Free Lily and the Lion by Emily Dalton Page B

establishments. But if Miss Clarke only knew how she was exposing her trim ankles and shapely calves... "Don't fret, my lord, we'll fix that vermin in three shakes of a lamb's tail!" the innkeep assured him, turning round to exit the room and returning in a moment with a huge, drowsy-looking yellow torn in his arms.
"This here's our mouser! He'll make mincemeat out o' that rat," said the innkeep with military zeal. "He's as good as dead, he is!" And on this threatening note, he opened his arms and the torn fell to the floor. With expected feline aplomb, the cat landed on his feet, but this appeared to be the extent to which he was prepared to exert himself. Looking about the room with apparent bored disdain, the cat seemed to find nothing amiss and sat down on his haunches, lazily wetting one large, spread paw and bathing his handsome face.
"Ye blasted alley-beggar! Earn yer keep!" bellowed the landlord, waving his arms in a gesture meant to inspire the cat to movement. But to no avail. The torn was enjoying a leisurely toilette. His eyes were closed in pleasurable appreciation of his ablutions and he didn't appear near at all to being done. Now he was lapping away at the fluff of fur encircling his thick, kingly neck. If the great Sovereign Henry VIII had been reincarnated as a cat, he would be this one, thought Julian with amusement.
He slid a glance at Miss Clarke. She was still holding her skirts up, but her expression of fear was gone. She appeared highly diverted by the spectacle of the sublimely indifferent mouser and its lord and master, the irate innkeep. Her eyes sparkled with merriment and her mouth was upturned in a delighted smile. So, the little Clarke had an appreciation for the ridiculous. Julian had to admire her for that. Again his gaze slid down to the sight of her shapely legs exposed below her skirts. And he had to admire a pair of comely shanks like those, too.
Suddenly the skirts lowered. Julian returned his gaze to Miss Clarke's face to find her observing him with a defiant gleam in her eyes. She must have noticed his rakish perusal and was bethinking herself of one of "Papa's lectures" about the sin of lust, to be delivered to Julian at a more convenient moment.
"Blast ye, Sebastian!" roared the innkeep, reclaiming Julian's and Miss Clarke's attention. "If'n ye won't chase th' rat, there's no reason t'keep ye about the house!" Their embarrassed, near-apoplectic host, obviously at the end of his tether, left the room again, this time returning with a broom. He raised it above his head and spouted what amounted to a sort of battle-cry. "Out ye go into the snow and if'n ye freeze, then it's no more'an ye deserve, ye worthless scavenger!"
At the upswing of the broom, Sebastian's attention was finally caught. He lifted his head and beheld the innkeep with apparent contempt, going so far, however, as to rouse himself to all fours and twitch his tail back and forth angrily. This was no hen-hearted tom!
The broom descended, and so did Miss Clarke. Down she hopped from her safely elevated platform, saying with a plentitude of righteous indignation, "Don't you dare hit that cat! Don't you dare hurt him, or throw him out in this dreadful storm!"
The innkeep caught himself mid-swing and stared at Miss Clarke in complete confusion. She stood before him, her hands on her hips, her feet slightly spread in a somewhat belligerent pose. "What, miss?" he croaked.
"I said don't use that broom on Sebastian, or I'll return the favour of your callous mistreatment of this magnificent animal by using the very same instrument of torture on you!"
The innkeep lowered the broom to the floor, his look of disbelief ludicrous. "How now, miss. Ye can't be stickin' up fer this mangy torn. I've tried t'teach 'im to run down the vermin fer a month now, but he ain't catchin' on to th' notion, ye see! And I've punished 'im and kept back 'is food a mite, but still he don't–"
"Do not tell me that you have beat this animal before," said