Page 76 of Wild Lily
All of which was just fine with Julian.
He had never intended to marry for money. Abhorred the very idea. That he had torn himself apart, liking her, wanting her, desiring her in spite of his endeavor to remain free of financial obligation, was all for naught. But he’d learned a valuable lesson.
He’d thought the barrage of American millionaires and their darling daughters an assault on British pride. Instead, he’d discovered his pride was remarkably intact. So was his integrity. He was doing the right thing by Lily to marry her, after nigh unto debauching her in his stables. But he was also doing right by himself, because he cared for her. More than he’d ever intended to care for a woman.
He turned to her, smiling at him as he held her, and squeezed her hand. “I’m proud to call you my wife. Who you are has less to do with where you were born or to whom and more to do with what you say and what you do.”
“I want you to be proud of me.”
“And you of me,” he said with solemnity at this new endeavor to please her.
“I am. I have no reason not to.”
He caressed her soft cheek. “I am not as accomplished as your father.”
“I would bet you have as many sterling qualities. Perhaps more,” she said with a sparkle in her blue eyes.
“I cannot count them.”
“Should I?”
He gave a laugh, shook his head and settled her more securely in his arms. “A vain effort.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’ve sold the traveling coach to save money.”
“A trifle.”
“Not so. You sold four horses, too. I bet they were fine stock, and you let them go for less than their value.”
He blew out a gust of air. “I did.”
“You love your sister and question if she can be happy with her intended.”
“That’s familial responsibility,” he explained.
“And love.” She smiled at him. “And then there’s the matter of me.”
“Ah, yes.” He liked this topic and cradled her closer. She was a fine woman to take home to fill his house and his life. And his bed. Most especially tonight, she’d fill his bed. And his loins quickened at the expectation that she’d prove to be more than a fascination in his life. “My American with the beguiling blue eyes.”
She seemed to shiver at his compliment. But her eyes were warm with need. “And a distaste for riding side-saddle.”
“A penchant, too,” he teased, “for riding at night.”
“Creating a scandal,” she said and the joy drained from her face, “so that you have to marry her.”
He cupped her jaw. “I wanted to marry you. Was about to ask when all of them intruded upon us. I hate that they spoiled that for us. For you.”
“You would have asked?” She seemed in awe.
“It’s what I wanted then. What I wanted for the past three weeks. What I want now— I hope I can make you happy.”
“Happy? I hope so too. But I’m aware this is your duty, that you had to do this to save me—”
He thumbed her lower lip, temptation rising in him to kiss away her every fear. “This is more than duty.”
Tears welled in her eyes.
He hated that he could cause her so much anguish. Her pride was at stake. But so was their future.
