It Happened One Autumn (Wallflowers #2)(46)

“Behave how?” Lillian asked, excruciatingly aware of the gentle exploration of his fingertip. If her sister didn’t return soon, she thought dizzily, Westcliff was going to kiss her. And she wanted him to, so badly that her lips had begun to tremble.

He smiled at her question. “Well, whatever else you may do, don’t—” He broke off suddenly, glancing at their surroundings as if he had become aware of some- one’s approach. Lillian could hear nothing except the rustle of the breeze that swept through the trees and scattered a few fallen leaves across the graveled pathways. However, in just a moment a lean, lithe form cut through the mosaic of torchlight and shadow, and the gleam of antiqued-gold hair identified the visitor as Lord St. Vincent. Westcliff withdrew his hand from Lillian immediately. The sensual spell was broken, and she felt the rush of warmth begin to fade.

St. Vincent’s stride was long but relaxed, his hands buried casually in the depths of his coat pockets. He smiled at the sight of the pair on the bench, his gaze lingering on Lillian’s face.

There was no doubt that this remarkably beautiful man, with the face of a fallen angel and eyes the color of heaven at daybreak, had occupied the dreams of many women. And been cursed by many a cuckolded husband.

It seemed an unlikely friendship, Lillian thought, glancing from Westcliff to St. Vincent. The earl, with his straightforward, principled nature, must certainly disapprove of his friend’s wayward inclinations. But as often was the case, this particular friendship might be strengthened by their differences rather than being undermined by them.

Stopping before them, St. Vincent confided, “I would have found you sooner, but I was attacked by a swarm of dingy-dippers.” His voice lowered with conspiratorial furtiveness. “And I don’t wish to alarm either of you, but I had to warn you…they’re planning to serve kidney pudding in the fifth course.”

“I can manage that,” Lillian said ruefully. “It is only animals served in their natural state that I seem to have difficulty with.”

“Of course you do, darling. We’re barbarians, the lot of us, and you were perfectly right to be appalled by the calves’ heads. I don’t like them either. In fact, I rarely consume beef in any form.”

“Are you a vegetarian, then?” Lillian asked, having heard the word frequently of late. Many discussions had centered on the topic of the vegetable system of diet that was being promoted by a hospital society in Ramsgate.

St. Vincent responded with a dazzling smile. “No, sweet, I’m a cannibal.”

“St. Vincent,” Westcliff growled in warning, seeing Lillian’s confusion.

The viscount grinned unrepentantly. “It’s a good thing I happened along, Miss Bowman. You’re not safe alone with Westcliff, you know.”

“I’m not?” Lillian parried, tensing inwardly as she reflected that he never would have made the glib comment had he known of the intimate encounters between her and the earl. She didn’t dare look at Westcliff, but she apprehended the immediate stillness of the masculine form so close to hers.

“No, indeed,” St. Vincent assured her. “It’s the morally upright ones who do the worst things in private. Whereas with an obvious reprobate such as myself, you couldn’t be in safer hands. Here, you had better return to the dining hall under my protection. God knows what sort of lascivious scheme is lurking in the earl’s mind.”

Giggling, Lillian stood from the bench, enjoying the sight of Westcliff being teased. He regarded his friend with a slight scowl as he too rose to his feet.

Taking St. Vincent’s proffered arm, Lillian wondered why he had bothered to come out here. Was it possible that he had some kind of interest in her? Surely not. It was generally known that marriageable girls had never been a part of St. Vincent’s romantic history, and Lillian was obviously not the kind whom he would pursue for an affair. However, it was rather entertaining to find herself alone in the company of two men, one of them the most desirable bed partner in England, and the other the most eligible bachelor. She couldn’t help grinning as she thought of how many girls would commit outright murder to be in her shoes at this very moment.

St. Vincent drew her away with him. “As I recall,” he remarked, “our friend Westcliff forbade you to ride his horses, but he said nothing about a carriage drive. Will you consider accompanying me on a tour through the countryside tomorrow morning?”

As Lillian considered the invitation, she allowed for a brief silence in anticipation that Westcliff might have something to say on the matter. Naturally, he did.

“Miss Bowman will be occupied tomorrow morning.” The earl’s brusque voice came from behind them.

Lillian opened her mouth to deliver a sharp retort, but St. Vincent sent her a sideways glance as he opened the door, conveying a mischievous admonition to let him handle things. “Occupied with what?” he asked.

“She and her sister are meeting with the countess.”

“Ah, what a magnificent old dragon,” St. Vincent mused, drawing Lillian through the doorway. “I’ve always gotten along famously with the countess. Let me offer a bit of advice—she loves to be flattered, though she’ll pretend otherwise. A few words of praise, and you’ll have her eating out of your hand.”

Lillian glanced over her shoulder at Westcliff. “Is that true, my lord?”

“I wouldn’t know, as I’ve never bothered to flatter her.”