A Certain Wolfish Charm (6 page)

   Simon was lost. His gaze traveled from her eyes, down her pert little nose to her amazingly full, pink lips. Lips. Simon watched her lips. He wanted nothing more than to touch them to his own. But she had them pursed tightly together, her anger still evident.

   The hands that clasped her forearms gentled, his thumbs in total disagreement with his head as they began to trace loose circles on her tender skin.

   She stilled beneath him. The struggle eased out of her in one slow breath. Simon inhaled deeply, enjoying the floral smell of her, the
Lily smell of her. His nose took
a path down the side of her neck and back up to her hair.

   "Your Grace?" she asked.

   "Yes, love," he said, distracted by her to the point where all reality ceased to exist.

   "You can let me go now," she said quietly.

   "In just a moment."

   Simon released her right arm so that he could bring his hand up to her face. "So beautiful," he said, unable to keep from smiling at her. She surprised him when she smiled back and used that free hand to clutch his forearm.

   With that simple acquiescence, Simon allowed himself to touch his lips to her forehead. Then her temple. The corner of her eye. Her cheek.

   Simon pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth, lingering, his kiss much softer than he'd ever thought possible.

   Lily inhaled quickly beneath him. Her heartbeat sped up; he could hear it thumping in her chest. The soft scent of her breath tickled his nose. But more than just her scent titillated him. He smelled her
desire
. And that was when he lost control.

   Simon pressed his lips against hers, immediately lost to the sensation. She tentatively pressed back. If she'd been kissed before, it wasn't by anyone who'd taught her how to do it. Just the thought of another man kissing her raised his hackles. He wanted to own her.

   "You have never been kissed?" He lifted his mouth long enough to whisper the words.

   "Of course I have," she said saucily.

   "Liar," he growled before his lips met hers again.

   He deepened the kiss, finding her lips soft, warm, and willing beneath his. His tongue flicked out to touch her lips. She gasped, and he seized the opportunity to enter her mouth. Just that one act, his tongue entering her warm depths, and he knew he had to be closer to her.

   Simon raised himself off her quickly, the cold brush of air when her body separated from his momentarily jarring. He stretched out above her, spreading her legs with one of his. The tangle of her skirts prevented more, but he was content for the moment with what he had.

   She surprised him when she raised her head to meet his next kiss. Her lips touched his of their own free will. He rejoiced. Her mouth opened of its own accord. He reveled in the sensation. Tilting his head, he aimed to consume her. His tongue slid into her mouth, his hands coming up to hold her face. Both of her hands were now free, and she used them to grasp his forearms, then his chest. She held tightly to the lapels of his jacket and pulled him closer.

   Closer. Yes. He wanted to be closer. And closer. And closer still. He moved the leg that was situated so nicely between hers, anxious to seat more of himself in that spot. His knee brushed her thigh, and she opened to him, all the while their tongues tangling in a sensuous circle.

   Simon pressed himself against her, letting her feel the length of him against her hip. Immediately, her hand traveled down his chest, her nails raking his skin through the fine lawn of his shirt. He nearly swore because it was so delightful. Pleasure. Pain. Lily.

   A knock at the door broke Simon from his trance. Will barreled through the door. "Simon, the doctor—" he began. "Well!" He cleared his throat. Turning on his heel, Will faced away from the pair. "Simon, whenever you're finished mauling Lily, the doctor would like to take a look at her."

   Simon heard the door click shut. His gaze moved to the open window, where he saw that the sun was about to set in the sky. "Bloody hell," he bit out before he extricated his knee from between Lily's legs and eased himself off her body. He stood up, righted his clothes, shifted the most painful erection of his life, and tried not to look at her as he quit the room.

   He was a goddamned fool.

   She couldn't quite understand what had come over her. She'd never done anything so wanton in her life, but she couldn't help herself. She'd been completely powerless to do anything except submit to him.

   Her face heated, and she cringed. What must he think of her?

   There was a knock at the door, and then it opened. A portly old man bustled inside, smiling brightly. "I'm Dr. Albright, Your Grace. I understand you've been injured."

   Your Grace, indeed! How would anyone ever get used to such a thing? Not that she needed to, since the title was only temporary.

   The doctor frowned, waiting for her to reply. So Lily nodded. "It's just a bump. Truly, too much has been made of it." It was certainly the least of her concerns at the moment.

   Had she really just lain in bed with the Duke of Blackmoor? Run her hands along his body, while he pressed her into the mattress? No matter everyone in this establishment thought she was his wife; she wasn't, and it was a foolish thing to have done.

   "Ah, well," the man began, pulling a chair up to the side of the bed, unaware of her inner turmoil. "Let me be the judge of that, shall we?"

   He gently prodded the bump above her hairline.

   "Your Grace, you should remove your pins, so I can have a better look."

   "Oh?" Lily hadn't thought her mussed chignon would be a hindrance. She sat up slowly and pulled a handful of pins from her hair, allowing her tresses to tumble to her shoulders.

   "That's better," the doctor said. Then he ran his fingers over the bump, making little sounds to himself. "There's just a bit of blood." He walked across the room and poured some water into a small bowl.

   He returned to the chair, dipped a cloth into the water, and pressed it against her injury. "Have you been experiencing headaches, ringing in your ears, or dizziness?"

   Lily frowned. "A little dizziness. Mainly it just feels like it's throbbing."

   Dr. Albright removed the cloth and applied a bit of ointment to her wound. "I'd say that's fairly common for someone who overturned in a coach, Your Grace. You're quite fortunate. I've seen much worse injuries."

   So had Lily. "My sister died in a coaching accident." If something had happened to her, Oliver would be alone again. The sudden thought made her heart lurch.

   He wouldn't be completely alone. He'd have Blackmoor. Though Lily wasn't certain that was good at all.

   Just then, the door quietly opened and William Westfield poked his head inside. "May I come in, Lily?"

   She wished he wouldn't. She wished she never had to lay eyes on him again after what he'd witnessed earlier between herself and the duke, not that she could voice that opinion. Lily nodded. "Of course, Will."

   He stepped inside, looking much more serious than he had the entire day. "So, Doc, what's the verdict? Will my sister live?"

   Dr. Albright nodded and then rose from his seat. "Yes, she'll be just fine. But I am going to give her a sleeping draught to get her through the night."

   "Splendid," Will said. "I'm sure my brother will be relieved. See me before you leave, Doctor, for your payment." Then he looked at Lily, a frown marring his handsome face. "Sleep well, all right, dear?"

Will wasn't at all surprised to find Simon sitting alone at a far table in the taproom. That was understandable. That was Simon.

   Finding him earlier, stretched out across Lily Rutledge, looking like he was going to take her… Well, that had been a surprise. Not that Simon was a saint. He was far from it, as were he and Benjamin; but as a rule, none of them dallied with innocent misses. The strictest rulefollower of the pack was Simon.

   For a moment, Will felt a twinge of guilt for so mercilessly hounding his brother all day. But only for a moment. He'd enjoyed himself immensely and, had the tables been turned, he was certain Simon would have done the same. Benjamin would have been even worse. He shrugged off the feeling.

   However, watching his brother nurse a glass of whisky, looking more miserable than he had in the past six years, Will felt his enjoyment of the situation fade.

   He crossed the room in just a few strides and fell into the seat across from Simon. "Bit early to be so deep in your cups, don't you think?"

   "Bugger off," his brother snarled.

   Will smiled. He deserved that after all he'd put Simon through today. "Brilliant suggestion. Though I think I'll wait for Molly."

   Simon glanced up from his glass, frowning. "Who?"

   Will gestured at the buxom barmaid across the room. "Molly. Pretty little thing, isn't she?" He winked at her, and she waved back.

   "For God's sake, Will, it's too close—"

   "—to the full moon," Will finished. "Yes, I know. That didn't seem to stop you earlier with Lily Rutledge."

   Simon groaned and took another sip of his drink. "I don't know what's come over me."

   It had looked, to Will, as though Simon had come over Lily Rutledge, but he chose to keep that thought to himself. He didn't particularly care to have a whisky bottle smashed over his head. "Well, it's obvious you have some feelings for the girl."

   "I'm a goddamn fool." Simon downed what was left of his glass.

   "So Ben's been telling me for years." Will grinned. "But, honestly, Simon, do you think getting properly foxed is going to change all that…" He pointed to the staircase that led to the sleeping rooms.

   "I'm hoping it will help me forget."

   "That is a good plan." Will nodded understandingly. "And in your position, I'd probably do the same thing."

   Simon grunted in agreement.

   "The only problem with it," Will continued, "is I don't think
Miss Rutledge
is likely to forget."

   A truly tortured look marred Simon's brow. "Oh, God, Lily. I'll have to talk to her."

   He started to rise, but Will grabbed his arm, pushing him back in his seat. "Yes, but not tonight." He'd never seen Simon so troubled. It was probably best for his brother to get a good night's sleep. "The doctor gave her a sleeping draught. She won't wake 'til morning."

   Will waited until Simon seemed more in control before adding, "She's not some tavern wench or merry widow, Simon."

   "Don't you think I know that?" his brother grumbled.

   Will sighed. "I think you need to think about what that means. Go for a walk. Clear your head, for God's sake. You're going to need it in the morning."

   Simon shook his head. "She deserves someone better than me."

   Will couldn't help but smile. "True, but she'd probably settle for you anyway."

Simon sneaked into Lily's room after daybreak, when the moon had fallen in the sky and the sun was rising to take its place. He watched her sleep somewhat fitfully under the effects of the sleeping draught, but beautifully, nonetheless.

   She had removed the pins from her hair the night before, and her auburn locks spread like a fan across her pillow. She lay on her back, still in her serviceable traveling gown, with a thin counterpane spread over her. He wanted nothing more than to peel back the covering and lay beside her. He wouldn't even have to touch her. He just wanted to feel her close to him.

   She stirred in her sleep, her hand jumping on the pillow beside her face as she clenched her fist. Probably thinking about wringing his neck for the way he'd mauled her the day before. He deserved no less. He'd treated her terribly, like she was a common whore with whom he could toy and then never see again.

   But, oh, he definitely wanted to see Lily again. He wanted it more than the next breath he would take. He settled into a chair, which was not nearly big enough for his size, and stretched out his body. He wished he had an injury so he'd have an excuse to take some of Lily's sleeping draught and escape from it all. But men like him didn't suffer injury. Sure, they aged, but they healed quickly, even if they did happen to find an adversary large enough to wound them.

   Finally, after he relaxed to the cadence of her breaths, he slept.

Lily blinked. Bright morning light poured in through the windows. She was groggy, the sleeping draught apparently still in her system. She strained to sit up. That's when she noticed him. Simon Westfield slept slumped in a wooden chair, much too small for him, with his legs kicked up on the edge of her bed.

   Why had he slept in
this
room? Certainly there was some place else he could have stayed. Even under the ruse of playing her husband, she hadn't expected him to share her room.

   Her movement must have woken him because his head shot up and his eyes flew open. "How are you feeling?" he asked, scratching the dark whiskers along his jaw.

   Tired, sore, and… foolish. "Um, fine. You?"

   He drew his legs from the edge of her bed and rose from his seat. The frown she'd grown so accustomed to over the last day was once again in place. "Miss Rutledge, er—Lily." He cleared his throat and began to pace around the small room. "I spent half the night thinking about your predicament."

   It was about time. Lily smiled at him, relieved he wasn't the beast she'd thought for so long. "I do hope, once you see Oliver, you'll have some idea what to do. I didn't know who else to turn to, and—"