My Fair Lily(54)

“It’s an expense I can afford. I will no’ fight it, nor permit you to interfere—”

“Interfere!”

“Very well, intercede on my behalf. However, ye were right about the Cameron nature. We have an uncanny ability to lose fortunes to the Crown because we fight first and worry about the consequences later. I would no’ be a very good leader if I endangered the well-being of my clan in this dispute with Desmond.”

She held the breath she was about to release. Could it be? A shred of sense from the proud Scot?

“You win. Lily, I’m yours.”

***

Ewan expected that allowing Lily to mold him into a proper gentleman was a mistake, but he’d agreed to it for two reasons. The first was his approach was getting nowhere with his cousins and his grandfather, all of whom believed he was a savage and disdained him for it. He now stood in his grandfather’s study at Lotheil Court, pacing a hole in the exquisite oriental carpet while waiting for the old man, Desmond, and Evangeline to arrive. Ewan had asked for a family meeting and wasn’t certain any of them would appear.

The second reason for agreeing to Lily’s plan was her situation with the Royal Society. Its board’s refusal to acknowledge her research, even her very existence, was squarely his fault. Had it not been for his feud with his grandfather, she would have been tolerated by those old fossils enough for the results of her research to be published even if they still wouldn’t have accepted her as a member. No doubt most of the credit would have gone to Ashton Mortimer. Still, it would have been published, and that would have made Lily very happy.

Though he was loathe to admit it, there was a third reason for allowing Lily to get her hands on him... simply put, he wanted Lily’s hands on him. All over him. As often as possible. That he wanted her close was not surprising. That he needed her close, was. He didn’t like needing anyone. Certainly not this bookish snip of a girl.

“You aren’t carrying weapons, are you?” Ewan’s grandfather asked, striding into his study and taking a seat at the head of the small conference table situated near the far wall. It was shortly after three o’clock, and afternoon light streamed in through the row of Palladian windows, enhancing the warm, red tones of the mahogany wood. Otherwise, there was no warmth to be found in the room, certainly none from the duke, who shot daggers at Ewan with his icy gaze. The rest of the furniture—grand mahogany desk and ornately carved chairs, gleaming silver candlesticks and imposing burgundy silk drapes framing the windows—was like the old man himself, ancient, cold, and severe.

“You’re mistaking me for your other grandson, the one who likes to use weapons against defenseless young ladies.” Ewan folded his arms across his chest to hide that his hands were now clenched into fists. Not that he’d ever use them on his grandfather, no matter how much he disliked him. No, striking the elderly and defenseless was something only English gentlemen did. And he was considered the savage?

“You’re referring to that little nuisance—”

“Lily’s not a nuisance.”

His grandfather waved his hand impatiently. “The girl ought to be thinking of parties and marriage, not conducting research on shifting land masses and their effect on animal populations. That’s Mortimer’s topic and he should be taking the lead on that work. Have you read her monograph on baboon populations? The chit is actually comparing our civilized culture to that of baboons, as though such creatures have the ability to organize, to think, to develop a political structure. I will not have the nobility of man tarnished by her ridiculous comparisons.”

Ewan arched an eyebrow. “You know quite a bit about her research.”

“I know everything that goes on at the Royal Society. Particularly about that nineteen-year-old upstart.”

“Yet Lord Mortimer’s son is working with her, as you’ve just admitted, and you’ve granted him membership in your exalted Society.”

His grandfather was not in the least repentant or ashamed. “She mocks us, compares men to dominant, male baboons. Ashton Mortimer treats his research seriously. His ideas are thoughtful, respectful.”

“Dull as dishwater.”

“Deliberate, building on the ideas of the great men who came before him.”

“Lily’s research is based on foundations set out by Sir William Maitland, an internationally recognized scholar.”

“Forget the girl, Ewan. Come sit down and do stop glowering at me. She isn’t important.”

“She is to me.”

He pinned Ewan with his calculating stare. “Since when have you developed a taste for English women? Too bad your father didn’t. We could have avoided this family nonsense if only your father had behaved.”