My Fair Lily by Meara Platt Read Free Book Online

Dillie continued in that slow, pensive way their mother often used when contemplating her daughters and marriage. “If someone were to polish his rough edges, he’d make quite the suitable catch.”
    Lily glowered at her sister. “It certainly won’t be me. He laughed at me!”
    “He did not.”
    In truth, he’d appeared quite confused as she’d rambled on about her concerns, merely grinning in that infuriatingly charming way that set her internal organs tingling, as he listened to her declare that she’d spent a sleepless night worrying about him and whether he’d found a place to stay. He could have said something to stop her, but did he? No. Not a word. Instead, he burst out laughing when she offered to help him escape back to Scotland. That he’d just stared at her, seeming to devour her with that confident gaze of his while she made a fool of herself, still rankled.
    “ Mo creach! ” he’d finally said, once more laughing out loud. “You thought I was a card short of a full deck?”
    Yes! She had. But a lady did not show it, even when the man she considered daft, unhinged as an old gate, thanked her for her good intentions by taking her face in his big hands and kissing her on the nose. In public, no less!
    “There’s a note in the box.”
    “Rip it up.”
    Dillie rolled her eyes. “I will not.” She ripped the seal off the envelope instead. “Oh, you’ll never guess what he wishes of you now.”
    “Not funny.”
    “I’m serious.”
    Lily took the parchment out of her sister’s hands, read it, and gasped. “He wishes to know where we purchased our horses. What sort of man asks a lady such a question?”
    “I’d say, a man who wishes to know where we purchased our horses.”
    She crumpled the note. “Dillie, you know what I mean.”
    “Were you expecting a flowery apology from Ewan, Laird Something Unpronounceable with Lots of Rolling Rs?”
    “No. And it’s Laird Carnach. It isn’t that hard to remember. Ewan, Laird Carnach, grandson of the Duke of Lotheil, and holder of probably a dozen unpronounceable titles. Did you know most Scots titles originated in the time of the Druids, before the Roman, Dane, and Norman invasions? Obviously, he’s the sort who speaks plainly, revealing only what he considers important to know. He also speaks directly. If he’s curious about something, he simply asks. If he thinks something is funny, he laughs. If something strikes him as ridiculous, he promptly says so.”
    “You’re right. The man is an utter fiend.”
    “He has neither tact nor diplomacy. Just brutal honesty.”
    “Since when is honesty to be frowned upon?”
    Lily blushed. “It isn’t. But that isn’t my point.”
    “Then what is? Oh, never mind. Tattersalls is running an auction next week. Uncle George plans to attend with Laurel. We can ask her to help Ewan pick out a suitable mount.”
    “Go ahead,” Lily said, her chin shooting upward as she huffed. “Ask her, for I won’t.”
    “Fine. I will. She knows all there is to know about horses. Her Brutus is one of the finest stallions in England. Ewan’s eyes will pop wide when he sees him.”
    “Stop calling him Ewan. He isn’t our friend.”
    Dillie wiggled her eyebrows. “Though you’d like him to be.”
    Lily ignored the comment. “He probably ate in the stable with the duke’s grooms last night. Not that there’s anything wrong with the notion, though society certainly frowns upon it.”
    “We used to spend many a lovely afternoon helping Mrs. Mayhew bake pies and enjoyed the spoils afterward, didn’t we?” Dillie sighed. “I don’t regret a bit of the time spent in the kitchen.”
    “Nor do I. However, Mother would be horrified if she ever found out. I suppose I sounded like her just now when complaining of Mr. Cameron.”
    “A lady’s place,” Dillie started in a high-pitched voice, a wicked imitation of their beloved, but slightly scatterbrained, mother, “is not in a stifling kitchen. She’ll wilt under