Lydia Dare - A Certain Wolfish Charm

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."

Seven

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.