Lydia Dare - A Certain Wolfish Charm

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—"

"Her Grace," Simon corrected.

For a moment, he thought the old man's eyes were about to pop out of his head. "H-her Grace?"

Lily nudged Simon in the ribs. "Simon, please." She refocused on the butler. "He's not returned then?"

The old man shook his head. Simon narrowed his eyes on the fellow. There wasn't a question in his mind that Oliver was here.

It had been years since he'd been to Maberley Hall, but he'd spent some time here as a lad. It shouldn't be too difficult to tear the place apart, find the pup's hiding place, and toss him back in the Blackmoor coach. Then he'd deal with the insolent butler. "Maberley!" he bellowed.

"Your Grace!" Findley cried. "I tell you the earl is not here. I would never keep him from Miss… er… your duchess."

"Simon, Findley is honorable. If Oliver was here, he would say so."

The old man vigorously nodded his head. "Of course, Your Grace."

Simon sniffed the air. He couldn't catch the boy's scent, not recent scent anyway. Still, he knew they were close. "Very well, Lily. You stay here and wait for him." He started back for the door.

"Wait!" she called after him. "Simon, where are you going?"

"I'll search along the lanes." With that, he strode out the front door.

The sky above looked ominous, reflecting Simon's darkening mood. He paid no heed to the gardeners who gaped at him as he made his way down the stone path that led to the Maberley stables. Simon cursed the rain, which made it nearly impossible to use his keen sense of smell.

He spotted a boy, younger than Oliver, with a bucket in hand, just about to enter the stables. "You!" he beckoned.

The stable boy turned around, dropping his bucket of oats. "Yessir?"

"I'm looking for Maberley."

The child stared blankly at him.

"The earl," Simon clarified. "Have you seen him?"

The boy shook his head. "Not for days, sir."

Erebus! Oliver would have to stable him. Simon stalked forward. "And what of horses? Have you any Anglo-Arabians here?"

Again the stable boy shook his head. "No, sir."

"Well, I'll just take a look." Simon brushed past the child into the stable, his nostrils flaring at the odors that assailed his senses. He wouldn't be able to catch Oliver's scent here, but if he could locate Erebus, it would be a good first step.

He walked the length of the stables, peering into every stall. Neither Oliver nor Erebus was there, which didn't make any sense at all. Simon would swear the boy was there. He couldn't see him and he couldn't smell him, but he could sense his angry presence.

He turned back to the stable boy, who was now speaking with a groom at the entrance and pointing at Simon.

"You," he called. "Have your fastest stallion saddled for me."

"I beg your pardon?" the groom said, stepping forward, a frown marring his face. "Who are you?"

It was a trial not to be at his own estate where his every dictate was immediately leapt upon. How much time had he wasted today dealing with Maberley's inept servants? "The Duke of Blackmoor. Now do as I say."

He stalked out of the stables as a streak of lightning raced across the sky. Damn Oliver York! Where was the little beast? Simon looked across the estate as dark clouds rolled overhead. He sniffed at the air to the south. Nothing. He turned to the east and sniffed again.

There it was.

The scent was faint, so faint that he'd nearly missed it. He inhaled deeply to be sure. Oliver was out there. Somewhere to the east, Simon was certain.

Within minutes, he mounted a chestnut stallion and tore off toward the east as thunder cracked above him. It had been years since he'd ridden this land, but at one time he and Daniel had explored every part of the Maberley estate. The area was not completely unfamiliar to him.

He raced past one copse of trees and then another, looking in all directions for some sign of his insolent ward. A large drop of rain splashed onto Simon's cheek. When a flash of lightning lit up the dark sky, Simon heard a faint whinny in the distance.

He urged his borrowed mount on as a deluge fell from the sky. Simon squinted, trying to see through the blinding rain, and he hoped his horse knew the terrain better than he.

He kicked his mount's belly, pushing him toward the darkness that now appeared to be shelter of some sort. His horse pressed forward, stopping only when Simon pulled up on his reins.

A crofter's cottage.

A momentary haven. There was a lean-to on the side of the cottage. He could tie his horse, wait for the worst of the storm to pass, and then continue his search for Oliver.

Simon hopped from his saddle and led his horse to the make-do shelter. He stopped in his tracks, drenched from head to toe but incredibly relieved to have found a dry place to wait for the storm to pass.

The scene that greeted him made his heart soar. Because, panicked and unhappy, Erebus already occupied the lean-to.

Thirty-Two

There wasn't a lot of extra room in the small shelter, but Simon managed to secure his horse to a rail beside Erebus. He patted his gelding's nose. The AngloArabian was of the twitchy sort and hated thunderstorms. If he panicked badly, he could tear down the cottage. "There, there, boy. I'll see you home. A little patience."

Erebus calmed a bit at his touch, and Simon stroked his neck. The poor thing was traumatized. It was yet another sin to add to his long list of grievances against Oliver.

Simon left the horses with another round of soothing words and stepped back out into the rain. He bolted for the front door of the cottage and threw it open, as rain poured off him in rivulets.

At his entrance, Oliver leapt up from a small bed in the far corner of the room. The boy's face was ashen white, as well it should be, because Simon's blood boiled at the scene inside the cottage.

While Simon had been caught out in the pouring rain looking for the pup, Oliver had been snug and warm in the cottage. Rain poured from Simon like water from a waterfall, yet Maberley was dry and comfortable.