Lydia Dare - A Certain Wolfish Charm

"I follow directions very well, Your Grace," she snickered as she boldly whispered a suggestion in his ear. He dipped his head and kissed the swell of her bosom. She arched toward his mouth, reflexively. If he remembered correctly, this particular woman could arch various parts of her body, because he'd enjoyed her flexibility in the past.

With his cards on the table, he was able to put his hands on her hips and turn her toward him. Her breasts pushed at the top of her bodice, so much skin displayed that she threatened to topple out at any minute.

It wasn't enough. He was past the point where he could take solace in the body of a willing woman. Sadly, the thought of holding those fleshy orbs didn't titillate him. She wasn't going to ease any of the restlessness in him. He knew it. He knew that nothing would satisfy him at this point, nothing that wouldn't scare the wench off. They even scared him, the things he wanted to do when he got to this point.

He forced the beast within him to subside. Reaching into his jacket, he withdrew a guinea and tucked it between her breasts. The tiny jostle caused the creamy flesh to tremble, and the edge of a dark areola peeked over the top of her bodice. The beast reared its ugly head.

What he felt wasn't an attractive desire. It was an overwhelming need to copulate. To force submission. To cover a body with his and

own

it. It was more than he could control. He stood up and placed her solidly on her feet. She put her hands on her hips and stomped a slippered foot.

He laughed and flicked her nose gently with the tip of his finger. "Don't pout, love. I'll be back in a week." It would take a week before he would feel safe enough to be in polite company. Or impolite company, as the case may be.

Simon strolled out of the hell and walked toward the street where his ducal coach waited. His crest, a lone wolf—gold emblazoned against blue—mocked him. He ignored it. His coachman opened the carriage door, and Simon slipped inside, the springs groaning under his weight. He sank heavily into the seat and reached up to loosen his cravat. He hadn't been careful enough. He'd almost gone too far and taken that wench above stairs, even though he knew how close he was to losing control. That could have been disastrous.

This time, he couldn't go to his townhouse. It was time to head for Westfield Hall in Hampshire. He needed a secluded area where he could relax and calm himself. He needed to be locked up for a sennight. But no one was able to do that for him, for his brothers would be suffering the same curse. He would take himself out of harm's way, as he normally did. Of course, the prison was one of his choosing and lacked the cells of Newgate, which is where he would most assuredly be sent should anyone discover his terrible secret. The isolation of the quiet countryside was what he sought. He would go where he could walk the hills at night under the full moon, safe from the intrusion of others. And they would be safe from him.

He slept a fitful sleep the remaining hours of the night, the rocking of the coach his only comfort. He tried to straighten his clothes as he stepped from the coach onto his own cobblestone path, but he knew he still looked disheveled. It was a completely unrespectable way for a duke to present himself to his household. Thank heaven he wasn't a stuffy old member of the peerage. And his staff didn't expect him to be. Of course, they'd also seen him in worse shape.

Not even bothering to tie his cravat or fasten the top buttons of his shirt, he turned toward the front door and drew in a deep breath. It felt good to be home. He was safe again, until nightfall. Thankfully, the desire had dissipated with the darkness. If only the darkness of his soul could be lifted as easily as the sun in the sky.

Simon passed through the doorway with a nod to his butler.

"Welcome home, Your Grace."

Simon immediately knew something was wrong when he saw the normally unshakeable man wipe his sweaty brow. "Is something amiss, Billings?" he asked.

"You have a visitor." The butler gestured toward the closest sitting room.

From his spot in the corridor, Simon had a clear view of the room. The last person he'd ever expected to see here was Lily Rutledge. But there she was, sitting on his settee as though she belonged. With the moonful quickly approaching, that wasn't in her best interest. Simon glared at his butler. Had the man lost his mind? Miss Rutledge could be injured in his presence. "What is she doing here?"

Billings shrugged. "The London staff told her you were here."

Damn! Fight or retreat? He sighed.

Retreat. He couldn't see her. There was no telling what the beast would do.

"Ready the coach to take Miss Rutledge home, Billings." He turned and hastened toward his study.

Simon leaned heavily against the door once he was safely ensconced inside and turned the key. He took deep breaths to try to calm his racing heartbeat. She shouldn't have come. Not when he wasn't fully in control. He couldn't hide from the fullness of the moon. It would take him whether he wanted it or not. Sure, she was reasonably safe during the day, but when the sun sank behind the horizon, the danger would become more and more real.

He knew Lily Rutledge was a strong woman. She was nearly as tall as the average man, standing well above most females. But he wasn't an average man. She only reached his shoulder. He bet that he could tuck her under his chin and still have room to look down at her. He imagined himself doing just that, having her close enough to feel her body against his. He groaned and shifted his trousers.

No matter how strong she was, Simon would still hurt her. He slumped down in the seat behind his desk. As long as Lily remained safely on the other side, all was well.

But then he heard her voice.

"I know he's here, Billings," he heard her cry

from the hallway. Simon flinched when her fist hit the door.

"You

will

see me, Your Grace," she called.

What other woman, he wondered, could make "Your Grace" sound so much like an insult?

Two

Lily couldn't remember ever being so enraged. How dare the blackguard refuse to see her? How dare he hide out in his study? She pounded louder on the door. "I am not leaving until you see me."

Nothing.

Not a sound came from within. He

was

in there, wasn't he? She knew he was. She'd seen him vanish into the room with her very own eyes. Unless he'd climbed out a window, he could hear every word. Despite last month's mention in the society papers, where he was touted for slipping out Lady T.'s window while the butler helped the inebriated Lord T. to bed, she simply couldn't imagine him folding his big body in two and going out the window just to get away from her.

Lily crossed her arms over her chest. Really, who could imagine the powerful Duke of Blackmoor would be afraid to see

her?

Over the years, ignoring her had apparently been easy for him, but that was when she was in Essex. Out of sight and all that. It took real effort to ignore her when she was pounding on his door. "I am a most stubborn woman," she warned him. "I'll wait right here as long as it takes, Your Grace."

Still nothing.

Lily jiggled the handle. Locked.

She heaved a sigh and leaned her head against the large oak door. She knew he could hear her, and she was at a loss. Perhaps talking to him would be easier without his penetrating grey eyes focused on her. What did she have to lose?

"I'm worried," she said softly. "Something is not right with Oliver and… Well, I know you don't care for the boy, but his father made you his guardian. So that means I'm stuck with you."

The door was suddenly yanked open, and Lily stumbled forward, right into the muscled arms of the Duke of Blackmoor. She sucked in a surprised breath. Men never held her in their arms. Yet his closed around her as he steadied her. She couldn't really call it