by Lydia Dare
But she wasn’t willing to concede quite so quickly. She wanted to know what he was hiding from her. Something was going on between him and Oliver. She knew it.
When they finally stopped, Simon jumped from the coach and held out his hand to her. He showed an abnormal level of detachment when he simply took her hand in his, rather than taking her hand and caressing it or teasing her unmercifully as she’d become accustomed.
“Something bothering you?” she asked him as they stepped toward the inn. Perhaps he was feeling guilty for keeping her in the dark.
He simply smiled politely. “Not a thing. You?” He didn’t allow his gaze to stroll up and down her body. Nor did he stroke her with the timbre of his voice, the way he normally did. He put a hand at her back to guide her through the door. But that was where his familiarity ended.
As soon as they turned the corner into the taproom, Lily heard the squeal. It was an unexpected noise, the noise of a child opening presents on her birthday. Yet it came from a woman who was obviously more than a child. Flaxen curls framed her lovely face. Cherubic cheeks rested under the bluest eyes Lily had even seen. The woman was curvy and wore a sinful smile.
Simon stepped away from Lily and toward the woman, who raised her hand to place it in his. He smoothly lifted it to his lips. Lily could not believe he actually kissed that woman’s skin.
She fought the red haze that clouded her vision. She stepped closer to Simon and touched his arm. “Introduce me to your friend, dear,” she said, smiling sweetly, though anger rolled through her in waves.
The woman looked at Simon as though he was her own personal savior.
“Lily, this is Mrs. Hamilton.” The woman looked up and down Lily’s frame and obviously found it lacking, as she scrunched up her nose in distaste.
Of course, Mrs. Hamilton was petite with large breasts and a pixy nose. She was every man’s dream, everything Lily was not.
Mrs. Hamilton, Mrs. Hamilton. Lily wracked her memory trying to recall where she’d heard the woman’s name. Then it hit her, and she nearly fell to the floor as she realized Mrs. Hamilton was the not-so-discreet widow Simon had been linked to in the Mayfair Society Paper. Her husband hadn’t even been gone a month before she started catching the attention of every gossip in London with her scandalous affair with the even more scandalous Duke of Blackmoor.
Mrs. Hamilton had the nerve to touch Simon before she asked, “And who is this, Your Grace? Your sister?”
Teresa Hamilton knew perfectly well that he had no sister. The randy widow knew much more about him than that, including the fact that he had a mole on his inner right thigh and a scar on the inside of his left arm. But Simon could see his former paramour’s desire to hurt Lily brewing behind her infinite charm. He’d never thought of Teresa as catty before.
“Mrs. Hamilton, this is my wife—Her Grace, the Duchess of Blackmoor,” he said, feeling an overwhelming need to protect his darling Lily.
The color drained from Teresa’s face. Perhaps, Simon thought, he should have lessened the blow somehow. Teresa had angled for the position herself, after all. He smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “What brings you to Hampshire, Teresa?”
The buxom blond pulled her eyes away from Lily to stare daggers at him instead. “I was headed to Westfield Hall at your invitation, Simon.”
Oh. He’d forgotten that he’d asked Teresa to visit him. After Lily stormed into his life, everything that happened before her seemed to vanish from his mind. Simon wondered what else he’d failed to remember in the last fortnight.
Lily’s nails dug into the skin on his forearm, where she still held onto him, bringing his attention back to her. She was definitely going to leave a mark. Thank goodness he healed quickly.
Simon pried Lily’s fingers from his arm. “Love, give me a minute, will you?”
Her hazel eyes glared at him, and he had a sinking suspicion that his wedding night was going from bad to worse. Still, it wouldn’t do to have Lily overhear his conversation with Teresa. It couldn’t get any worse than that. “Lily?” he patiently asked again.
His irritated wife took a staggering breath, then quietly turned on her heel and stormed back out to the coaching yard. That did not bode well for him. He’d never known Lily not to say anything.
Simon shook his head. He’d have to buy her something nice to make up for it. In the meantime, dealing with Teresa was a necessity. He gestured to a small wooden table on the other side of the taproom. “Ale?” he asked her. Teresa was always more accommodating after she had a few drinks.
Teresa shook her head.
Well, it had been worth a try. Simon started toward the table himself and waited for her to follow him. It only took a second for her to fall in a half-step behind.
“Since when do you have a wife?” she hissed.
Simon held out a chair for her and waited until she sat. Then he walked to the other side of the table and sank into a seat across from her, so he could keep an eye on the door. “Since today,” he informed her. “I should have sent word, Teresa. I am sorry.”
Her pretty mouth fell open. “Sorry! Simon, I’m just a few hours away from reaching your doorstep. How would that have looked?”
Rather bad, he thought with a sigh. “I forgot you were coming, Teresa.”
Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, as her spine straightened and she pinned him with a furious glare. “How very charming.”
“I just mean that life has been rather complicated since Lily and…”
“Oh?” Her voice raised an octave. “Do tell, Your Grace,” she sneered. “As you were in my bed the night before you left London, I am dying to hear about Lily. Why did you never mention her? You led me to believe that I—”
Simon held up his hand to stop her onslaught. “I never did.”
“You said you wouldn’t ever marry,” she spat the words at him.
He had said that. Many times over. Though it never stopped her from trying to wriggle a proposal out of him in the most intimate of moments. “And you never believed me.”
She slid her seat back from the table, scraping it along the floor. “And all this time you had that… that… Lily,” she fumed.
Simon winced. This really could be going better. “Teresa, it wasn’t like that. What we had together was quite enjoyable and—”
“What we had together.” Teresa leaned forward, giving him quite the view of her charms. Reflexively, his gaze lowered to her cleavage, though he was surprised to find it didn’t have the effect it used to. “I hope you don’t mean it’s over. Is that what you’re trying to say, Simon?”
Yes, but apparently he was doing a very poor job of it. “Teresa, I’m married now.”
“And I was married when you seduced me. So I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
Teresa had a point. She had been well and truly married to her husband when he’d invited her to visit with him. But she’d readily accepted. He hadn’t even had to work to sway her decision. That conquest was easily won.
At that moment, Lily reentered the taproom, and Simon leapt back to his feet. “It has everything to do with everything, Teresa. We need to keep our distance.”
“Distance?” she whispered vehemently. Her eyes narrowed on him. She smiled a vindictive little smile, which should have been his first clue that she was up to no good. She held out her hand to him. As he clasped her fingers in his, he felt the hard, cold metal of her room key pressed into his palm. He nearly hung his head in defeat.
On the other side of the room, Lily folded her arms across her chest. There was no easy way to return the key to Teresa without Lily noticing.
“I had planned to stay the night and come to you tomorrow,” Teresa said quietly. “But you’re a smart man. You can find a way to come to me,” she breathed, before she turned on her heel and walked away.
Simon swallowed hard and pocketed the key, unsure how he was going to explain any of this to his wife, and still he had to find that irritant Oliver. He
started toward the innkeeper. Before he and Lily returned to his coach, they needed sustenance.
The door to their private dining room closed, and Lily stared across the room at her husband. For the first time ever, he looked a bit nervous.
Simon shrugged out of his coat and draped it over a nearby chair. Lily allowed him to pull her seat out before she dropped daintily into it, and he sat across from her.
“Lily, I can explain,” he started, as he closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, his elbows resting on the table between them.
“Explain what, Simon?” She lifted her wine glass to her mouth and took a sip. She fought for control. And lost.
Simon began to speak, but she cut him off. “Explain how you married me when you already had a woman traveling from London to come and spend time with you. Alone. It’s fairly obvious what kind of relationship you had.”
“That was before,” he started.
Lily fought the urge to bury her head in her hands and cry. Instead, she allowed the anger that roiled just below the surface to overflow. She stood up to face him. He rose from his seat quickly as she approached. Even with her height, he still towered above her.
“I never asked to be married,” she said quietly, tilting her head back to look into his eyes. She poked her finger into his chest. “I never asked to be ruined,” she continued, jabbing once again with her finger, her voice rising in anger.
He reached to take her hand, but she jerked it from his grasp.
“I never asked for you to make love to me,” her voice cracked on those last few words, and she turned away from him to wipe the tear that fell down her cheek.
“Lily,” he said.
She spun quickly to face him. “Don’t ‘Lily’ me, Simon. The only thing I asked was for you to help me with Oliver. And that’s the only thing I didn’t get.” She began to tick items off on her fingers. “I was ruined. I was forced to marry. I was made love to.” That one was certainly a lie. “But, in all of that, I never did get the one thing I wanted. And that was help for Oliver,” she said again.
Lily turned her back on him. He pressed a hand to her shoulder. She shrugged him off. “Perhaps you should ask for the carriage to be prepared. I am ready to leave.”
Without a word, he turned and stepped out of the dining room. The door closed quietly behind him.
Then, and only then, did she allow herself to collapse. She sank into his chair and dropped her head in her hands. She was much too proud to sob, but she did brush a tear or two from her face.
Lily berated herself for falling so completely and totally under his spell. He had never really guaranteed faithfulness. So, wishing he would be loyal was her first mistake. The second mistake was falling in love with him, when it was so obvious he didn’t return the sentiment. Lily reached into Simon’s pocket and tugged the handkerchief she knew he’d have there. She flipped it open to wipe her nose and try to compose herself before he returned.
But when she opened the piece of fabric, a metallic clank sounded against the wooden floor. Lily looked down to find a metal key. She picked it up and turned it over in her hand. They hadn’t planned to stay the night. Why would he have a key? Then it hit her. Teresa Hamilton? Simon wouldn’t dare. Would he?
Thirty
SIMON TOOK THE STAIRS TWO AT A TIME. HE’D ALREADY informed his coachman that they needed to depart sooner than planned. But he needed to take care of one more task before they could leave. He had to tell Teresa that he was well and truly married, and quite happy at that. Lily was all he wanted, and he couldn’t imagine that changing any time soon.
When Lily had nearly cried in front of him, all he’d wanted to do was sweep her into his arms and hold her close to him while he soothed away all of her worries. But he needed to dispense with Teresa before he could do that.
Simon knocked softly on Teresa’s door. He turned the knob and stepped inside when she called, “Come in.” Unfortunately, he didn’t realize until he’d already stepped through the door that she was in a state of undress. She stood beside the bed wearing nothing more than a silk nightrail. He’d seen it before. He’d even bought it for her.
It was bright red with black lace, and it hugged every curve of her body. Her breasts threatened to tumble from the top. The slit up the thigh showed a good portion of her leg. Simon turned his head away quickly.
“Teresa, we need to talk,” he started, still looking away from her body.
“I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away for long,” she said. Simon couldn’t fathom how her voice had once delighted him. Now it reminded him of a screeching crow.
“Actually, that’s not why I’m here,” he tried to begin again.
“Did you put your mousy little wife to bed?” she asked, tossing her hair over her shoulder.
“Lily’s not mousy,” he shot back, instantly feeling the need to defend her. He’d never had that urge before. “Actually, she’s quite fabulous.” He couldn’t contain the small smile that erupted.
Teresa sat down on the edge of the bed. She raised one knee to the side, in a pose that he’d seen more than once. While it appeared to be one of mere comfort, he knew she had practiced it with more men than just him. She raised her arms above her head to fluff her hair, outlining her breasts. He instantly felt pity for her, because she couldn’t compare to his Lily. She didn’t stir him in the least.
“I am quite devoted, and plan to stay devoted, to my wife,” he began. She stood up and walked slowly across the room toward him. She wore a devious smile that immediately angered him. Funny that she’d never elicited any other emotion in him, aside from lust.
Teresa reached up to cup his face in her hand. He captured her wrist but, before he could pull her hand away, the doorknob turned.
Lily wanted to turn and run screaming from the building. But her feet refused to move. She should have known better than to go looking for a confrontation. She should have just picked up her belongings, gotten in the coach, and continued on to Essex, to Oliver.
There Simon stood, just inside the room, with Mrs. Hamilton’s hand cupping his face. She was in barely anything, looking perfectly sinful with her hair hanging about her shoulders. And there was Simon—right where she’d hoped he wouldn’t be.
Lily glanced from his face to hers. Teresa Hamilton wore a look of supreme satisfaction. She’d won.
Lily quietly and purposefully laid the key on the bureau and left the room. Her legs moved like there were leaden weights attached, heavy and cumbersome. She forced her feet to lift, one after the other, until she reached the lower level. With all the dignity she could muster, she crossed the room, moving toward the door.
But then she heard his voice call to her. “Lily,” was all he said. She ignored him. So, he said it louder. He reached her in three strides.
“Keep your voice down, Simon. Everyone will hear you,” she hissed.
“Darling.” He smiled that sinister smile at her. “I am the Duke of Blackmoor. No one expects me to behave well.”
He said it loudly enough that a snicker erupted from a nearby table. Would her mortification never end?
To make matters worse, he grabbed her forcefully and pulled her body close to his. She felt his hardness pressed against her hip. How dare he get aroused by that woman and then come to her?
“Let. Me. Go,” she cried, pushing against his chest. Scene be damned. She would not allow him to misuse her.
He grabbed her chin and turned her head toward him. “Never,” he said, just before he scooped her up in his arms.
“Simon,” she cried, struggling in his grip. But it was useless. He was much stronger than she. The innkeeper rushed to open the door so he could carry her through it. She fought him all the way to the coach, until he tossed her inside and turned to take a basket of food and his coat from the innkeeper. He climbed inside and slammed the door.
But before she could even adjust herself in the seat, he picked her up and placed her in his lap, wrapping both arms around her.
She instantly stilled. And her traitorous body responded to his tone. To his arms around her. To his hardness pressed against her bottom.
“That’s what I thought.”
She wanted to hit him.
“I can’t believe you did that,” she bit out, trying to stand and move to her own seat. He refused to allow her to retreat, tightening his arms.
“Did what?” he smiled, his white teeth flashing in the darkness.
“I can’t believe you made a scene like that,” she replied, crossing her arms under her breasts. The coach moved off, heading toward Essex, she assumed.
“I already told you, I am the Duke—”
She didn’t allow him to finish. “Of Blackmoor,” she mocked his tone. “And I don’t care what anyone thinks or how disgraceful my behavior is,” she finished.
“Stop it, Lily.”
“Let me up, Simon,” she said, once more trying to rise from his lap.
“Not on your life,” he sneered. “In fact, I told you that if you didn’t stop squirming, I would do more than just hold you on my lap.” He arched an eyebrow at her.
Drat. She stopped moving. “Don’t even think you will do a thing with me after being with that woman,” she said.
“I didn’t do anything with that woman,” he said as his hand stroked up and down her arm. Her traitorous nipples peaked in response. “I went to tell her that my wife is the only one I want.”
“You’re a poor liar,” she said without looking at him.
“No. I am a wonderful liar. I have had years of practice. But I am telling the truth.” He caught her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him. “I never had a reason to tell the truth before. But I am telling you now that you need to trust me. You have to give me a chance.”
Lily sniffed. “Then why was she touching you?” She knew she sounded like a petulant child, but she couldn’t help it.
“Because she wanted me,” he stated blandly.