by Lydia Dare
Erebus! Simon winced. The gelding was one of the wildest in his stables. He'd like to berate the groom on the spot for giving the unruly beast to the boy, but he didn't want to alert Lily to the danger. She was worried enough as it was.
"How long ago did he leave, Dorn?"
The groom shuffled his feet, looking at the ground. "A couple o' hours. I was just startin' to get worried about the lad."
Simon made a note to have a long conversation with Dorn once he returned to Westfield Hall. In the meantime, he gestured toward the main road. "Prepare Abbadon," he commanded.
The groom nodded at the same time Lily called after him, "And a mount for me as well."
Simon's eyes shot toward his wife, and he shook his head. "Lily love, I'll find the lad and bring him home."
She furrowed her pretty brow. "I have to be there, Simon. I have to know why he would do this."
"And those questions will be answered when I return with Maberley." He had a few things to say to the young pup first, things Lily didn't need to hear.
With a stubborn tilt of her head, Lily glared at him, her hazel eyes boring angry little holes into his skin. "Simon Westfield, I am going. And don't you even think about keeping me from it."
Simon heaved a sigh. At least he could use a coach ride to his advantage. Having Lily beneath him instead of Abbadon did have its merit. "All right, love. Dorn, ready the carriage instead."
Lily's frown deepened. "We can go faster on horseback."
Simon returned her scowl. He wasn't accustomed to someone challenging his every edict, and he didn't enjoy that one bit. "Lily, I am allowing you to go with me, but you'll follow my direction. I believe this very day you vowed to do that exact thing."
A blush pinkened her cheeks at his words, and, for a moment, Simon felt like a cad. But only for a moment.
Once they were under way, Simon put his arm around Lily's shoulders and pulled her to him. She sat stiffly against him, unyielding in her anger. Even the gentle rocking of the coach didn't relax her into his side.
He brushed a lock of hair from the side of her face. "You're beautiful even when you pout, you know?" he taunted her. She rose to the bait, as he'd expected. If there was one thing he was learning about Lily, it was that she didn't back down from a fight.
"I am
not
pouting," she said, following the comment with a harrumph noise. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. That only served to push them up where he could better see them. Simon found that he rather liked the display.
"Oh, yes, you are pouting," he said quietly, his lips touching her cheek briefly. He would tease her out of this mood if it was the last thing he ever did. "But I think it's quite attractive."
"I can't
believe
he let Oliver take off for God-onlyknows where. He's
twelve
, Simon. Twelve!" She scooted out from under his arm and across the seat to stare out the coach window.
"Believe me, love, when we return to Westfield Hall, Dorn and I will have a long chat. In the man's defense, he had no reason to think Oliver would bolt."
She sniffed and turned her attention to stare out the window.
"With luck, we'll find him before he even reaches Essex," Simon reminded her. Then she would have Oliver back clinging to her skirts, which was exactly where
he
wanted to be, except he preferred to be under them.
"I just don't understand why he thinks so poorly of you. Is there something I don't understand? Did you hurt him in the breakfast room the other day? Or in one of your heated exchanges?"
Not in the slightest. Oliver was just as tough as any other Lycan. The boy wasn't even afraid of him.
Simon frowned. He didn't need Lily to distrust him. "If anyone should be angry, Lily, it's me," he said, changing tactics.
She gasped and swung her gaze to him. "And what reason, please tell me, could
you
possibly have for being angry?"
"Don't you think the fact that my wife is sitting as far from me as she possibly can is enough? I hadn't planned to spend my wedding night in exile. I had planned to spend it wrapped up… in… you."
She flushed at his comment, just as he'd hoped. Having her once wasn't nearly enough.
Yet she still put her nose in the air and turned back to the window. If that pup ruined his chances of staying in Lily's good graces, he would make him sleep with the hounds.
***
Lily watched the Hampshire countryside pass by her window. With the way Simon was looking at her, it was really quite difficult to stay angry with him. He settled deeper into his seat and looked at her, his eyes half-closed. Lily's heart jumped when he licked his lips.
"Come here," he said quietly.
Oh, dear.
"No," she answered, fully aware that her voice cracked. She hated her traitorous reflexes for responding to him.
"I didn't
ask
you." He crooked a finger at her. "Come here."
With a conscious effort, she turned to look out the window again. But then she felt the brush of his hand against the side of her breast. She closed her eyes and sighed, unable to deny how pleasurable the sensation was.
"Your body wants me," he taunted her.
"Well, of course it does," she sighed.
"Yet you want to deny it."
"Yes, I do." She very nearly caught a smile erupting. But pushed it back.
"I think I'll let you sit there and simmer," he said as he placed his hands in his lap.
She immediately felt the loss. She narrowed her eyes at him. "Why would you do that?"
"Because I'm going to wait. Until you ask me for it." He smiled a greedy little smile. "Or until we reach the next coaching inn. Whichever comes first."
Twenty-Nine
Lily could barely wait for the next coaching inn. She felt like a violin that had been strung too tightly. She had been worried that Oliver was in danger nearly the entire day. But now she was worried that she would simply erupt if Simon didn't touch her some time soon. When he'd said "come here," she'd nearly climbed into his lap and begged him to take her.
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 halfstep 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 re-entered 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, Simo
n. 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."