by Lydia Dare
"I'm not so foxed that I can't carry you to bed." He met her eyes with that suggestive comment. She felt the heat creep up her face.
"Perhaps you should drop me at my door," she murmured.
"Perhaps you should be quiet and let me decide what I'll do with you," he goaded her as they entered her room and he tossed her onto the bed. Before she could scramble to her feet, he had her injured foot in his hand. Even foxed, he moved faster than any man she'd ever met.
When he'd tossed her onto the bed, her nightrail had risen, exposing her calves. She tugged at the hem, trying to find some modicum of decency.
Alas, Simon was no help at all.
"I have seen your ankles before, Lily. Now be a good girl and sit still," he ordered as he closed one eye and tried to focus on her injury.
"How much have you had to drink, Simon?"
"Way more than I should have," he murmured. He stilled her foot and pulled the shard from her tender skin. Smiling, he held the small sliver up for her perusal. "Got it."
It was rare to see Simon actually smile. A scowl was much more like him. He got up, crossed to the water pitcher, and wet the handkerchief from his pocket. She held her hand out to him when he returned with it. But he took her foot in his hand again and said, "Let the doctor work, will you?"
He gently washed the bottom of her foot until he'd cleaned it enough to satisfy his own need to assist. Then he took her foot in his hand and peered at it closely. "I have never understood what makes you women think you need to keep your ankles hidden." His hand slipped up to cup her slim calf.
"Simon, that's not at all proper," she reminded him, tugging at the bottom of her nightrail again.
"A view of your foot doesn't particularly make me lose all control, Lily."
"Well, that's good to know, Simon." She rolled her eyes and tugged her foot, trying to pull it from his grasp.
But he held strong. "It's not like it's your calf, love," he said as his hand trailed up the back of her leg, his arm pushing her nightrail with every caress of his fingers.
"Now, when I see this, I can't help but think naughty thoughts." He smiled lewdly at her.
"Simon," she said more forcefully.
"Simon," he mocked her, making a face that caused her to giggle. But then he sobered. "Do you know why I think naughty thoughts when I see your calf?"
Lily's heart thumped in her breast. "W-why?" she stuttered.
"Because I know that above this knee," he said as he slid his hand up the back of her knee to the sensitive skin of her thigh, "lies what I want above all things, Lily," he murmured as he bent to kiss her.
Before he could touch his lips to hers, she breathed against his mouth, "You want that above all things?"
"Mmm. More than anything." He nodded, his lips barely brushing hers.
And that was all it took. He may as well have doused her with a big glass of water.
He'd dismissed her. He'd tried to send her away, to marry her off. He'd kissed her. He'd touched her inappropriately. And, above all things, he'd made her want him to do it all over again. But she needed to keep her wits about her.
"Simon," she whispered. "You need to leave."
He frowned at her. "Don't ask me that, Lily. I need you."
"For now," she added quietly. "Tell me, when morning comes, will you need me then? Or will you still be intent on sending me away?"
She saw a number of emotions flash across his face. Then he shook his head and stumbled backward. "I shouldn't be here. I'll see you in the morning."
Lily brushed away a tear as she watched him leave her room, wondering if she'd just made the biggest mistake of her life.
Thirteen
Simon awoke with a splitting headache, blinking painfully when the morning light flooded his vision. What had he done the night before? Ah, yes, finished off a bottle of whisky. He'd started it before his encounter with Lily and finished it after. He was playing with fire where she was concerned. She was fortunate he'd been so deep in his cups last night, dulling the intense call of the moon, or he wasn't sure what would have happened.
What a lie.
He knew exactly what would have happened. He'd have taken her beneath him and ruined whatever chances she had at a normal life. He wasn't at all certain that her protests would have even hit his ears until it was too late. Thank God he'd been foxed.
Simon pulled himself from bed, noting the room spun if he moved too quickly. "Parker!" he bellowed, covering his ears when they rang.
A moment later, his valet threw open his dressingroom door. "Yes, Your Grace?" The young man's eyes were wide, taking in Simon's form.
He must look even worse than he felt.
"Prepare my bath, and…" his voice trailed off, certain Parker would know what he needed.
Soon he sank down into the warm water of the bath and closed his eyes. How would he face Lily after the things he'd done last night? More importantly, how could he keep her safe from himself tonight, when he transformed into something that would terrify her? His drink had saved her last night, but it wouldn't help her this evening. He could imbibe all the whisky in Scotland beforehand, but it wouldn't make a bit of difference. The full moon would have him in its grips regardless.
After his morning ablutions, Simon made his way to the breakfast room where he found Will slicing his sausages on his plate. He barely looked up when Simon fell into a spot across from him.
"If you're looking for Lily," his brother began with a glower, "you're too late. She's already gone."
Simon's heart lurched. Gone? "Where?" he couldn't help but ask, though he had no right. It was the best decision for her. Still, a cold emptiness settled over him. He couldn't imagine going through the day if he didn't get to see her. She'd left? Just like that? No warning? No good-bye? Just… gone? He must have terrified her.
Will looked at him as if he were the village idiot. "To the Hawthornes'."
Simon released a breath he didn't know he held. "Oh, yes, of course." Thank God.
Will shook his head. "You're just making it worse on yourself, you know. You should have taken care of the situation last night when you had the chance."
Will's hearing was as keen as his own. No doubt he had overheard the entire exchange with Lily, even if he tried not to. Simon scowled at his brother, hating that his privacy had been compromised. "She asked me to leave, as I'm sure you know."
Will scoffed. "Like you've been asking her to do? Neither of you mean it. You're obviously made for each other."
"Why are you in such a sour mood?" Simon finally asked, after a footman had placed a plate of baked eggs and sausages in front of him.
Will's blue eyes shot up, piercing him. "Prisca Hawthorne not only sent her father's carriage for Lily, she also came along for the ride. Insufferable chit takes special delight in making my life hell."
Simon raised one brow, the memory of his carriage ride with Lily fresh in his mind. Turnabout was fair play, after all. "I don't know why you don't just bed the girl and put the rest of us out of our misery." He took a bite of eggs, relishing the glower Will sent his direction.
"Ha! I'd wake up with a knife in my back."
Simon nearly choked. "I do believe, William, that if our dear Prisca put a knife in your back, you wouldn't wake up, but it might well be worth it."
"Go to hell."
He'd already been, when he thought Lily was gone for good. He was going to have to rethink this whole sending-her-away plan of his.
What if he set her up in a little house nearby? He could visit whenever he wanted, staying away when it was too dangerous for her. It was the perfect solution.
She didn't want to leave Oliver, and she would be close enough to see the lad as often as she liked… mostly.
He couldn't wait for her to return from the Hawthornes' so he could tell her.
***
Lily gaped at the emerald green dress Prisca held up for her perusal. The beautiful silk shimmered in the afternoon light and made her catch her br
eath. She'd never worn anything so exquisite, and she couldn't believe Prisca had accomplished so much in so little time. She hadn't even taken any measurements before she left yesterday. "How did you manage this?"
Prisca beamed. "I told you. I love to sew, and I have a good eye, even if I do say so myself. Do try it on."
Before Lily could respond, Prisca's lady's maid began to unbutton the back of her serviceable, blue-sprigged muslin, which paled considerably in comparison to the work of art her new friend had created.
In no time, Lily stood before a floor-length mirror admiring herself. The green silk flowed gently down her length, while, at the same time, it forced her bosom higher. Prisca was on her knees with a pincushion, hemming the bottom of the gown.
"Hum. I thought a white ribbon would finish this nicely, but now I'm thinking gold would be better. With your coloring, it will go perfectly." Prisca stood up to examine her handiwork. "You look stunning. Almost like a duchess."
Lily's face grew hot. Simon didn't even want her to stay at Westfield Hall. He certainly didn't want to marry her. "Oh, Prisca, His Grace isn't… I mean I'm only at Westfield Hall so the duke can become more acquainted with my nephew."
Prisca retrieved a wide golden ribbon from her bedside table. When she returned, she wore an allknowing smile. "It might have begun that way, Lily, but I'm certain things have changed."
Lily shook her head. "He wants to send me back to Essex as soon as possible."
"But you're still here. He's had ample time do to so. Raise your arms." Prisca ran the gold ribbon under Lily's bosom. "Listen, the brothers Westfield and Hawthorne were inseparable. I've known Blackmoor my entire life. He's always seemed the most serious of the lot to me, but I've never seen him look the way he did yesterday."
Lily frowned. "What do you mean?"
Prisca returned to her table, retrieving a pair of sewing shears. "I thought he might tear Emory limb from limb."
She hadn't noticed any difference in Simon. He was just as surly as he'd been since she met him. "Why?"
Prisca giggled. "Because of his attention to you. Honestly, Lily, you had to notice. Blackmoor practically dragged you away from my brother. Had you not allowed him to shove you down the hallway, he would have picked you up and carried you."
Lily fought back the blush she knew must be creeping up her neck as the memories of what he did to her after he had her alone flooded her mind. "He seems the same overbearing brute he always was to me."
"He has kissed you." Prisca's violet eyes twinkled. "I can see it on your face."
So much for fighting back the blush. For a moment, she considered denying it, but perhaps Prisca could help. She seemed much more sophisticated than Lily, and she did seem to know how to manage men. Lily nodded. "Then he offered me a dowry to go search out a husband."
Prisca's smile faded. "He did not," she said, her voice dropped dangerously low.
Lily shrugged. "So I don't think being a duchess is in my future."
"The lout!" Prisca almost growled herself. Then she grumbled something unintelligible, though Lily did recognize Will's name somewhere in her hushed rant.
"I don't need to be his duchess, Prisca. But I don't want to leave my nephew."
"Go search out a husband," Prisca repeated, a frown marring her beautiful face. "Stupid Westfield scoundrels." She started to pace the room, and then she stopped suddenly. "If that's how he wants to play it, Lily, I say you pick up the gauntlet."
"I beg your pardon?"
Prisca shook her head. "You are beautiful. I was quite jealous of you when I first laid eyes on you. But then you were so sweet, it would be hard to hate you."
Prisca Hawthorne thought she was beautiful? Lily couldn't believe it, and she gaped at her friend.
"I can make certain every eligible bachelor within three villages is at the assembly hall tomorrow. We'll see how Simon Westfield enjoys a little competition,
especially when he's the one supplying your dowry."
Lily's mouth fell open. "B-b-but…"
"And you won't go back to Westfield Hall tonight."
"I won't? But Oliver—"
"Survived several days in Essex without you. He can manage one night with those Westfield barbarians watching after him. They're not completely inept, just with women."
Lily bit her bottom lip. The chances of angering Simon were enormous, but it was worth the risk of catching him. She nodded her acceptance.
Fourteen
"Billings!" Simon bellowed as he strode through the corridors of Westfield Hall, growing more and more anxious with every step. He'd searched her room, the music room, and half a dozen parlors, and had even walked through the gardens, but he couldn't find Lily anywhere. The sun was about to set, and he needed to talk to her before he no longer could.
He was impatient to tell her of the plan he'd concocted, because he knew how pleased she would be that he'd come up with a solution that solved all their problems. She would be nearby. She could see young Maberley as often as she liked. And they could be together, as often as the moon allowed.
Billings appeared as if from nowhere, answering Simon's bellow. "Yes, Your Grace?" he asked.
"Have you seen Miss Rutledge?" Simon asked as he sat down at his desk and began to open his correspondence, all of it well over a week old.
"She is still at the Hawthornes'. She sent a note, Your Grace," the butler informed him.
Simon shuffled restlessly through his mail. "Then where is it, Billings?" He raised one sarcastic eyebrow.
The butler coughed delicately. "It wasn't for you, Your Grace. It was for the young earl."
"And what did it say?" Simon snapped. Why hadn't she sent word to him? Had he well and thoroughly terrified her last night?
"I'm not sure. I didn't open it." Billings grew fidgety. Obviously he knew more than he let on, which only made Simon more anxious.
"I expect better from you, Billings," Simon growled as he walked by the butler on his way out of the study. He would find out what was in that note if it was the last thing he did.
He found Oliver in the library with William, where the two were discussing the earl's dislike of Latin. He watched them as they leaned over the boy's Latin text. Despite Will's lack of decorum and teasing nature, he was quite a scholar in his own right.
"Have your studies included any text on Lycanthropic lore?" William asked as he held up one finger, silently urging Simon to be quiet. Didn't his brother know how important it was that he find out what was in that note from Lily? Why wasn't she home?
He interrupted anyway. "Oliver, did your Aunt Lily send a note to you today?"
"Yes, Your Grace," Oliver replied, narrowing his eyes at Simon.
"And what did it say?" He tried to force the impatience from his voice. Belatedly, he remembered that the boy had senses similar to his own and could probably smell his agitation.
"It said that Sir Herbert Hawthorne had invited her to stay for dinner and she'll be staying the night."
"She said what? Let me see the letter." He held out his hand, waiting for Maberley to show him exactly what she'd sent.
The boy shrugged. "I don't know where I left it."
"Your aunt should be here," Simon said under his breath, but they all heard him. Damn those overly sensitive ears.
Simon wondered which of the Hawthorne brothers had taken a liking to Lily. Probably Emory, if the besotted look on his face when he was with her was any indication.
"Billings," he bellowed. The man appeared. "Get my horse."
"Stop, Billings," William said to the butler. The man waited patiently in the doorway. "Where are you going, Simon?"
"To retrieve Lily," Simon said matter-of-factly. As though he needed to explain? Wasn't it obvious that she should be at home? His home. With him. Under him.
"Tonight is the full moon, Simon," Will reminded him, nodding imperceptibly at the boy.
"And?" Simon asked, still completely focused on retrieving Lily, on seeing her again, smelling her
again, holding her again.
"And she's safer where she is."
"Why isn't Aunt Lily safe here?" Oliver asked, his eyes darting from brother to brother.
Simon scratched his chin and gave it some thought. She probably was safer at the neighbors'. He tried to calm his beating heart.
Then he motioned to Oliver and said, "Have a seat. We need to have a talk."
The young man asked rather intelligent questions, Simon was surprised to hear. The most poignant question of the bunch being, "Was my father really one, too?"
