They did, holding him up like a wheelbarrow, but though the dog jerked and made choking sounds, the object still remained lodged.
“Dear me,” Lily moaned, panting as though she could breathe precious air for the animal. “Set him back down.”
With the flat of her hand, she administered three sharp blows between the huge creature’s shoulder blades, but nothing happened. Finally she leaned over its back, wrapped her arms around its middle, and squeezed so hard her face turned red, pressing up on its belly with both fists.
All at once, a slobbery red apple came shooting out of its mouth.
“Oh, Rex!” The dog collapsed to the ground, and she hugged him around the neck, laying her cheek against his sweaty coat. Tears poured down her face. “I thought I was going to lose you!”
The other dogs came closer to investigate, barking loudly and poking at Rex with their noses. Though he was clearly exhausted, Rex turned his head and licked Lily’s face, a big wet swath of pure love.
She laughed, and Rand smiled, his own eyes embarrassingly damp. His legs felt shaky, as if he’d run miles. He was speechless.
Kit spoke for them both. “That was incredible, Lily.”
She hugged Rex even harder. “It was only what had to be done.”
“No,” came another voice, one filled with admiration. “It was an amazing display of quick thinking.” Rand turned to see his father unlocking the gate. The marquess walked right over to Lily and reached down a hand. “Thank you for saving Attila. I need to get rid of that apple tree.”
Lily was too nice to say she’d told him so, but her lips curved in a smile that made Rand’s chest thump. She unwound her arms from the hound’s neck and allowed the marquess to help her rise.
As soon as she moved away, the other dogs pressed even closer. Lily brushed at her less-than-pristine riding habit. “Perhaps, my lord, you should take him into the house for a while. He needs some time to recover, and out here he will get no rest.”
“My dogs are not allowed in—” the marquess started, then apparently had second thoughts. “An excellent suggestion, Lady Lily. Will you come with us and help me get him settled?”
Rand watched, aghast, as his father and Lily headed for the house, the dog walking gingerly between them.
After a moment, he and Kit exchanged glances and began following. “He didn’t even ask what she was doing here,” Rand whispered.
“He didn’t notice me at all,” Kit said dryly. “He had eyes only for your lady.”
“He’s grateful at the moment. It won’t last.”
Kit shook his head. “She’s won him over.”
“Perhaps,” Rand conceded, although it seemed more likely his father was temporarily bewitched. Lily, after all, was very good at casting spells, especially where Nesbitt men were concerned.
But regardless, he’d best not forget that nothing had really changed. “This doesn’t mean he’ll assent to my wedding Lily instead of Margery.”
“No,” Kit agreed. “We still need to find that journal.”
In the back parlor, Lily settled Rex-Attila by the fireplace and requested a blanket. Without questioning her, the marquess rang for a footman and asked for one to be brought. Lily knelt by the dog, murmuring soothing nonsense while the marquess looked on, a bemused expression on his face.
When he finally looked up, his features hardened. “Christopher,” he said, apparently noticing Kit for the first time. “It’s been years.”
Kit nodded an acknowledgment. “Since Rand left for Oxford.”
“What brings you here now?” the marquess asked rather suspiciously.
Before Kit or Rand could answer, Lily spoke up from where she knelt on the floor. “We’ve come to find Alban’s journal,” she said clearly, although they had all agreed they would claim they’d come to discuss Rand’s marriage and then perform their search on the sly. “Rand is of the opinion that it could clear Lord Armstrong’s name.”
To Rand’s surprise, his father didn’t respond with one of his characteristic explosions. “My son hadn’t kept a journal in years.”
Rand’s stomach dropped to somewhere in the vicinity of his knees, but Lily seemed undaunted. “Are you certain, my lord?”
“I knew my son,” he said shortly.
Rubbing his dog’s back, she gave a graceful shrug. “Well, it couldn’t hurt for us to look, could it? You wouldn’t mind, would you?”
Her tone could melt butter in a snowstorm, not to mention a man’s heart. In his current mood, Rand’s father was no exception. “Go ahead,” he said. “But it’s a waste of time. Even should you find my son’s writings, I’m certain there will be nothing in them that would exonerate Margery’s lover.” His gaze on Lily was almost apologetic. “My lady, I appreciate your care for my dog, but you cannot marry Randal.”
“I understand, my lord,” she said softly. But as she rose to join Rand and Kit near the door, her eyes looked as determined as ever.
Rand appreciated that determination more than words could say. As they turned to leave, he took her arm. “We’ll get Margery to help, too.”
“She’s not here,” came his father’s voice behind him.
More than a little concerned, Rand swung back. “Where is she?”
The marquess waved a hand, apparently unaware that his son had assumed the worst. “In Windsor, with Etta. They went to choose fabric for her wedding gown.”
As the vision faded of Margery locked in a dank dungeon somewhere—not that Hawkridge Hall had one—Rand’s shoulders slumped with relief. “They’ll return soon, then?”
“First thing tomorrow morning.”
“They’re staying overnight to choose fabric?”
“And fittings or some such. They were to visit a seamstress. I gave them leave to stay the night at an inn, since they seemed to think it would be dark by the time they finished. I know nothing of these female things.”
The man knew nothing of Margery at all, Rand thought incredulously. His foster daughter wouldn’t care what she wore to be wed against her will. Rand would lay odds Margery was spending the night with Bennett Armstrong—and he wasn’t surprised her old nurse had conspired to arrange it. The two had always been thick
