My Fair Lily

M
Y
F
AIR
L
ILY

M
EARA
P
LATT

Booktrope Editions

Seattle, WA 2014

COPYRIGHT 2014 MYRA PLATT

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Cover Design by Greg Simanson

Edited by Laurel Busch

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

PRINT ISBN 978-1-62015-485-4

EPUB ISBN 978-1-62015-515-8

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014917219

First and foremost, to my husband Neal, for his constant support while I spent hours in my pj’s, hunched over my laptop, paying little attention to him or my share of chores around the house. Heartfelt thanks to the amazing, and deservedly successful, writers in my life: the talented good and evil twins Pamela Burford and Patricia Ryan (okay, you’re both evil, happy now?); to
Stevi Mittman, who can write a hilarious mystery and still make the best angel food cake I’ve ever tasted; to Jeannie Moon, who was
always there to help, even while working full time and meeting impossibly tight deadlines; to Marilyn Levinson, a great critique partner and multi-talented writer; to Bertrice Small, our very own Queen Bee—she invented
the kick-ass heroine, and is an inspiration to us all; and last, but definitely not least, to Jennifer Gracen, who believed in me. Hugs to my Booktrope creative team: Laurel Busch, Samantha Williams, Greg Simanson, and Jennifer Gracen, who worked so hard to make this dream come true; and to Kenneth Shear, Jesse James Freeman, and Katherine Sears, who generously opened the Booktrope door for me.

To my father, and my mom, the fabulous Lily

 To Neal, Adam, and Gigi, the loves of my life.

Mayfair District, London

April 1818

“JASPER, YE BOLLIX!
No!”

Lily Farthingale had just passed through the front gate of her family’s fashionable townhouse to turn onto Chipping Way when she heard a deep, rumbling bark, followed closely by a repeat of the man’s frantic shout. In the next moment, she was knocked to the ground by the biggest, hairiest excuse for a dog she’d ever set eyes upon, more of a
muddy brown carpet with legs and a playfully wagging tail.

“Ugh! Get off me!” Lily cried, but the dog paid no heed, too excited
and happy to contain his joy. He stared down at her as though she
were
his favorite person in the world, even though she was now flat on
her
back in one of the many puddles left by the morning’s rain, her spectacles dangling off her nose. “I said, get—
ew
!”

The slobbering beast had begun licking her face, his tongue leaving a trail of drool across her cheek, her chin, and even more
disgustingly, on her mouth.

She was still spitting his drool from her lips when the owner reached her side and unceremoniously lifted Jasper out of the way.
“Och, lass! Are ye hurt?”

Only my pride
. “I don’t think so. But I’ve lost my book.” More precisely, she’d lost the book she had borrowed from her elderly neighbor, Lady
Eloise Dayne, and was on her way to return when attacked by the
playful
beast. It had flown out of her hands, and she had no idea where it might have landed.

“I’m that sorry, lass. My fault entirely.” The burly Scotsman
knelt beside her, looming quite large, or so he seemed to her slightly dazed eyes— for he was broad in the shoulders and almost as shaggy as his dog. His reddish-brown hair was as thick and
unkempt as his companion’s. His bushy growth of beard made him appear as daunting as a pirate.

“I’ll pay for the damage, of course.” He tried to straighten the spectacles on her nose, but then simply removed them when he couldn’t. “Ewan Cameron’s the name, and I’m in residence at... och, I’m not sure o’ that yet, but you can contact me through Eloise
Dayne.”

“You know Lady Dayne?” Lily gazed at him in surprise,
wondering
how and where a man such as he might have met her respectable neighbor.

“That I do, lass,” he said with an engaging smile.

His lips were nicely shaped, and so was his jaw, what Lily could
see of it beneath his beard. She ought to have been more than a little intimidated, perhaps afraid of this rugged stranger, but he’d
mentioned
Eloise, which meant he was no ruffian, though he quite looked the
part.

He took gentle hold of her hand. “Can ye move?”

She nodded. “I’m sure I can.”

“Good. Be careful now. Put your arms about my neck, and I’ll
help
ye out of this puddle.” He spoke in a deep, rumbling brogue that she found surprisingly comforting. “Poor little thing, ye must be soaked to the skin.”

Up close, practically nose to nose, Lily could not help but notice his darkly sensual eyes, a deep, forest green with flecks of gray swirling within their depths.
Mercy!
“You mustn’t concern yourself,
sir.” A little “eep” escaped her lips as his rough hands now circled her waist and his keen, assessing gaze locked onto hers. “I’m fine… truly.”

“Can’t say as much for your frock,” he muttered, helping her to her unsteady feet, which must have been the reason he held on to her a moment longer than was necessary. He released her when she regained her footing, then retrieved his handkerchief, and was about
to use it to dab the mud off her gown when he suddenly stopped
and
let out a short, strangled laugh. “Ah…er…och, lass,” he said, his
hands hovering precariously over her breasts, “ye’d better… I can’t… no, I definitely can’t—”

Lily followed his gaze as it swept the front of her gown.

Jasper’s muddy paws had left a perfect imprint on each of her lightly heaving breasts—like an officious clerk with his itchy fingers on a new ink stamp.
Stamp! Stamp!
The delicate lemon silk just
delivered yesterday, which she had worn for all of ten minutes, was ruined.

Oh, crumpets!

The noticeable paw prints on her front were bad enough, but there were also splotches of mud along the length of the expensive fabric, and cold, murky water from the puddle in which she’d landed now seeped down her back.

Jasper, obviously feeling contrite, whimpered as he came
forward
and rubbed his head against her knees. Tufts of his hair ground into
the ruined fabric, leaving it not only wet and muddy but now adorned with dog hairs.

Oh, perfect! What more can go wrong today?

And where were her spectacles? She recalled Ewan Cameron had taken them off her nose before he put his arms around her…and then she’d gazed into his eyes and simply forgotten about
everything.

“Can ye walk on your own, lass? Shall I help ye into the house?”

“Thank you, Mr. Cameron. I can manage the rest of the way.” She couldn’t very well say it had been a pleasure to meet him, since it hadn’t been. Anyway, they hadn’t been properly introduced. “It
was a most
unusual… well, unexpected… encounter. I don’t suppose we shall
ever meet again
.
Goodbye.”

She turned to walk back into the house, took a step, and
squished. Took another halting step, then another.
Squish, squish
.

Her humiliation was now complete.

“Lass, I had better go with ye,” he said, clearing his throat and once again smothering the laughter Lily knew was desperate to burst out of him. “I can explain to your father. It wouldn’t sit right with
me if ye were punished for something that was entirely my fault.”

“It isn’t necessary,” she insisted, holding her head up proudly
even as droplets of water dripped off her nose. She wished he would stop acting kindly and simply go away.

The sooner this embarrassment was forgotten, the better.

Jasper, now standing between her and the Farthingale entry
gate, began to whimper again.