Carole Mortimer - The Wicked Lord Montague

‘Indeed, my lord? And did you not find enough “amusements” in London these past nine months?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘And what would you know of my movements these past months?’

Lily felt the warmth of colour in her cheeks. ‘No matter what you might consider to the contrary, my lord, Castonbury is not completely cut off from civilisation!’ And besides, it was his sister Phaedra who had confided, in a whisper, that her brother was reputed to be enjoying the favours of many beautiful women, as well as frequenting the gambling and drinking dens!

The present Duke of Rothermere was rumoured to have once been a man who enjoyed all of the … amusements London had to offer, as well as some of the more local ones, so perhaps his second son was taking after him in enjoying those often less than respect able pursuits?

He gave an exasperated shake of his head. ‘Unless you have forgotten, I spent my early years growing up here.’

Lily tilted her chin proudly. ‘I have not forgotten anything about you, my lord.’

His mouth thinned. ‘Including, no doubt, my words to you a year ago!’

‘Most especially I will never forget those, my lord,’ she assured him before turning to push open the gate for herself as Giles Montague made no effort to do so.

‘Never is a very long time, Lily.’

‘You—Oh, bother!’ Lily had turned sharply back to face him, catching her parcel on the gatepost as she did so, and succeeding in knocking it from her arms and to the ground. She huffed at her own clumsiness even as she bent down to retrieve the parcel.

Giles, having intended on doing the same, instead found himself wincing as their two heads met painfully together, Lily’s brow coming into sharp contact with the hardness of his chin. Unfortunately it was in the exact same spot as his friend Milburn’s fist had landed six days previously!

‘Oh, my word!’ The dropped parcel forgotten, Lily now raised a gloved hand to her obviously painful brow, those moss-green eyes having filled with tears.

Giles pushed aside his own discomfort to quickly discard his cane and reach out to grasp the tops of her arms as he looked down at her anxiously. ‘Let me see!’ He pushed her hand aside, a frown darkening his own brow as he saw the bump that was already forming under her delicate skin. ‘Do not poke and prod at it!’ he instructed sternly as he clasped her gloved fingers firmly in his own even as they crept to the painful spot.

Giles tensed as he became aware of the warmth of Lily’s fingers through the thin lace of her glove, the rapid rise and fall of her breasts against the bodice of her grey gown, her pulse beating rapidly at the base of her slender neck, and when Giles raised his gaze it was to see Lily catch the full redness of her bottom lip between tiny white teeth.

Because of the painful bump to her forehead? Or something else …?

Green eyes now looked up at him in questioning confusion from between long and silky black lashes. ‘My lord …?’ she breathed huskily.

The very air about them seemed to have stilled, even the birds in the trees seemed to have ceased their singing to look down, watchful, expectant, upon the two people standing in a frozen tableau beneath them.

Giles drew a ragged breath into his starved lungs, aware as he did so of his own rapidly beating heart pounding in his ears. Because he could feel the warmth of Lily’s hand against his own? Look down upon the rapid rise and fall of her creamy breasts above the curved neckline of her gown? Smell the lightness of her floral perfume on her smooth, ivory skin?

Giles’s nostrils flared at this sudden, unwelcome awareness as he released her before stepping back abruptly. ‘We should go in now, your brow will need the application of a cold compress to stop the worst of the swelling,’ he told her grimly.

‘My parcel …!’ She attempted to retrieve it.

‘Hang your parcel—’

Glistening green eyes glared up at Giles as he would have prevented her from reaching for the parcel. ‘It is the material for my new gown, and I do not intend to leave it outside for the birds to peck at or the rain to fall upon—’

‘Oh, very well.’ Giles made no effort to hide his impatience as he bent down to gather up the parcel before handing it to her. ‘Now can we go inside?’ he prompted harshly as he picked up his ebony cane, his expression grim.

Lily had absolutely no idea what had happened, only knowing that something most assuredly had.

Giles Montague had looked at her just now as if seeing her for the first time, his eyes no longer that cold silver-grey but instead burning a deep and unfathomable colour of pewter. They were eyes that had swept across the swell of her breasts, the pale column of her throat, before coming to rest on the fullness of her lips. The intensity of his gaze had caused Lily to catch at her bottom lip with her teeth.

Even more puzzling had been her own response to the intensity of that gaze….

For several moments it had seemed as if they might be the only two people in the world, even breathing had been too much of an effort; the blood in Lily’s veins had seemed to burn, her breasts had felt full and sensitive inside her gown.

She had taken note of every hard plane of his aristocratic face—the intelligent brow, those heated grey eyes, a long slash of a nose between high cheekbones, those firm and sculptured lips slightly parted above the square strength of his jaw. Considering all of these attributes, Lily found herself acknowledging Giles Montague as being a breathtakingly handsome man!

Giles Montague.

The arrogant and disdainful Giles Montague.

The hated and despised Lord Giles Montague.

It was unbelievable, unacceptable, that Lily should have such thoughts about a man who had never made any effort to hide the contempt he felt towards her.

She clutched her parcel tightly to her breasts as she turned and walked the small distance down the pathway before opening the door and entering the vicarage. ‘My father is no doubt in his study writing his sermon for Sunday,’ she dismissed with a complete lack of manners as she stared at the top button of Giles Montague’s waistcoat rather than at the hard planes of his face.

‘You will see to putting a cold compress on your forehead immediately.’ Again there was no question or suggestion from Giles Montague, only that cold inflexibility of will that Lily had come to expect from him.

Her chin rose as she looked up at him. ‘I will decide what I will or will not do, my lord!’

His grey eyes narrowed to silver slits. ‘You already have a bump on your forehead half the size of a hen’s egg. Do not make it any worse out of stubborn defiance of me!’

Lily drew her breath in sharply. ‘You are arrogant, sir, to assume your opinion on anything would ever affect my own behaviour one way or the other!’

‘Arrogant? Possibly,’ Giles acknowledged with a derisive inclination of his head. ‘But, in this particular case, I have no doubt I am necessarily so,’ he added drily, heartily relieved to realise that he and Lily Seagrove had returned to the natural state of affairs between them.

Her cheeks flushed with irritation and her eyes flashed. ‘You—’

‘What on earth is—Oh, Lord Giles?’ Mr Seagrove looked slightly perplexed as he stood in the now-open doorway to the family parlour and recognised the gentleman standing in the darkness of his hallway. ‘And Lily …’ The vicar looked even more puzzled as he saw his daughter standing slightly behind Lord Giles.

‘Lord Montague and I met outside, Father,’ Lily spoke up firmly before ‘Lord Montague’ had any opportunity to say anything that might add to her father’s air of confusion.

Once seated at the kitchen table in order to allow the clucking Mrs Jeffries to apply a cold compress to the bump on her forehead—not because Giles Montague had instructed that she do so but because it was the right and sensible thing to do!—Lily could not help but think again of those few minutes of awareness as she stood outside the vicarage with Giles Montague….