by Lydia Dare
Suddenly, the duke pushed her away from him, a scowl marring his ruggedly handsome face. "Miss Rutledge, shouldn't you be in Essex?"
Shaking off his effect, Lily squared her shoulders. "Do you even read the letters I send you?"
"How much?" he growled.
"How much?" Lily echoed, blinking at him.
"How much money will it take to make you leave?"
Money! Why did it always come to money with this man? Oliver's estates brought in plenty, which Blackmoor would know if he paid the slightest bit of attention to his ward's accounts. She didn't care if she ever saw one farthing of Blackmoor's fortune, for heaven's sake. Lily leveled him with her haughtiest glare. "There is more to being a guardian than proper funds, Your Grace."
"And that's why Lord Maberley has you, Miss Rutledge." Then he stepped away from her, stalking down the corridor toward his grey-haired butler. "Is the coach ready, Billings?"
Lily chased after him. He couldn't dismiss her so easily. How dare he try to escape her? "There is only so much I can do, Your Grace. We're entering a realm in his development I know nothing about. Oliver isn't the same boy he was before and…"
The duke turned back to face her. His nostrils flared. His grey eyes darkened to black orbs. A muscle twitched in his jaw. He looked more like a dangerous beast than a refined nobleman.
Lily swallowed her next words, gaping at the imposing duke as a shiver of fear trickled down her spine.
"If you are incapable of caring for his lordship any longer, Miss Rutledge, I will find a replacement. In the meantime, I suggest you return to your nephew."
Replacement? Someone who would care even less about Oliver than Blackmoor did? No one would take Oliver away from her. Not even this great hulking, surly duke. Lily found her voice. "How dare you threaten me? I am concerned about Oliver's well-being, and you won't put me off. You are his guardian, for better or worse, and you have duties where he's concerned."
Blackmoor's eyes darkened even more, which Lily hadn't known was possible. She gulped nervously, panicking slightly when she realized his gaze focused on the movement in her throat. The duke had never seemed frightening until now. Of course, she hadn't laid eyes on him in years. Upon reflection, perhaps it was good he hadn't been to Maberley Hall in the last six years.
"No one," his voice rumbled over her, "orders me about, Miss Rutledge, and it would be good for you to remember that." Blackmoor turned his piercing grey eyes on his butler and spoke through clenched teeth. "I assume the coach is prepared, Billings."
The butler simply nodded.
"You can't run away from me, Your Grace," Lily sputtered.
"I'm not running away at all." He scooped her up in his arms. "But you, my troublesome Miss Rutledge, are returning to your nephew."
Lily's mouth fell open. "How dare you…"
"You ask that quite a bit. I do dare, Miss Rutledge. That is all you need to know."
She squirmed in his arms, though it was no use. They were like steel bands wrapped around her. "Put me down."
"In due time," he growled.
Before Lily could respond, they were on the front stoop and then he was depositing her inside the Maberley coach. "Your Grace!" she managed before he shut the door on her.
She reached for the handle, but the coach started off with a jerk, throwing her back against the squabs.
***
Simon watched until the coach disappeared down the drive. Lily Rutledge was a formidable woman, and he didn't put it past her to leap from the conveyance. When all seemed safe, he took a calming breath, prayed to keep his temper in check, and then re-entered his home.
Foolish woman! He barely had any control over himself as it was. She shouldn't tempt him with her tantalizing hazel eyes that sparkled with indignation. Her creamy breasts that rose higher with each deep intake of breath. Her slender waist that he could span with his hands, if he was of a mind to do so. The image that brought to mind shredded the last of his good intentions. What a blessing she was on her way back to Essex. Just remembering how she had felt in his arms filled him with desire.
Simon tried to tamp down the feelings that suddenly poured through him. It was too close to the full moon to be around women. He'd taken a huge risk when he'd opened the library door. But her plea for help had touched the softness inside him, the softness that even the beast couldn't take out of his soul, not until the night. Not until the night of the full moon.
When he had heard her impassioned plea, he had been in control of those urges. Then he had opened the door, and she'd fallen straight into his arms.
She smelled of all things wonderful—a mix of floral scents, probably a perfume applied behind her ears. Or a touch of flower essence between her breasts. But at this stage of the lunar cycle, his sense of smell was enhanced. When she'd frozen in his arms and swallowed hard, he'd smelled her desire and imagined the flush of wetness that surely must accompany it.
That was when he'd known he had to get her back to the coach and off to Essex as quickly as possible. Otherwise, she would end up flat on her back in the middle of his study with her skirts tossed up around her ears.
The human side of him, now that he was calming down, knew that she deserved better. Despite her advancing age of twenty-three, she was obviously untouched. He could think of nothing worse than a scared virgin being taken by someone like him. He wasn't nearly good enough for such a gentle and normal creature.
Simon stomped down the corridor, back to his study. He sank into the chair behind his mahogany desk and began to read the correspondence his solicitor had sent, along with the invitations and notes from the ton, inviting him to this party or that.
Would society never realize what he truly was? Would they continue to accept him based on his title alone, despite all the damage he'd done through the years? They seemed inclined to do so.
He'd heard whispers about the dangerous duke, and some of his friends had even relayed what was said about him behind his back. That, in particular, pleased him. Part of him wanted them to know what he was, what he was capable of. But no matter how poor his behavior, they still called for him.
Simon sat back in his chair and templed his hands in front of him. He tried to remember what Miss Rutledge had said before she fell into his arms. Something about Oliver needing him. The rest was a blur.
God, he hadn't seen the boy in years. How long since Daniel's death? Had it really been more than half a decade? He winced. Daniel, his cousin and dearest friend, had been one of the few people who understood him. The memories were painful, so he pushed them away.
He called out, "Billings!"
The butler entered the room. "Yes, Your Grace?"
"Do you remember what Miss Rutledge was prattling on about?" He gave a negligent wave of his hand.
"Something about young Lord Maberley changing and her having no one else to turn to. I believe she was soliciting your help, Your Grace."
"Do you think she couldn't deal with a little chest hair? Surely the boy has a valet to teach him to shave." He dismissed the thought. The lad's entry into manhood certainly wasn't something to get so worked up about.
Billings coughed delicately into his hand. "I don't believe she meant those kinds of changes, Your Grace. I believe she meant your kind."
"My kind?" he asked. His letter opener clattered to the floor. Billings had been with his family since his boyhood. He knew all of Simon's secrets. Yet he still faithfully served. "You don't mean…?" his voice trailed off.
"Yes, Your Grace. That's what I mean. She sees the signs and is frightened."
"She damn well should be," Simon muttered as he stood up and strode toward the corridor. "Ready my horse, Billings," he called.
Three
Lily had plenty of time in the coach to ponder her current predicament. The cad didn't have time for his ward, and he didn't even have time to discuss the situation with her. She would have to figure this out on her own. All she knew was that something was wrong with Oliver, and she
planned to find out what. There was a London physician Mr. Craven had mentioned. Lily had rejected his suggestion at the time. Oliver's changes didn't seem medical, but she didn't know what else to do.
She'd love to get her hands around Blackmoor's neck. What had her brother-in-law been thinking to leave Oliver's care to that scoundrel? The blackguard couldn't even be bothered to visit the boy.
After Emma and Daniel died in that tragic carriage accident, Lily was the one who had happily assumed responsibility for the child. She had spent the last six years soothing his worries, healing his injuries, and tucking him in bed when he woke with bad dreams. She wasn't going to let the changes in him continue without addressing them. Not like she had with Emma.
When her sister married the former Earl of Maberley, Lily noticed changes in her as well. Once bubbly and personable, Emma became a bit of a recluse, preferring to stay in the country instead of enjoying the entertainments Town had to offer. She often became withdrawn and refused to see anyone, aside from her husband and child. Most disturbingly, Emma seemed… fearful, which wasn't like her at all.
For years, Lily had berated herself for not doing more, for not demanding answers. If she had, would things have ended differently? Would Emma have left Daniel? Would she not have been with him that fateful day?
Lily was determined not to make the same mistakes with Oliver. The situation wasn't the same at all, but she had learned her lesson from sitting back and doing nothing with Emma. She wouldn't ever do that again. She was going to get to the bottom of this by finding out what was wrong with Oliver and coming up with a plan to help him.
She needed answers before he went off to Harrow. The clock was ticking.
***
Simon handed his riding crop to Billings and shrugged into his greatcoat. Lily Rutledge had an hour's lead on him, but, atop his hunter, he could intercept her. Though what he'd do with her when he found her was a mystery he hadn't quite worked out yet.
He started for the door but reared back when it opened of its own accord. Standing before him, like a sudden gust of unexpected wind, his brother William raked his gaze across Simon's form. "You can't be leaving. I just got here."
"Why are you here?" Simon asked suspiciously. Will had a habit of showing up at the most inopportune times.
"You have quite the way of making a fellow feel welcome, Simon."
"I am losing my patience, William."
His brother smirked and then strode past him, tossing his hat to Billings, who caught it in mid-air. "You make it sound as if you had some to lose." Will continued toward the study, no doubt looking for Simon's best whisky. "Besides," he called over his shoulder, "if you ever bothered to read your correspondence, you'd know I intended to spend the week with you."
Will stopped in his tracks and sniffed the air. Then he turned around, a rakish grin plastered across his face. "You brought a female companion? No wonder you're not happy to see me. What happened to, 'It's too dangerous to have women about during a full moon'?"
"It is too dangerous," Simon growled. Not that he had a choice at the moment. What would he do when he caught up to Lily Rutledge? How could he keep her safe? It was perilous enough for her to be around him, but now with his brother here, too…
As usual, his temper did nothing to faze Will, whose smile only grew. "So you say. Who is she then?"
"Miss Rutledge, and she arrived uninvited."
"Miss Lily Rutledge?" Will asked with an appreciative grunt. "How fortuitous."
In the blink of an eye, Simon had Will's back against the wall, his feet dangling six inches off the floor. "You won't touch one hair on her head. Understood?"
With the strength of ten regular men, Will pushed Simon off him, slid back to the floor, and loosened his cravat. "A simple, 'She's mine,' will do, Simon. There's no need to mark your territory."
She's mine? Ha. After he'd watched Emma Maberley cower in fear when she learned what Daniel was? No woman would ever be his, not in that way. Lily Rutledge or anyone else. It was too dangerous.
He was wasting time with Will. Simon started again for the door, then stopped in his tracks. "Benjamin isn't headed here, too, is he?" If there were going to be three of them, preparations would need to be made. He'd need to make a concerted effort to pay more attention to his post in the future or hire a bloody secretary who could keep track of everything for him.
Will shook his head. "Still in Scotland. But I'll be sure to let him know Lily Rutledge is off limits when I see him next."
"You do that," Simon growled. Lily Rutledge had enough problems of her own. She didn't need the brothers Westfield chasing her skirts. He stalked out the door and down to his stables.
Abbadon was saddled and waiting for him, the sun glinting off his sleek, black mane. Simon mounted his hunter and raced for the edge of Westfield Hall, hoping the solution to his problems would occur to him before he intercepted Lily Rutledge.
***
Lily was starving. She'd barely touched her breakfast that morning, worried that she wouldn't be able to find Blackmoor or that his butler in London had sent her on a wild-goose chase all the way to Hampshire. Now she rather wished he had. She wasn't certain at all what to make of her encounter with the duke.
She'd been terrified, excited, and furious all at the same time. It didn't even seem possible, yet it was; and the further she traveled from Westfield Hall, the more her encounter felt like a strange dream. She hadn't slept particularly well the night before, and she wondered if that was related.
The carriage slowed, and Lily looked out the window. A small coaching inn was within sight. Thank heavens. It would do her good to stretch her legs and enjoy some dinner while she tried to get her thoughts in order.
When the carriage stopped, the coachman, Jenkins, opened the door and helped her to the ground. "I need to rest the horses, Miss. I do wish you'd stay with the coach. I don't like the looks of this place."
Lily glanced around the coaching yard. A couple of burly men, unshaven and unkempt, lounged about. However, as she had recent dealings with the Duke of Blackmoor, none of these men seemed particularly dangerous. Besides, she was hungry and had no intention of sitting in a stationary coach; sitting in a moving one was tiresome enough. Who knew when they would rest the horses again? As it was, this stop needed to be quick, because the skies were darkening and the threat of rain imminent.
She shook her head. "No need to worry about me, Jenkins. I'll order some light fare and be back shortly so we can be under way."
Lily started toward the inn, ignoring the coachman's grumblings about independent-minded women.
Of course she was independent-minded. If she didn't take care of herself, who would? It wasn't as though she had a line of suitors clamoring for her attention in Essex. She was firmly on the shelf at almost twenty-four. Emma had once told her she was willowy, but that really meant she was skinny and too tall for most.
Those traits could easily be ignored if a woman had ample funds to turn a suitor's head. Lily had none. Perhaps that's why she became so enraged when Blackmoor sent a bank draft instead of answers. He made her feel like a poor relation he was trying to appease, rather than an aunt with legitimate concerns for her nephew. Did he think he could buy her silence, since she had nothing? That money would titillate her so greatly she would drop her suit?
But she didn't have nothing. She had Oliver.
Perhaps she was going about this all wrong. Blackmoor was his guardian, but he wasn't Oliver's only cousin. Maybe Lord William or Lord Benjamin would be easier to deal with. They couldn't be any worse at correspondence than their older brother, in any event. So what did she have to lose?
Lily stepped inside the inn and shuddered slightly when the door shut behind her. It was nearly dark as night in the taproom, and the place reeked of unwashed bodies and ale. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she found that her stomach and her nose were in complete agreement, that anything prepared in this place would not be palatable.
She t
urned to leave but found the exit blocked by a man. Her gaze flickered over him as she clutched her cloak tighter around her body. She raised the edge of her wool cloak to cover her nose, trying to block the smell that drifted off him in waves. She took two steps back.
Lily jumped when her backward footsteps bumped her into a solid object, and she spun around. Another man, equally as horrid as the first, leered at her. She shivered and stepped to the side so she could keep them both in her line of sight.
"Good afternoon, my good men," she began, amazed that only a small tremor was present in her voice. She glanced around the room, searching for the innkeeper, but she found no such source of assistance.
