My Fair Lily (41 page)

His merriment faded. “Dillie, you saw my body. These aren’t my first scars, and they’re not likely to be my last.”

She returned to his side and set the cool, damp cloth over his forehead. She didn’t sit down but remained standing and slightly
turned away, as though suddenly troubled. “Very well. You didn’t cry out. Not even once,” she said in a whisper.

“I know.” He’d shed his last tears at the age of four, spent every last one of them wishing... no matter, his life had been changed
forever that day and he’d learned to endure.

Were her eyes watering again? He didn’t want her to cry over him or feel anything for him beyond her usual disdain. “Where are
my clothes? I have to get out of here.”

She whirled to face him, her eyes wide in surprise. “The ones you wore are ruined. Your valet brought over several outfits. Choose whichever you like, but you’re not leaving here until Uncle George gives his approval.”

“Nonsense. I’m fine.” He sat up and swallowed a howl as he tossed off his covers, swung around to other side of the bed, and
rose to his wobbly feet. Damn! That hurt!

Dillie let out a gasp and clamped her hands over her eyes. “Ian, you idiot! Get back in bed. You’re naked!” Her cheeks were a hot, bright pink.

“What?” He glanced down. No wonder he’d felt a sudden rush of cold air against his chest...and other parts. He was too unsteady to walk
and too angry at his infirmity to get back into bed. He wasn’t a doddering old fool who needed porridge and bed rest. He was young, strong. He refused to think of himself as dazed and stupid,
but that’s precisely what he was. He hadn’t meant to shock Dillie. She was a decent girl.

Luscious and decent.

Now that she’d seen his naked backside, for one crazed moment he considered turning around and—
No, that would be an incredibly stupid move.

Finding a pebble of sense, which happened to be the only thing rattling around in his foggy brain at the moment, he wrapped the peach coverlet securely around his waist and turned to face her.

As he did so, he saw her fashion a peephole between her fingers. So the girl wasn’t a paragon of virtue after all. She wanted to see him naked. He grinned. “Like what you see?”

She gasped and looked away. “I wasn’t staring at you. Not in that way. My only concern is to keep you from falling and slashing open your healing wounds. You’re an idiot. I hate you. Why can’t you behave?”

Good question. One for which he had no answer. Well, he did have an answer, just not one she wanted to hear.

“Find me my clothes.” He sank back onto the bed, ever careful to keep the covers about his waist. He was loathe to admit he was dizzy and had almost fallen, just as she’d feared. He resolved to eat as hearty a meal as he could manage and then get dressed. Once he had regained his balance, he’d walk out on his own. No, not just walk. Run. His damn blood was pooling around his loins again. In another moment he’d be conspicuously hard and throbbing. “Why aren’t you married
yet?”

She let out a choking laugh. “I’d hit you if you weren’t already bruised over your entire body. None of your business. Why aren’t
you
married?”

“Bachelorhood suits me fine.”

“Good, because I have no intention of marrying you.”

“I don’t recall asking you.”

“You raised it. What made you think of marriage?” Suddenly,
she gasped. “It’s that Chipping Way bachelor curse. No, no, no. It
can’t be true!” She sounded pained. And scared.

Not as scared as he suddenly was. What if the curse did prove true? “I don’t believe in it either.”

“But you ran down my street. And now you’re worried that you inadvertently fell into the Chipping Way trap.” She sounded
horrified. “For pity’s sake, why did you do it? There are a thousand streets in London. You could have chosen any of them. Why mine?”

“It wasn’t intentional. I was running for my life, and you should have been back in Coniston. Don’t tell me you’re the superstitious
sort. You can’t believe in that silly curse. Your sisters would have met and married their husbands no matter what. They fell in love. I’m not loveable. I’m a dissolute who intends to stay that way.”

She paused to study him, her expression a little too thoughtful for his liking. “Why did you just say that?”

“Say what? That your sisters would have met and married—”

“No, about your not being loveable.”

He laughed and shook his head. “No one on this earth cares
about me. No one ever did. Not even me.”

***

Dillie came around the bed to face Ian, wanting to be angry with
him and at the same time wanting to throw her arms around him to assure him that someone cared. Someone must have loved Ian at
some point in his life. His parents. His siblings. A sweetheart?

She felt a pang in her heart. It wasn’t jealousy. She’d have to care
for Ian in that way to feel such a thing. She didn’t care for him and never would. Absolutely not. “I’ll fetch your clothes.” It was of no
moment that looking at his broad, lightly tanned chest and the soft gold hairs that lined its rippling planes was making her lightheaded. She glanced away from his dangerously gleaming gray-green eyes.

Ian knew how to make women swoon.

Fortunately, she never swooned. She was too practical for such nonsense.

Nor did his muscled arms make her body tingle. She was merely responding to the ugly red gashes crisscrossed on them.

He wasn’t in the least attractive. Not after three days of sweating out a high fever. Besides his ragged growth of beard, he had a large cowlick sticking up from his matted honey-gold hair. It didn’t matter that some of those gold curls had looped about his neck and ears in a manner that made her fingers itch to brush them back. The cowlick made him look ridiculous.

Ridiculously handsome.

No! She refused to find him attractive. Absolutely not. Not in the least. Yet, the casual way he dismissed his wounds tugged at her heart. He was used to pain, used to hiding deep, ugly scars. The
horrible sort, the unseen ones capable of destroying one’s spirit.

Who had done such a thing to Ian? The elephant gun was still loaded.
She wanted to hunt down those wicked people and shoot them with both
barrels.

END

Daffodil, or Dillie as she is known to her friends and family, is not your ordinary debutante. She has a history with Ian, as you may have guessed from reading this first chapter, but it will take all of Dillie’s strength, confidence, and love to break through the considerable barriers Ian has erected around his heart. Ian is a wounded soul who harbors a terrible secret. Can Dillie break through those barriers and teach him not only to trust her, but to love her as well?

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Meara Platt is married to her Russell Crowe look-alike husband and they have two terrific children. She lives on Long Island, New York, and loves it, except for the traffic. She has traveled the world, occasionally lectures, and always finds time to
write. Her favorite place in all the world is England’s Lake District, which may not come as a surprise since many of her stories are set in that idyllic landscape, including her Romance Writers of America Golden Heart–winning story to be released as Book 3 in her paranormal romance Garden series set to debut in 2015.

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