by Lydia Dare
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 still struggled against him. "Keep moving against me like that, and I'll toss your skirts up and take you right here," he said quietly.
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. "And, more than that, I imagine she didn't want you to have me."
"Your conceit knows no bounds."
"That scene was played badly, I admit. But I needed to tell her that things between us are over. And I did." His lips touched hers briefly.
He had the nerve to chuckle. "Really."
She moved in his lap again, turning toward him.
"That's it," he groaned. "Don't say I didn't warn you."
***
Simon's last thought was that if she wiggled in his arms one more time, he would have to take her. He would have to push her skirts up and pull her down on him. He would teach his little innocent about making love in a carriage.
Then she moved. And he had his opportunity. He lifted her from his lap only briefly, ignoring her gasp as he gathered her skirts in a ball around her hips and drew her down to straddle him. He let her skirts fall.
"This is highly improper," she sniffed, pulling away from him again. He tightened his hold on her bottom, pulling her forward to rock against his length.
"
That
is improper," he whispered just before his
lips touched her neck. She leaned into his kiss, so he immediately knew he had her interest. Yet she still had a point to prove, he assumed.
"Let me up, Simon," she whispered. Her hot breath blew across his ear.
"I'll let you up," he whispered as he reached beneath her to unfasten his trousers and pull himself free. He grasped her bottom and pulled her forward to ride the ridge of him. The dampness of her soaked him through her drawers.
He reached beneath her and tore them, moving the offending fabric out of the way so he could surge against her moist heat.
"Simon!" she shrieked when she heard the fabric tear.
"I'll buy new ones for you," he chuckled. "Or you can just go without so they'll never be in my way again."
Simon tugged her bodice until he could see the rigid peaks of her nipples.
"You do want me," he said as he took a peak into his mouth and began to tease the other with his fingertips.
"I don't want to," she cried, arching her back and threading her hands in his hair to keep him at her breasts.
"You don't want me to be inside you?" he asked, searching her face for the answer.
"No, I don't want to want you," she whispered, just before she inched forward on him.
"But you do." It was a fact. She was soaking wet and purring on top of him, even if she still wanted to deny it.
"I do," she breathed and then touched her lips to his. Her tongue entered his mouth at the same time he entered her body. She moved to accommodate him, sliding down his length.
"Easy," he whispered. If she moved too fast, he would explode long before she finished.
"Nothing with you is easy," she whispered, her breath catching as he took her hips in his hands and raised and lowered her on top of him.
This was how he wanted to see her always. Completely uninhibited. Her eyes half-closed with passion. Trusting him.
Simon reached between them, his hand stealing into her curls to rub her heat. As she rode him, tight as a glove and much silkier, he toyed with her. She gasped and clenched around him when he found the source of her pleasure. Within moments, she was crying out against his shoulder as her body erupted around him. He quickly followed.
Simon pulled her against his chest to stroke her naked back. She drew deep breaths against him, her breath tickling his chin.
"I can't believe you would use me like that," he said, brushing her hair back over her shoulder. He couldn't help but laugh when she balled up her fist and hit his chest.
"Quiet," she whispered. "Let me enjoy this before more of your secrets intrude."
Thirty-One
Lily awoke to a bright stream of morning light that poured in through a crack between the drawn shade and the carriage window. She blinked her eyes open, realizing she'd slept in Simon's arms all night. His dark head rested against the wall of the coach, a slight rumbling snore escaping him. Even rumpled and unshaven, he was the most handsome man she'd ever seen. And he was her husband.
Her husband.
That thought brought a smile to her lips as Lily leaned back against his massive chest. Never in all her days did she think a man could make her feel such passion. Never in all her days did she think she'd ever fall in love. She certainly never thought she'd marry, not a man like Simon anyway. Yet she had inexplicably done so.
She sighed, wondering if it was possible he felt the same for her. Then the unwanted image of Teresa Hamilton flashed in her mind and Lily's smile vanished. She doubted the sight of the stunning widow wrapping herself around Simon would ever leave her mind.
"A world of emotion crosses your face, love. Did
you know that?" Simon's baritone voice startled her, and Lily nearly leapt from his lap. However, his arm tightened around her, securing her safely against him. "Good morning, Your Grace."
Lily offered him a shy smile. "How did you ever get accustomed to being called that?"
He kissed her brow and then grinned at her. "I never thought about it. My father was the duke before me, and I always knew I would assume his role. Does the title make you uncomfortable?"
"A little," she admitted. "My father
wasn't
a duke."
Simon chuckled. "Don't worry, love. Soon you won't even cringe when someone calls you that. It'll just take a little time."
"Are you certain?"
He laughed again. "Every woman I know wants to be a duchess, Lily. There must be something to having the role."
"Hmm," she agreed. "Having you." Apparently she was daring this morning. It must have come from spending the night on his lap. Lily looked up at him and pressed a kiss to his stubbly chin.
Simon's arms tightened around her. "Watch yourself, love, or I'll ravish you again."
A giggle erupted from her throat at the thought. There was something very primitive about Simon, and Lily discovered she enjoyed that aspect of him quite a bit. "You beast."
His arms slackened, and he frowned at her.
Lily immediately missed his tight embrace and couldn't imagine what would change his mood so quickly. "Simon, what is it?"
His grey eyes bored into her as his frown deepened. "You think I'm a beast?"
That's what he was upset about? Lily ran her fingers along his jaw. "Yes," she said honestly, "but I like that about you."
Simon sat back against the squabs, his eyes widening in surprise. "You do?"
Lily nodded. "I
love
that about you."
The tiniest smile lifted his lips before he pulled her back against his chest. Just as he was about to capture her mouth, the coach came to an abrupt halt.
Lily's forehead met with Simon's chin, and he reared backward.
"Ouch!" she said, clutching her head.
"What the devil?" Simon growled. He pulled back the shade and sucked in a breath. "Maberley Hall," he informed her with a frown.
Lily glanced out the window, looking at her home of the last six years. The light-stoned Tudor manor house towered above them, and Lily closed her eyes.
Please, let Oliver be here!
She didn't know where to begin if he wasn't.
Simon touched her cheek. "He'll be all right, love."
She blinked her eyes open. How did he know what she was thinking? Before she could ask, he opened the door of the carriage and stepped out into the morning light. Simon offered her his hand, and she allowed him to help her from the coach.
Together they walked from the drive up the stone steps to the grand, arched doorway. "Miss Rutledge!" the wide-eyed butler greeted her, as they stepped over the threshold. "We weren't expecting you."
"Findley," she replied. "Please tell me Maberley is here."
The butler shook his head as he shut the door. "Miss Rutledge, the Duke of Blackmoor sent a carriage for his lordship more than a week ago. Did he not arrive at Westfield Hall?"
***
Simon frowned at the elderly butler. Oliver was here somewhere; he could sense the pup. He could almost smell him. What was the man's game? "If you'd like to keep your post, you'll lead me to the whelp this instant
."
"Simon!" Lily whispered at the same time the butler's eyes grew to the size of billiard balls.
"Sir?" the old man managed.
"Findley," Lily began, with just a hint of mortification in her voice, "this is His Grace of Blackmoor. Maberley did arrive at Westfield Hall, but he's vanished. We had hoped he'd returned here."
Findley turned his attention from Simon to Lily. "Miss—"