My Fair Lily(43)

Ewan coughed again. The girl obviously didn’t understand the meaning of quiet, which was fine if she were naked and writhing in ecstasy beneath him, crying out his name between breathy moans. But right now, not so fine.

Her uncle glowered at him.

Indeed, George understood exactly what was going through his depraved Scots mind. Perfect. The one man he depended on to save his life now wanted to pull out his own knife and mercilessly cut him to pieces.

All worth it for Lily.

Too bad he couldn’t bed her before he died. Then he wouldn’t mind so much when her uncle carved him into little pieces and fed him to the hogs.

“Uncle George, why is he talking about hogs now?”





CHAPTER 9


“EWAN, LISTEN TO THIS,” Meggie said three days later, a grin on her face as she bounded into his room, dropped into the armchair beside his bed, and unfolded the London scandal sheet that passed for a newspaper. He was still at Eloise’s recovering from the injuries received during his brawl at Tattersalls, and though George Farthingale had ordered a regimen of rest and quiet, the days had been anything but that.

A steady stream of Farthingales had passed through his door. George, of course, who was his doctor and in competent charge of his care, despite concerns that Ewan was lusting after his niece. John Farthingale, Lily’s father, apparently unaware that he was lusting after Lily, had stopped by to thank him for coming to Lily’s rescue. “No thanks necessary,” Ewan had muttered, feeling worse because he liked her father.

John Farthingale was tall and in fit condition for a man in his mid to late fifties. His hair was dark but salted with gray, and he appeared remarkably calm for a man saddled with five independent-minded daughters and a houseful of relatives who had no intention of ever leaving—or so Eloise had remarked earlier with a roll of her eyes and a sad shake of her head.

Ewan had made clear to Lily’s father that she had rescued him, probably saved his life with her quick thinking. “That sounds like my daughter,” he’d said with a chuckle. “Smarter than the lot of us by the age of three.”

Then Lily’s sisters had arrived, supposedly to pay a call on Eloise and Meggie (who had moved in at Eloise’s for the duration of his recovery), but it came as no surprise to him when all four sisters entered his room at once and began chattering at him, completely ignoring that he was injured and not dressed. A circumstance that neither Dillie, Daisy, Laurel, nor Rose found awkward, inappropriate, or embarrassing for him or for them.

Where was Eloise and why hadn’t she stopped them?

Fortunately, when the Farthingale sisters had marched in he’d been under his covers and able to hastily don a nightshirt left at the foot of his bed, one that had belonged to Eloise’s late husband. Fortunately, Lily’s sisters hadn’t stayed long. Unfortunately, all had been fascinated by his ability to tell Lily apart from her twin sister. It wasn’t hard to do. Where was Lily anyway? Why hadn’t she been with them? You’d think he had performed a miracle as grand as the parting of the Red Sea, but all he’d done was recognize Dillie at once.

How could they think he’d ever mistake her for Lily? Lily’s eyes were brighter and she always had a slightly dreamy, hopeful look about her that tugged at his heart. Dillie had an alert, clearly attentive look and often smirked. Lily never smirked. She smiled openheartedly.

“Ewan, are you listening to me?”

“Sorry, Meg. My mind drifted. What were you saying?”

“Here it is.” She laughed lightly, a distinct improvement from the weepy girl who’d joined him in London. “Lily must have written the item appearing in Lady Hardstocking’s ’It Is Rumored’ column. Grandfather will be apoplectic. What fun. She’s so brave, standing up to him despite his attempts to thwart her.”

Ewan sat up. “Go on. What does it say?”

“It is rumored that a certain despicable grandfather—”

“Let me see that.” He grabbed the newspaper from Meggie’s hands. “A certain despicable grandfather has set his grandsons against each other in a fiendish and maniacal plot to control them. A plot that’s doomed to fail and certain to make his grandsons detest him more than they already do. And if he thinks the spineless, cowardly grandson doesn’t detest him, he ought to think again. It is suggested that despicable grandfather apologize to spineless, coward grandson as well as to brave, honorable grandson—”

“She means you.”

Ewan groaned. “…apologize to them... as soon as possible, or risk dying alone and unloved in that marble mausoleum he calls a home.” Ewan set the paper on his lap. “Is she demented? Grandfather will eat her alive.”