Lydia Dare - A Certain Wolfish Charm

"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, Simon. 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."

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.