Lydia Dare - A Certain Wolfish Charm

She doubted she'd ever be right again. Lily managed to shake her head.

Emory pulled her into his arms, and she cried even harder. Why couldn't she feel something for this man or one of the others? Why was Simon Westfield the only man who had ever made her pulse race?

"I'd like to go home," she whispered.

Emory nodded. "Of course, Lily."

"Hawthorne!" Simon's voice boomed from the darkened path. "You won't take Miss Rutledge anywhere."

Emory stared into the darkness. "Blackmoor?"

Simon emerged from the shadows, looking darker and more menacing than Lily could remember, even more so than when he saved her from the awful men at the coaching inn. She shivered.

"Lily is staying at Westfield Hall, and I'll take her home. Your services aren't required."

"Now see here, Simon," Emory began, puffing up like a peacock. "Lily can stay wherever she wants. I'm sure Prisca would enjoy her company again."

Simon chuckled darkly. "Good luck with that, Hawthorne. She'll never leave her beloved nephew. Not for you or anyone else."

Oliver. Somehow she'd lost sight of him. Simon was right. She'd never leave Oliver, not if she had a say in it. Lily brushed her cheeks and stepped away from Emory. "Excuse me."

"Lily." Simon started toward her.

She shook her head. She didn't have a choice. She'd go back to Westfield Hall, but not without Will. Simon wouldn't do or say anything untoward with his brother nearby.

***

Lily dropped onto her own bed at Westfield Hall, after turning the lock in her door. She was of no temper to entertain guests in the middle of the night.

Simon had fumed the entire way back from the assembly room, and Will hadn't been in the mood to use his charm to make the ride more palatable for anyone. Lily was more lost than ever.

She had never felt so connected with another soul as she had in the garden with Simon. Then the interlude had ended and reality came crashing back around her. No matter how deeply she had fallen for him, Simon didn't love her and he wouldn't offer what she truly needed.

It was time to leave.

She'd say good-bye to Oliver in the morning and start back to Maberley Hall. In a few months, he'd head off to Harrow and wouldn't need her as much as he had up until this point. No matter that Simon couldn't be what she needed, she didn't believe he'd let any harm come to Oliver.

Her decision made, she snuggled under the counterpane and cried herself to sleep.

***

"You should know," Will began, as he slumped in an overstuffed leather chair in Simon's private suite of rooms. "True to form, Prisca has stirred up a bit of trouble for you."

Simon shrugged out of his coat and threw it across the room to land on a slight Chippendale chair. "What's she done?" He couldn't possibly have more trouble than he'd made for himself. Lily wouldn't even look at him, and his heart had ached when he heard her turn the key in her lock and start to cry. Perhaps she would see reason in the light of day.

"Got Mrs. Bostic all worked up that Lily's been living here without a chaperone." Will threw back a whisky and closed his eyes.

The vicar's wife? Simon grunted. He couldn't care less what the old bat thought. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd stepped foot in a church. He was many things, but hypocritical wasn't one of them. He picked up the decanter of whisky and started to pour.

"I know you don't play by the rules," Will continued. "Well, not their rules, anyway; but this is bad for Lily. She's ruined, Simon. Living with two bachelors, neither of whom have pristine reputations, and with no one watching out for her virtue. No chaperone. Her name will be dragged through the mud tomorrow morning."

Simon crushed the whisky bottle in his hands. Shards of glass penetrated his skin, while blood and drink pooled on the floor at his feet. Will didn't even look surprised or pull himself out of his seat. "Damned Hawthornes." Simon dropped what was left of the bottle to the floor and pulled a piece of glass from his palm. "That woman is a menace. Why would she hurt Lily like that?"

Will scoffed. "Prisca is calling your bluff. She doesn't think you'll let Lily be called a whore, that you'll marry her instead."

God! Simon winced. She'd called herself a whore, which wasn't even close to the truth. He'd spent many a night with women who were, but Lily Rutledge couldn't be counted in their number. He'd kill anyone with his bare hands who would speak out against her. "I'd like to get my hands around her neck."

Will growled. "You stay away from Prisca. She's only trying to help Lily, as unorthodox as it seems."

Simon pulled the last piece of glass from his hand and wrapped his once snowy white cravat around his wound. He shouldn't bother ruining the cloth; he'd heal in no time, but he was at a loss for what to do, what to say.

"What are you going to do?" Will finally asked.

Simon didn't have a clue. "I can't marry her, Will. She doesn't want to know about all of this." He moved his injured hand about, gesturing to both of them. "I can't ask that of her."

Will shook his head. "You'd rather she be branded a whore?"

"Don't you ever say that again," Simon snarled.

"I won't need to. Everyone else will."

There had to be a way around the situation. He could send her back to Maberley Hall. He could send her to his family's old estate in Scotland. "She wants to go back to Essex."

"Did she say that?" Will asked.

"Not to me, but I can feel it."

Will shook his head. "It's no matter, Simon, this will follow her anywhere. You're you, and what you do—and who you spend time with—has a way of making it in the papers. Mrs. Bostic isn't known for keeping her tongue."

"I could rip it out of her head," Simon suggested, offhandedly.

"Charming."

Simon glared at his brother.

"Look, Lily doesn't have to know. You were going to set her up in a house nearby anyway. So you set her up here instead. Marry Lily. Protect her. But when the moon calls, you'll tell her you're going hunting with me or Ben. Make plans. Be somewhere else. Stay with her the rest of the time but keep her in the dark a few days. It's the best solution there is."

"It's not fair to her," Simon said as he buried his head in his hands.

"Let her decide, won't you?"

Nineteen

Lily woke and dressed before the sun came up, needing the time to bolster her confidence. She paced the length of her room, practicing what she would say to Simon, Oliver, and Will—and even what she would say to Prisca and Emory Hawthorne.

She could just imagine how Emory viewed her at this point, having seen her run from Simon into his arms. She'd seen herself in the mirror when she'd arrived home. Her hair hung tangled and wild about her shoulders; gone was the elegant upsweep that made her look so sophisticated. In its place was the whore that she'd become.

Could she still salvage her reputation? She would have to leave Oliver and return to Essex. Of course, she would refuse Simon's offer of a dowry. No one would want her now, not once word got out about her wanton behavior.

Oliver would be safe with Simon. Despite his lack of interest in providing supervision in the past, he would care for the boy. He would be firm yet loving. And Oliver would have Will as well, someone who was already having a positive effect on him. William had even managed to coerce Oliver into practicing his Latin, which was a miracle in itself.

Lily descended the stairs slowly, listening for sounds of footsteps in the foyer. She was slightly relieved to find no one moving about. But as she turned the corner, she heard voices from the breakfast room.

Simon and Will.

Her task seemed more difficult now that she was here, and her heart pounded ruthlessly. But it had to be done. She took a deep breath and steeled herself to face them. To face Simon.