper buffing. As for the land, it’s rich, but we need to improve the farming methods. The tenants had an old pony that died. They couldn’t plow. I bought a Connemara at the Tipperary fair a few weeks ago. She’s a sweet bay two years old and we should see good results from her.”

He stared at her, pensive, unmoving. “I miss you.”

His words filled the room. Deep bass sounds of despair and longing. She should be happy.

But she caught back a sob. “I missed you, too.”

He went to his knees before her, his hands crushing hers. “Come back to England with me, please.”

“Oh, Julian.” She fought for her dignity and no tears. “I like being the lady of this manor.”

His face, dearer to her than any other, went lax. “I made mistakes.”

“A few.” One greater than others.

He frowned. “I failed you.”

That she would not argue.

“Allow me the chance to show you I am changed. I am a better man. Your man.”

This was not a declaration of love. But then, what would she have done if he had said it here and now? Words were no proof that he’d changed. Did she owe him the opportunity to do more?

He squeezed her hands. “Come to England with me. I’ve many things to show you.”

“I wanted to show you that I was worthy of you. That I could be a wife, a marchioness, even a duchess to be proud of.”

He raised her hands and kissed each one. “You did. I failed to show you I could be a husband you would love.”

That was not true. She had loved him for many months. Unsolicited, she had given him her heart and trusted him with her devotion.

All she had ever wanted was to have it returned.

“You needn’t promise me to remain,” he said at last, his eyes cast downward at her hands. “Come for a month. Return here, if you wish. Or go anywhere. A month. Then decide to stay or go. And if you want to leave, I won’t stop you.”





Chapter Eighteen


Their journey to England was a week in which Lily fought with herself minute by minute. In her small home in Tipperary, she’d been happy. Or perhaps satisfied was the more appropriate word. She enjoyed the people, hard-working, quiet and devoted to their families. If she brought them a new measure of prosperity with better seeds, the Connemara pony and medical care, they brought her a renewed contentment in the simpler life of a rural village. It was that she had missed of Texas. That she wanted to enjoy wherever she lived.