by Lydia Dare
She felt a breeze stir around her calves and reached to adjust her skirts.
Blackmoor brushed her hands away and accomplished the task himself. Heaven forbid that she should show a bit of leg around these men. Though she had to admit she rather enjoyed having the duke arrange her clothing.
Five
SIMON HAD TO ADMIT HE RATHER LIKED ARRANGING Lily’s skirts, though he would much rather remove them all together. He was content to see the turn of her ankle and a slim calf, but he wasn’t particularly happy that Will was able to enjoy the same sight. Simon bared his teeth at his brother before the insolent pup smiled and dutifully turned his head.
“We need to reach the next village before dark,” Simon said.
“Haslemere is just a few miles up the road,” the coachman informed them. “It’s fairly good-sized, so there’s got to be someone in a coaching yard who can fix this up with plenty of time to spare.”
Plenty of time to Jenkins and plenty of time to Simon meant two very different things. Even if they found a fellow to repair the axle as soon as they reached the village, when they returned, it would be too late for them to continue on this day. Lily couldn’t ride in a carriage with him or Will after dark.
During the daylight hours, he could honestly say he was more aware of her injury than her body. He had the beast firmly under control—for the time being, though he wasn’t so sure how long he could maintain his composure after the sun went down.
“I think that’s a good idea,” Will agreed good-naturedly. “We’ll send someone back for you, Jenkins.”
His brother nudged his gelding forward, and Abbadon dutifully followed. Simon noticed Lily wince from being jostled on the horse, though she didn’t utter a complaint. He sighed.
“Will!” he called. When his brother pulled up on his reins, Simon gestured toward the road in front of them. “Your speed isn’t conducive to Miss Rutledge’s injury. Go on ahead, and find someone to fix the axle. We’ll follow at a more leisurely pace.”
“Whatever you say, Simon.” Will had the audacity to wink at him.
Simon glowered at his brother. “And we’re going to need rooms at the inn. See if you can’t get the innkeeper to track down the local doctor before we arrive.”
“Anything else, Your Grace?” Will raised one eyebrow at him.
Simon wasn’t sorry at all for his tone. Being alone with Lily while her body was pressed against his would be some of the hardest work he’d ever done. No reason why Will shouldn’t have a few chores of his own.
Lily stirred in his arms and looked up at him. “Shouldn’t we see if the coach can be fixed first, Your Grace? It’s not that much farther to Westfield Hall, is it?”
It might as well be on the other side of the Atlantic, for all the good it did them. They’d never make it in time. He shook his head. “It’s too dangerous to travel these roads at night, Miss Rutledge. We’ll stay in Haslemere.”
Will chuckled. “My brother thinks everything is too dangerous.”
“Be off, you dog,” Simon ordered.
Will smiled at Lily. “His bite is much worse than his bark, my dear. Keep that in mind.”
“William!” he roared.
Will tipped his hat, then pressed his heels to the side of his gelding, and raced down the road.
Simon was surprised when Lily laughed against his chest, her warm hazel eyes twinkling in the fading light. Having her close, smiling at him, made him wish for things that could never be. A pang of regret pierced his heart, and he urged Abbadon on. “What could you possibly find amusing, Miss Rutledge?”
“The two of you. Emma and I used to bicker like that… Well, not exactly like that, but close enough.”
“He’s infuriating,” Simon huffed.
“You’re very close,” she said. “It’s easy to see you adore each other.”
“We’re connected,” he amended.
Lily rested her head against his heart and closed her eyes, an endearing smile lighting her face. For a moment, Simon thought he could stare at her for hours, for days, and never tire of the sight. Then he snorted and shook his head. When had he become a fool?
Lily’s brow furrowed as she opened her eyes and lifted her head. “Are you feeling all right, Your Grace?”
Simon nodded. “I’ve never felt better,” he lied.
Lily’s frown deepened. “Are you certain? Your heart is racing, and you’re nearly burning up through your shirt.”
He and his brothers were warmer than most other men. By the time most women realized it, they were too caught up in the passion of the moment to mention it. No one had commented about the beating of his heart, however. Perhaps it was because she was sitting across his lap. Or perhaps it was simply something no one had ever noticed before.
Lily gently cupped his jaw and then pulled her hand back as if she had been burned. “You are feverish, Your Grace.”
“It’s nothing to concern yourself with, Miss Rutledge.”
“I can’t even believe you can stand up, let alone ride.”
Simon heaved a sigh. She was persistent. “You have a terrible habit of not listening to me. I’m neither injured nor ill. Now let it be.”
She pursed her lips, and Simon wished he didn’t imagine kissing them. Ignoring Lily Rutledge would be easier if her every gesture wasn’t innocently seductive. She had no idea the precarious position she’d put herself into with him.
Why hadn’t she married some country squire or local vicar or… someone respectable? Her mere existence tempted him to do things he knew he shouldn’t. He couldn’t be the only man to find her so… intoxicating. Firmly on the shelf, she’d said. It was ridiculous.
Lily Rutledge should be somewhere in Essex raising a brood of children and tending to some decent man’s needs. Not draped across him in the middle of nowhere, making him want things he couldn’t have.
“You are very grumpy,” she said quietly. “Are you certain you’re not ill?”
Simon ignored her. He didn’t need someone worrying about him and trying to coddle him. Besides, answering her hadn’t done him any good up to this point. She kept asking the same questions, unsatisfied with his responses, and he could never tell her the truth. But he had to admit he did enjoy her attention, no matter how poorly advised it was.
Lily sighed a breath of relief when she spotted Haslemere in the distance. Blackmoor had stopped talking some way back, and her head throbbed. Every time she adjusted her seat, trying to get comfortable, the duke either flinched or grunted. He would tense, and then it took moments for him to relax again.
Her thoughts went back to Oliver. She hadn’t planned to be away from Maberley Hall for so long. Hopefully, he was all right. What would he think when Blackmoor’s servant arrived to transport him to Hampshire? And why was the duke so adamant about bringing Oliver to his estate?
Lily looked up at Blackmoor to ask him. The question died on her lips, however, when she noticed the intensity of his stare, which was focused on her. She nearly lost her breath.
“We’re here,” he said, his voice low and gravely.
Lily shook her head, bringing herself back to the present, but the motion caused the throbbing pain to reoccur. Sure enough, they were in front of a quaint inn, two stories tall with a good-sized stable.
Lord William strode toward them, his dark hair windblown and a charming grin on his face. “Ah, there you are. I was starting to think my brother had absconded with you.”
Lily smiled. What a ridiculous thing to say. “He’s been ignoring me for years, Lord William. I hardly think he wants anything to do with me at all.”
“I would beg to differ on that point, Miss Rutledge,” Lord William said as he walked closer to the duke’s mount.
Blackmoor growled.
His brother clasped his hand to his chest, feigning insult. “Lord William? My dear Miss Rutledge, we are practically family. Call me Will.”
Behind her, Blackmoor grumbled something unintelligible.
His b
rother roared with laughter. “So charming, Simon.” He lifted Lily from the horse and placed her on the ground, offering his arm. “Come on, my dear. Dr. Albright will be along shortly. I do hope you’ll let me call you Lily.”
She didn’t have much of a choice, not that she was fussy about that sort of thing. She nodded. “Of course.”
“Brilliant,” Will gushed, escorting her into the taproom, which was much brighter than the frightening establishment they’d been to earlier.
A bosomy barmaid rushed to Lily. “Oh, you poor dear, his lordship said you’d been injured.”
“Indeed,” Will said with a frown. “Do you have Her Grace’s room prepared, Molly?”
Her Grace!
Lily took a surprised step back. A strong hand squeezed her shoulder, and Lily turned her head to see Blackmoor behind her, a deadly frown on his face. “I would like for my wife to lie down until your doctor arrives.”
Lily’s head began to pound, and she thought she might faint. Apparently Blackmoor did, too. Before she knew it, the duke had scooped her up in his arms. What was it with these men who felt the need to lift and carry her from place to place?
“Right this way, Your Grace,” the bosomy girl said in a panic.
Blackmoor carried Lily up a flight of stairs at the back of the taproom, depositing her in the middle of a small bed. He waited until the tavern wench shut the door before sitting on the edge of the bed beside her.
Lily gaped at him. “What was that about?”
The duke shook his head. “I do wish Will had warned us, but he is right. It wouldn’t do for someone to know that an unmarried lady traveled with the two of us. This is for your own good.”
“My reputation?” Lily closed her eyes, wishing the pounding in her head would subside. There were so many more important things to worry about. Like the fact that he was sitting on the end of her bed, with the door closed.
“Yes, your reputation.”
Either she was slightly addled from the knock on the head or he thought she was an idiot. She wasn’t sure which.
“Surely you can do more than just repeat what I say,” she said as he fluffed a pillow and placed it under her head, urging her to lie down. She batted his hands away.
Blackmoor scowled at her. “If it was found that you traveled unescorted with us by coach, tongues would wag and you would have to marry one of us.”
“Twenty-three years and no one has ever offered for me, so it might be quite a novel experience. One I would have to turn down, of course.”
She had to admit he looked quite dashing with his hair tumbled over his forehead. But the vee between his eyebrows was slightly unattractive.
“Your Grace, you’re looking at me as though I’ve sprung a second head.”
She didn’t expect it when he reached out to move a lock of hair from her eyes. His fingertips lingered at her temple before he turned his hand and brushed her cheek with the back of it, his knuckles trailing all the way down to her chin. “If no one has offered for you in twenty-three years, the loss is certainly theirs, Miss Rutledge. Not yours.”
She snorted. “The loss would be theirs, Your Grace. The lack of a dowry makes me a poor prospect for marriage.” She shrugged. “But I am quite happy with Oliver, taking care of him.”
“Speaking of that,” the duke began. “We’ll need to discuss his present living situation. I have decided that Oliver will come to live with me at Westfield Hall, at least for a short while.”
Lily sat up quickly. “Why on earth would you want to do that?” she exclaimed. She grabbed her head when the pounding started again.
“Stop that,” the duke rebuked her. “Lie down before you keel over.” He grasped her forearms, one in each hand, and pushed her back onto the bed.
He had to be the strongest man ever, because Lily found herself unable to fight him, no matter how much she wanted to do the opposite of what he instructed.
“Let. Me. Up.” She must have spent too much time in the duke’s company, because she heard the growl in her own voice. Perhaps surliness was contagious.
He leaned over her, his body mere inches from hers. “I will let you up when you promise to lie still, Miss Rutledge.”
“I will promise you nothing,” she said loudly.
“Then I’ll just have to hold you like this forever,” the duke replied.
Six
SIMON WASN’T SURE WHICH WAS WORSE, THAT MISS Rutledge was injured and needed to be restrained or that he was the cause of her agitation.
On second thought, Simon realized that he should have used a bit more tact when he apprised Miss Rutledge of his plans to foster Oliver, at least while the boy needed his guidance. Oliver was obviously important to her, so important that she still fought against his hold.
Or perhaps that was the woman’s temper coming to the surface. Despite her willowy frame, tall but thin, she was quite strong. Of course, not strong enough to move a man like him from atop her person.
Atop her person. Simon looked down at her. He was on top of Miss Rutledge, in a bedroom, with the door closed, his body hovering only inches above hers. When she struggled, he felt her body brush against his.
“Be still,” he tried a softer tone. He wanted to see her eyes open so he could enjoy the amber flakes close up. “Please?” he added. Miss Rutledge opened her eyes and looked at him, the anger merely simmering below the surface.
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 sh
e 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.
Lily bit back an oath of her own when Blackmoor stormed from the room without even glancing in her direction. She touched her lips, where his had just claimed hers so pleasantly, and shivered.
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.”