The Viscount. Lyn Stone

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      If she were wise, Lily knew she should put all thought of the incident behind her and not dwell on it. There were too many problems ahead.

      “You have a good seat,” he commented.

      “So have you,” she replied, then broached a topic they had not yet discussed fully. “Should anyone ask, when did we meet? And where did we marry?”

      “Tell the truth. We met on the green of Edgefield town when you were a lass in short skirts. And recently we became reacquainted.”

      “I warn you, Beau tends to be rather outspoken, even with his elders. He could give everything away.”

      “Ah, I cannot imagine a child of yours being forward, Lily. Who taught him such things? I wonder.”

      She heard the laughter in his voice and it should have reassured her. He is not mad, she told herself firmly. Here he was, teasing her about her son, behaving in a perfectly normal way.

      “I suspect it runs in Beau’s blood. You knew my father.”

      “Not well, save for attending an occasional service of his when I was young, and of course that day when he pressed me to haul you both to Dr. Ephriam’s. But those references do make your point sufficiently. You must miss him terribly.”

      She smiled to herself. “Oh, yes, I do. I only wish he could have known my son. Beau is very like him.”

      “Ah, secure in his opinions and not averse to sharing them?” He chuckled. “Better a bit headstrong than a milksop who cowers in corners, eh? Will he resent your bringing home a husband?”

      Lily sighed. “We shall see. There is no anticipating how Beau will react. You’ll have to win him over.” She realized how demanding that had sounded. “If you wish to bother with it.”

      “Why wouldn’t I bother? He’s your son, Lily. It’s important that we get on well. I look forward to the challenge.”

      If nothing else, he must realize that Beau was her heart, the one person left in this world she would die for if need be. The wise thing for her to do would be to foster Guy’s affection for herself and her son so that he would stand a bulwark between them and any threat to their well-being. God only knew she wanted them both on his good side.

      They rode on, the moon casting shadows across the deserted roadway and finally illuminating the stone bridge that would allow them to cross the river near Derwent.

      Lily reined to the right and trailed Guy to a small clearing beside the river. He slid from his saddle and held up his hands to her. “Come, I’ll help you dismount.”

      When her feet touched the ground, Lily swayed, catching his forearms to remain upright.

      “Steady there, my girl. Is something wrong?” He guided her over to a spot away from the mounts and helped her to sit on the soft grass. How gentle he was now. It was as if no one had ever disturbed his serenity.

      She pressed her hands to her face and rubbed briskly. “I felt a bit faint for a moment.”

      He released a sigh and shook his head. “When did you last eat?”

      “Luncheon yesterday, I believe.”

      He struck his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Damn me, how could I ignore something so basic as food? Rest here. Let me tether the mounts and I’ll find something for you immediately.”

      Lily scoffed at the urgency in his voice. “Wherever would you find food this time of night? Every dwelling we have passed is dark as pitch. People are asleep.”

      “Then I’ll wake someone. You cannot ride another twenty miles in this condition. I’d look over my shoulder and find you lying in the road.”

      She tensed at the reminder of those men sprawled motionless in the street. “Please, no. Water the horses and forget foraging. I’ll survive.”

      He ignored that. Lily lay back on the grass, supported by her elbows and watched him. Not more than five minutes later he had the saddles off, the horses bound to saplings that grew by the shallows and had returned to her.

      “Here. Keep this at the ready. If you need it, pull back the hammer, point and pull the trigger.” He handed her his heavy pistol, then struck out for a cottage just visible in the distance.

      His long strides ate up the ground, as if his mission were crucial.

      Lily looked down at the weapon. She had never held one or even looked at one closely. Minding what Guy had told her, she pulled back the hammer until it clicked so that it would be ready should anyone approach. Not that she would shoot it at them if they did. But she could fire above their heads and frighten them off.

      Satisfied she was prepared for anything, Lily sighed and lay down upon the sweet, scented grass. She was so tired, so sleepy. Why was Duquesne determined to go to so much trouble for her? She was mildly amused that he seemed so worried for so little reason. Her stomach rumbled beneath the gun that rested upon it and she wondered idly what he would find for them to eat.

      Above her the moon beamed down and stars twinkled through the few sparse clouds passing overhead. Such welcome silence after leaving the sounds of the city. Such peace after their brush with danger. Her eyes closed as she drank in the stillness of the night.

      Guy juggled the cloth-wrapped bundle of sausages and bread he had purchased from the disgruntled farmer he had awakened. Simple fare but hearty, the victuals should suffice until they reached her home.

      He smiled to himself as he approached and saw that she had fallen asleep. But was she only sleeping? She looked so deathly still. Had she fainted? Damn, she was already weak from hunger. And she had imbibed the brandy at his house on an empty stomach. With all that in mind, he hurried his steps and crouched beside her, laid their meal on the ground and firmly shook her shoulder.

      “Lily? Wake—”

      The boom deafened him and a hot streak of fire grazed the side of his thigh. Before he could recover, her hands were at his face, pounding, clawing, pushing.

      Guy grabbed her wrists, suffered a sharp knee thrust that barely missed his essentials before he pinned her to the ground. “Lily! It’s me! Leave off!”

      Suddenly she went limp beneath him. He felt her chest heaving from her efforts and from fright.

      “Easy now,” he huffed, his own breath uneven. She was a fighter, his Lily. Slowly he released her arms and moved off of her. “Are you all right?”

      She pushed to a sitting position, shaking her head and placing her hands over her ears, rubbing them as if that would restore her hearing. His own were still ringing from the loud report of the gun.

      Then he remembered the sting on his leg and ran his palm down the side of his breeches. A long tear in the fabric felt a bit wet and sticky. “My God, you’ve shot me,” he said with a short bark of a laugh.

      She issued a sound somewhere between a scream and a groan as she scrambled to her knees and began running her hands over his shoulders. “Where?” she demanded. “Where are you hurt?”

      “Settle down, Lily. СКАЧАТЬ