It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers #2)(38)

“I’m more colorful than most,” she told him sheepishly, and he grinned.

“Much as I would love to sit here chatting with you, sweet, I had better return you to the house, if you’re able to stand now. It will do you no good to spend too much time alone with me.” He stood in an easy movement and reached down for her.

“It seems to have done me quite a bit of good,” Lillian replied, allowing him to pull her up.

St. Vincent offered her his arm, and watched as she tested her leg. “Is it all right?”

“Yes, thank you,” Lillian replied, taking hold of his arm. “You’ve been very kind, my lord.”

He stared at her with an odd flicker in his pale blue eyes. “I’m not kind, darling. I’m only nice to people when I’m planning to take advantage of them.”

Lillian responded with a carefree grin, daring to ask, “Am I in danger from you, my lord?”

Though his expression remained relaxed with good humor, his eyes were disturbingly intent. “I’m afraid so.”

“Hmm.” Lillian studied the chiseled edge of his profile, thinking that for all his posturing, he had not taken advantage of her helplessness a few moments ago. “You’re awfully forthcoming about your evil intentions. It makes me wonder if I should really worry.”

His only response was an enigmatic smile.

After parting company with Lord St. Vincent, Lillian climbed the steps to the spacious back terrace, where laughter and excited feminine chatter was resounding off the flagstones. Ten young women were standing around one of the tables, involved in some kind of game or experiment. They bent over a row of glasses that had been filled with various liquids, while one of them, who was blindfolded, cautiously dipped her fingers into one of them. Whatever the result was, it caused them all to squeal and giggle. A group of dowagers sat nearby, watching the proceedings with amused interest.

Lillian caught sight of her sister in the crowd, and wandered to her. “What is this?” she asked.

Daisy turned to view her with surprise. “Lillian,” she murmured, slipping an arm around her waist, “why are you back early, dear? Did you have some difficulty at the jumping course?”

Lillian drew her aside while the game continued. “One could say that,” she said tartly, and told her about the events of the morning.

Daisy’s dark eyes turned round with dismay. “Good God,” she whispered. “I can’t imagine Lord Westcliff losing his head that way …and as for you…what were you thinking, to let Lord St. Vincent do such a thing?”

“I was in pain,” Lillian whispered back defensively. “I couldn’t think. I couldn’t even move. If you’d ever had a muscle cramp, you would know how much it hurts.”

“I would elect to lose my leg entirely before letting someone like Lord St. Vincent near it,” Daisy said beneath her breath. After pausing to consider the situation, she couldn’t seem to keep from asking, “What was it like?”

Lillian smothered a laugh. “How should I know? By the time my leg stopped hurting, his hand was gone.”

“Drat.” Daisy frowned slightly. “Do you suppose he’ll tell anyone?”

“Somehow I don’t think he will. He seems to be a gentleman, in spite of his claims otherwise.” A scowl settled on Lillian’s forehead as she added, “Far more of a gentleman than Lord Westcliff was today.”

“Hmm. How did he know that you couldn’t ride sidesaddle?”

Lillian regarded her without rancor. “Don’t play the idiot, Daisy—it’s perfectly obvious that Annabelle told her husband, who then told Westcliff.”

“You won’t hold this against Annabelle, I hope. She never intended for the issue to blow up the way it did.”

“She should have kept her mouth shut,” Lillian said grumpily.

“She was afraid that you would take a tumble if you jumped sidesaddle. We all were.”

“Well, I didn’t!”

“You might have, though.”

Lillian hesitated, her scowl fading as honesty compelled her to admit, “There’s no doubt that I would have, eventually.”

“Then you won’t be cross with Annabelle?”

“Of course not,” Lillian said. “It wouldn’t be fair to blame her for Westcliff’s beastly behavior.”

Looking relieved, Daisy tugged her back to the crowded table. “Come, dear, you must try this game. It’s silly but quite fun.” The girls, all of them unmarried, and ranging in age from their early teens to mid-twenties, moved to make room for the pair of them. While Daisy explained the rules, Evie was blindfolded, and the other girls proceeded to change the positions of the four glasses. “As you can see,” Daisy said, “one glass is filled with soap water, one with clear, and one with blue laundry water. The other, of course, is empty. The glasses will predict what kind of man you will marry.”

They watched as Evie felt carefully for one of the glasses. Dipping her finger into the soap water, Evie waited for her blindfold to be drawn off, and viewed the results with chagrin, while the other girls erupted with giggles.

“Choosing the soap water means she will marry a poor man,” Daisy explained.

Wiping off her fingers, Evie exclaimed good-naturedly, “I s-suppose the fact that I’m going to be m-married at all is a good thing.”