Page 26 of Persuasions of an Earl's Daughter

“But you are going nowhere,” August ordered. “Not in such a state.” He gestured to her with the spoon. “And do not even think about taking my horse.”

Tears clouded Lilly’s vision and to her horror one trickled down her face. She swiped it from her cheek, spun on her heel, and marched out of the house, her boots making a squelching noise as she went.

Lips pressed together, she pressed the flat of her palms to her eyes and willed the tears away.

It didn’t work.

∞∞∞

August clasped the spoon until it dug painfully into his palm. He spied the splotches of stew upon the white tablecloth and ground his teeth together. It had been a long time since the evidence of his true heritage had arisen but here it was, plain to see. Gentlemen didn’t leave a mess upon the table. Gentlemen didn’t speak to ladies so. Gentlemen didn’t make ladies cry.

Lilly had seen him for the bastard he truly was.

He set the spoon down slowly, carefully, ensuring not to make any more mess and looked toward the closed door. He didn’t like seeing Lilly cry. It would have hurt less to carve out his own heart with said spoon. But what was he meant to do? Just being near her made him crazy. He’d never found it hard to control his desires before; yet having her in his arms made him want to forget every vow he ever made.

Gentlemen most certainly did not rub their damned erections against innocent well-bred ladies.

He could almost hear the words uttered in his father’s cruel tones. Except he’d be right. Lilly might have sighed and softened into him and even seemed to enjoy his touch, but he’d taken advantage like the baseborn blackguard that he was.

He eyed the half-eaten stew then the closed door and back again.

A tiny, bony hand snuck across the tablecloth to fold over the back of his. “You two are newlyweds are you not?”

August didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t even manage a nod or a shake of his head. It was probably for the best or else he’d likely give their ruse away and he had no desire to offend another woman today.

“The early days of marriage can be a strange thing the bringing together two lives, two souls with a different experience of the world, can be a battle.” He met the woman’s gaze as she smiled wistfully. “But it really can be worth it, love.”

August fought with what to say. The only marriage he’d experienced was one of misery and hate, of horrible words flung at each other, and an attempt to hurt each other in the worst ways possible. He couldn’t fathom how any of his parents’ machinations were worth it.

“Go to her,” Mrs. Lambert urged.

He wanted to sit and finish his stew then help clean up the mess he made if Mrs. Lambert would let him. Easier than cleaning up the mess he’d made with Lilly surely?

However, if he left her out there too long, who knew what the woman would do. Maybe she’d march off to Grantham in wet boots and a torn dress. Or perhaps she’d stay outside and cry and that made the splinter in his heart dig a little deeper. He’d almost rather she stomped off and put herself in danger again so he could rescue her once more.

With a sigh and aware of Mrs. Lambert’s smug smile, he rose from the table and headed outside. For a moment, he thought his idea of her walking to Grantham had come true when he scanned the road running past the cottage. A few giggles reached his ears as children chased a hoop down the slight slope of the road toward the rest of the village and August let a smile flicker upon his lips.

Truth be told, despite vowing never to have any, he always rather liked children. Their ability to find enjoyment in life was something he’d never figured out when he was younger, and he envied it. He’d tried damned hard to find it in adulthood instead and he’d thought perhaps he had succeeded. No one would say Lord August Beresford led a bland life after all.

The sound of sniffling reached his ears. He marched toward the sound to spy Lilly tucked around the side of the cottage, her back pressed against the cream wall, and her nose red.

She swiped the back of her hand over her eye and glared at him. “What do you want?”

“Forgive me. I was a bastard.”

She stared at him under spiked lashes for a few moments. “You’re sorry?”

He nodded. “Explain it to me?”

“Explain it to you?”

Her eyes were red-rimmed, shimmering with unspent tears still. The torn gown, the wild, slightly matted hair, and water stains on expensive fabric that would never recover...none of it should have appealed. Yet somehow it was so wholly Lilly.

He fought the desire to smile at the sight. No matter what society said about the Musgraves, they were raised with wealth and privilege and education. But when he saw her like this, there was a strange familiarity to her. As though he truly recognized her.

As though he recognized himself in her.

The polish was a sheen, an act of sorts. Hell, his whole life had been one long production. First pretending to be a gentleman, then playing the scandalous rake. He couldn’t help but admire how Lilly refused to be anything other than honestly, messily, wildly herself.

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