Page 41 of Inconvenient Honor
Malta matters to England, matters greatly. Lily Thornton doesn’t.
He tried to focus on the first dispatch, but his own harshness shamed him.
She doesn’t matter to England, but she matters to her father. Her aunt. Her friends.
He scribbled lists for precisely eight minutes before he threw down his pen. He looked at what he’d written. Tripe! He balled up the paper and through it across the room, instantly felt childish, and picked it up to spread it open. The Marquess of Glenaire never stooped to childish acts.
He stared at the paper a moment longer, his mind on Lily Thornton.Work had become hopeless, another charge to put at Lily Thornton’s door.
If those puppies can’t do what I told them, I will have to do it myself.
He called for his hat and his carriage. Castlereagh’s report could wait another afternoon. The woman would be taught she could not evade surveillance.
Lilyalmost reached the rear of Aunt Marianne’s house through the mews before an arm snaked from the shadows. A hand clamped down on her shoulder, jarring her to a stop. Her heart stuttered and gave a leap of fear.
Volkov?
“What have you been doing?” a familiar voice demanded.
Relief filled Lily at the sound of Richard’s voice; warmth pooled inside her at his touch.Traitorous body.
“None of your business.” The words came instinctively to her mouth, but the stench of horses and dirt wafting from the mews undermined any force she may have given them. Her recently sensitized stomach clenched.
Traitorous body, she thought, in so many ways. The ebb and flow of fear, the strength expended to meet Sahin, the weakness of her pregnancy, and the feel of Richard’s hand overwhelmed Lily’s senses. Blood drained from her face, and her knees buckled.
Strong arms caught her up until she looked into the face of a very irate male, inches from hers. “Damned foolish woman,” he grumbled, taking her back stairs with ease.
Lily’s aunt employed a tiny staff. The sight of a marquess carrying their mistress’s niece through the tradesmen’s entrance sent them all into a frenzy. Only sharp words from the marquess himself gave order to their efforts: one to fetch her aunt, one tea, onea coverlet.
He laid Lily down on the settee nearest an open window and stood with his hands behind his back.
“You needn’t glower so,” Lily said. “And you did not need to frighten our staff. I could have walked.” She tried to sit up; he pushed her down.
“You are pale.”
“You gave me a fright. What did you expect?”
“Lilias Thornton is not a weak-willed ninny who goes faint.”
“You, sir, are not the expert on what Lilias Thornton does or doesn’t do.” She sat up. When he put out a hand to stop her, she held one of hers up in front of her and dared him to try. He pulled back.
“Why were you lurking in the mews behind our house?”
“Waiting for you. I suspected you would sneak in.”
“Your man could have confirmed it. I waved to him at the corner of the street,” she said. She stared, chin high, and refused to apologize.
“I told you not to go out without escort,” he said.
“Even the Marble Marquess does not always get what he wants.”
Marianne Thornton fluttered into the room to stand wringing her hands at Lily and bobbing a crooked curtsey at Richard.
“Your niece felt faint,” he said. “She is much improved.” He gestured to the corner of the room. The far corner. “Could you allow us a moment?”
“Of course, of course,” the woman said breathlessly. She patted Lily’s hand. “I’m glad it was a false alarm, dear.” She fluttered off.
Richard spun back toward Lily.
