Page 11 of Wild Lily
“Wonderful. Nothing’s broken. But I’m not certain if she’s turned her ankle.”
The blonde directed her attention to Remy. “Can you carry her?”
Remy peered down at her with an intense sensual regard Julian recognized from years of accompanying his friend on midnight pleasures. “Certainment.Shall we adjourn,Madame? Hmm?”
“Oui,” said the comtesse with obvious joy at the invitation.
“I’ll see to the driver,” Julian announced to the assembly with some envy that Remy would accompany the ladies and learn their names.
As the dark-haired one began to follow Remy, the comtesse high in his arms, she smiled at Julian—and the glory of it struck him like a ray of sunlight. “Thank you, sir. I saw what you did. You were quite gallant and I know many in the street are grateful for your service. My cousin and I are.”
He inclined his head. “My pleasure, madame.”
“Miss,” she corrected him and offered her hand to shake. “Lily Hanniford.”
He nodded in deference, his one hand tight to the horse’s reins, the other taking hers. Her name flashed through his brain like fire. Hanniford.She was Black Killian’s daughter?
He forced a smile and let convention and decades of training take him. She had flaunted etiquette and introduced herself, but the situation was unique. He could’ve laughed, but found her naturalness refreshing. Even her accent had a captivating wistfulness about it. He’d match it. “An American, I gather?”
“Right you are, sir.”
“Perhaps I may present myself?” Despite the harried nature of their meeting, some propriety was in order.
“Of course.” She tipped her head. Her complexion was as spotless as a camellia, her cheeks pink roses and her blue eyes danced in merriment.
Panic washed over him. Uncharacteristic as that was, he pushed away the need to analyze the emotion now. He wanted to bolt but recounted her assets instead. After all, he appreciated beauty. He applauded spontaneity. She possessed both. And something more. He liked her readiness to help her friend. Her skills at it. All that he reluctantly added to the marvelous smoke of her voice, her flat American pronunciation and her heavenly azure eyes. God, he loved her eyes. “The Marquess of Chelton, at your service.”
Her lashes fluttered. So she might not observe the finer points of etiquette when meeting a strange man, but she understood what was required of her when meeting a titled gentleman. And no, her manner indicated she did not recognize his title. He had the advantage for now, and he exhaled, in odd and silly relief.
She dipped into a small curtsy. “Lord Chelton, am pleased to meet you.”
“The pleasure is mine, Miss Hanniford. Please do attend Countess Chaumont and your friend.”
“The lady with me is my cousin.”
“I see. Well. Let me deal with the business here. The driver, the horse, the damage. Do please go inside.”
“You’ll join us?” she asked with a polite regard that he could have sworn held a winsome note of hope.
Such anticipation usually repelled him. Proper young ladies found him and his title alluring, even if he rarely returned the sentiment. But Miss Hanniford raised her brows in appeal and for the life of him, he had no idea why he could not disappoint. “I will indeed.”
She lingered, taking in his features with a subtle caress of those incredible eyes. “Very well. I’ll tell them.”
He nodded. “Of course.”
Minutes later, he’d sorted the business of the damaged hackney. Paying the driver for the Countess de Chaumont’s journey, he added twenty extra francs for the wheel and frame of the conveyance. Julian also promised the man he’d look for the owner of the dog who had caused such disaster. Then he strode back to the main boulevard and entered the foyer of the establishment of the couturier Charles Worth.
Inside, a slim young man approached him and Julian asked for the countess’s party. The receptionist was tut-tutting about the accident as Julian followed him down the marbled hall and up the winding staircase. In one of the private viewing rooms on the next floor, upon a plush red velvet chaise longue, the countess sat with her feet up, shoes off. Wiggling her bare toes at the request of Miss Hanniford’s cousin, she appeared happy and quite well.
“I can move my toes but I’m less confident of my ability to walk.” She took a sip of Monsieur Worth’s dark brandy from a cut glass and made a pitiful pout at Remy. “You were so helpful to me, Monsieur le Duc. Might you assist me home? Ah, here you are, Lord Chelton. What news of the driver and his carriage?”
Interested in her own predicament, Chaumont did not do her duty to introduce him to Miss Hanniford’s companion. From what he gathered, the lady must have already acquainted the others with each other. He would have liked a formal introduction to Lily Hanniford, even if it meant she might learn his family name—and seek to run from the man who was thwarting her father in a business deal.
At the moment, he could best surrender manners and secrecy to sharing information with Chaumont about her carriage. “The driver has asked a boy to fetch him a stable hand. One wagon wheel is precariously balanced. One side of his cab is caved in. He’ll need quite a bit of repair on that hack, I’m sorry to say.”
“Oh, what damage! Will he charge me for it?” Chaumont ran a hand through her brown hair, now totally loose of its pins. “I don’t know if I can afford to pay such a bill.”
Julian went to stand beside Remy. At this vantage, he could look directly down at Miss Hanniford and into those arresting blue eyes. “The driver claims a pet dog ran into the street. Tangled up in the horse’s legs. The person who should pay for the repairs of that hack should be the lady who owns that dog. Don’t you think?”
