by Lydia Dare
Lily slid from Simon's arms. "Yes, of course, Findley." She threw a glance back at Simon as she followed the butler down the corridor.
***
Don't look a gift horse in the mouth! Lily frowned. Something was wrong. Something had happened, and Simon was trying to keep it from her. What was it?
Lily went through the tedious task of choosing cucumber soup, roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, fresh vegetables, and lemon tarts for dessert. She then assured Findley that there wouldn't be any changes to the household after her and Oliver's departure.
That thought brought her back to her conundrum. What had happened between Oliver and Simon that had rendered such an obvious truce? Before the storm, she'd had the feeling Oliver wouldn't have poured a bucket of water on Simon even if he'd been on fire. Now she felt like their feelings had changed.
Oliver had needed the influence of a father for quite some time. She'd often thought about marrying, simply so he could have a male presence in his life. But the situation never presented itself, and she never went in search of a husband. She was much more content to lead a rather solitary existence.
Lily twisted the wedding band on her finger. Until now, that is. Now all she could think about was how to get back upstairs to Simon. She flushed as she imagined him shrugging out of his sodden clothes. Then he would sink his lean body into a warm bath.
Lily called for Findley. The man appeared as if by magic. How did they do that? She shook her head. No matter.
"Findley, would you have Cook send lunch up to His Grace's room, please?" The man simply inclined his head. Lily turned to run up the stairs. Findley's voice stopped her.
"For two, Your Grace?"
Lily couldn't avoid the blush that she knew must stain her cheeks. "That would be lovely," she replied with quiet dignity.
She raced up the steps in very unladylike fashion. Thank goodness, no one was watching. Or they would think she was in a hurry to get to her husband. Then they would assume to know why.
And they would be completely right. She wanted him to enfold her in his strong arms and hold her tightly. But even more than that, she wanted answers about Oliver.
Lily didn't even knock before stepping into Simon's room. He was her husband, after all. She couldn't suppress a shiver. The door clicked closed behind her, and she walked farther into the room.
"Simon?"
"Yes, love?" She would never get over the thrill that came with that term of endearment.
"May I talk to you?" she called.
"Not very effectively if you stay that far away," he called back.
"Are you decent?"
He chuckled. "I have never been called decent in my whole life. Why should I begin now?"
"Simon," she scolded him.
"I think you enjoy the fact that I'm not quite decent most of the time. Don't you?"
Thirty-Four
Simon couldn't help but tense up to prepare himself for her answer. She'd alluded to the fact that she liked his beastly behavior in the coach. It would be beyond his wildest dreams to know that she accepted him just as he was.
Of course, he would never be able to fully reveal himself to her, but it would be nice to know that he didn't have to pretend every minute of every day.
When she didn't answer, he called, "Lily?"
"Yes, Simon." She stepped from behind the bathing screen and immediately turned her head to look the other way, her face coloring prettily. "I'm so sorry," she started.
"Lily love." Simon allowed his gaze to travel down her body. "I have been inside you. I don't think it will hurt for you to see me in the bath."
Her hands fluttered nervously. If he wasn't in the bath, he would have gone to her in an attempt to calm her. Unlike any woman he'd ever been with, she was a novice to all of this. He usually chose women who were as jaded as he.
"You shouldn't say things like that out loud, Simon," she gasped.
"Say what?" He couldn't keep himself from teasing her.
"That you have been… there."
"I'm planning to go there again when I get out of the bath."
"Oh, my," she said, as her hand fluttered to land on her chest. "You're incorrigible." The corners of her mouth finally tilted into a grin.
"There's that smile I love." He did love to see her happy.
"You like to embarrass me."
He did. He liked to see her out of sorts. He liked to surprise her. He liked that all this was fresh and new for her. But would she feel the same way about him if she knew the truth? Would she still laugh at him? Or would she be disgusted? Would she turn and run from him? He wasn't willing to take that chance.
***
Lily watched the play of emotions on his face. "What is it, Simon?" She took a step closer to the tub. "What are you not telling me?"
"I don't know what you mean," he said, avoiding her gaze.
"I think there's something you're keeping from me." Lily closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I know you didn't want to marry. Or to be a father."
"Who implied that?" he suddenly barked.
"You do want to be a father?" she asked.
"I think I have made that perfectly clear," he said
as he stood up and took a towel from a nearby chair. Water sluiced down his naked body and puddled on the floor when he stepped from the tub. "I came all the way here on our wedding night to search for Oliver. Then I went out in the pouring rain to find him. Then I actually made peace with the little pup. If that's not acting the role of father, I'm not sure what is."
Lily turned to face away from him. He crossed the floor in three quick strides. Lily gasped as he took her shoulder and turned her around, then pulled her close to his naked, wet body.
"Don't ever assume that I'm not a normal man. With the same wants and desires as any other."
"Wants and desires?" she managed to croak out.
"Those, too," he said, shaking his head. "But listen to me, Lily."
She nodded, the water from his body soaking the front of her gown. But she paid it no heed. The intensity in his eyes had her total attention.
"I want you to be my wife. I want to raise Oliver like he's a son. I want you to be the mother of my children. I want to share my life with you in every way." His lips pressed against hers quickly. "I just wish…"
"You wish what, Simon?" Oh, please talk to me. Tell me what's in your heart.
"I just wish I were a different man for you," he finally admitted before he turned away to pat himself dry with the towel. "Could you ring for Oliver's valet?"
"I could help you," she offered. She really wasn't ready to be dismissed.
"The boy's valet will do." He walked away from her, apparently forgetting his earlier promise of intimacy. Lily was left with a soaked gown, wounded pride, and just as many questions as she'd had before their conversation began.
She went to the bell pull and tugged harder than was necessary. "Simon," she began, "I asked Findley to have lunch delivered to you here. I'm certain you're famished."
"How thoughtful," he replied, looking out the window with his back to her.
"I thought we might enjoy the meal together. I thought we could talk."
She saw the muscles in his back tense at those words, which only made her more suspicious. "Simon?"
"Lily, it's been a long day," he said quietly.
She frowned at him, not understanding him in the least. "What secrets are you keeping from me, Simon?"
He laughed and glanced over his shoulder at her. "Secrets? Lily, you yourself said you knew them all after keeping up with my scandalous exploits through the gossip columns all these years. What else could I possibly have to hide?"
That was a very good question, but Lily was certain he was hiding something. "I am your wife. You do know I'm trustworthy, don't you?"
Simon sighed. "I'm certain you are. If I had any secrets, Lily, I would lay them at your feet."
At that moment someone scratched at the door. "Come," Lily called.
&
nbsp; When Oliver's valet opened the door, Lily knew she had run out of time. At least with Simon. Oliver, however, might very well shed some light on the situation.
She strode purposefully down the hall and around the corner to her nephew's room. She knocked lightly and then pushed the door open. "Oliver," she began.
"Aunt Lily!" When Oliver leapt off the bed, a book thudded to the floor at his feet.
"What's that?" she asked, stepping forward.
Looking more guilty than she'd ever seen him, Oliver shrugged. "Just one of my father's books. I found it in the library."
Lily shook her head. Oliver wouldn't feel guilty over a book. He was far from studious. She must have misinterpreted the expression. If he wanted to study some of Daniel's old books, she'd gladly welcome the activity. "I suppose it's too much to hope that it's Latin."
Oliver nodded his head vigorously. "There is some Latin text, Aunt Lily."
Now she didn't believe him at all. But old tomes belonging to the late Earl of Maberley were not her highest concern at the moment. "Oliver, may I ask you a question?"
"Of course," he answered, dropping back to his spot on the bed and kicking the book under the counterpane.
Lily took a spot beside him. "Why did you run off?"
***
Oliver hated to lie to his aunt, but the duke had made the rules very clear. Blackmoor had told Oliver what to say, and he hoped he'd be able to carry it off.
"I was jealous," he repeated his contrived response.
"Jealous?" Aunt Lily echoed, a crease marring her brow.
He nodded while guilt consumed him. "Well, when I arrived at Westfield Hall, Blackmoor seemed to demand all of your attention. And you seemed taken by him."
"Oliver York," she said quietly, "you have always been my life."
He shrugged. "Not anymore. I'll be going off to school, and you have the duke, and…"
Aunt Lily kissed his cheek, just like she always did when she was trying to soothe him. Oliver swallowed his guilt about deceiving her. He did want her to be happy. She deserved all the happiness in the world. Knowing what he was, what the duke was, wouldn't bring that to her. So he squeezed her hand and continued his ruse.
"I am sorry, Aunt Lily. I shouldn't have run off. I suppose I thought you'd be so consumed in your new life, you wouldn't miss me."
"Oh, Oliver!" she said, brushing tears from her cheek. "I was so worried about you. How could you think that? When you go off to Harrow, I will miss you more than you will ever know."
He hugged her then. Fiercely. "I love you, Aunt Lily."
Thirty-Five
Lily was a tad bit disgruntled the next morning when Simon shook her awake. "Time to get up, love," he said briskly. "I thought we could travel to Harrow today and give Oliver a tour of the school. I'd like to show the boy my old stomping grounds."
"When did you come to bed?" she asked as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
"It was late." He simply shrugged. "I don't remember the time. I did like finding you in my bed, though," he said and winked at her.
After dinner, Simon had mentioned that he wanted to look through the steward's reports to be sure Maberley Hall was being cared for properly. Of course, he received quarterly statements, but he wanted to tour the grounds himself and see if any issues might need his assistance. When he'd taken Oliver with him, Lily certainly hadn't been able to complain, since he was finally spending time with the boy.
He'd kissed her quickly before he walked out the door with Oliver and said, "Back soon."
She'd watched as the sky grew darker and darker. Then she finally put on her nightrail and went to Simon's room to wait for him.
"What kept you out so late?"
"I wanted to show Oliver some of the places Daniel and I used to go. That's all." He turned away from her.
Lily was quickly learning that Simon tended to turn away from her when he wanted to avoid directly answering her questions. She slowly sat up and regarded his profile as he looked down at the lawns below.
She had two options. She could travel to Harrow with the two of them and try to figure out what was going on. Or she could let them go on without her, and she could return to Westfield Hall alone. Feeling slightly uncharitable, Lily was leaning toward the second option.
If Simon couldn't be honest with her, if he couldn't tell her what was in his heart, if he couldn't even be bothered to wake her when he returned in the middle of the night, she wasn't certain she wanted to spend a day with him.
"Well," she began carefully, "I think the two of you will enjoy your time together tremendously. I can't wait to hear all about it."
He spun on his heels to face her. "Why do you make it sound as if we're going without you?"
Lily swung her legs off the bed and slowly started toward the door that connected her chamber to his. "I don't really see why I'm needed for the excursion, Simon. The two of you will get along fine without me."
His grey eyes darkened, and a chill raced down her spine. However, she wouldn't let him know that, and she continued toward the connecting door.
"I want you with me," he growled.
Lily shrugged, hoping he couldn't tell how he affected her. "One certainly wouldn't know it."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Simon asked, stalking toward her.
She took a calming breath and raised herself to her full height, refusing to be cowed. "Exactly what I said. Ever since we arrived in Essex, you have found one excuse or another to abandon me. It will be much easier for you two to carry on without me being in your way."
"Lily." He frowned, planting himself in front of the connecting door.
"You can tell me all about Harrow when you return to Westfield Hall."
He folded his strong arms across his chest. "I don't find pouting to be an attractive trait."
Lily plastered a fraudulent smile across her face. "Indeed? I find boorish behavior to be particularly distasteful, myself. You are in my way, Simon."
"Have I behaved boorishly?"
"In more ways than I can count. Now, please remove yourself from my path."
"Lily."
"You and Oliver really should get a start on the day. Do excuse me." She tried to brush behind him and escape into her own chamber, but she found him more immobile than an elephant with a mule's disposition.
He grasped her waist and pulled her flush against him. The intensity of his stare left her nearly breathless, which was infuriating. After putting up with his ill treatment the previous day, she didn't want her pulse to race when he held her. She didn't want to notice how lovely and strong his lips were. She didn't want to feel his muscles and sinew through the thin material of her nightrail.
"You are my wife, Lily." His dark voice warmed her and settled in her belly. "And you won't escape me."
"Ha!" she shot back, hoping to regain her composure. "You're the one who has been escaping me, Simon Westfield. Now unhand me."
"I've not been escaping you."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "As soon as we arrived, you took off. Then yesterday you made it seem as if you wanted my attention while you bathed, but then you pushed me away. You kept yourself apart from me the remainder of the day, except for dinner, as I'm certain you couldn't find a plausible reason to avoid me, and then…" She poked his chest with her finger. "Then you stayed away all night and didn't even wake me when you returned."
Simon frowned. "I'm not accustomed to having to answer to anyone, Lily."
"I'm not just anyone, Simon. I am your wife, which I suspect you are now regretting."
"I told you my lifestyle wasn't conducive to marriage. You're going to have to be patient with me."
Lily didn't feel like being patient. She wanted answers—and sooner rather than later. "What are you hiding from me, Simon?"
He shook his head. "Nothing, Lily. Whether you believe me or not. I don't know how to convince you."
"Why did you push me away?"
"I'm not accustomed to having anyone
else in my life. As I said, it will take me time to adjust. Dear God, Lily, this is all new to me."
Was that all it was? She started to second-guess herself. Was she being silly and insecure? She stared into his grey eyes and felt warmth spread across her body. "You're not trying to avoid me?"
