Lydia Dare - A Certain Wolfish Charm

She shook her head. "No need to worry about me, Jenkins. I'll order some light fare and be back shortly so we can be under way."

Lily started toward the inn, ignoring the coachman's grumblings about independent-minded women.

Of course she was independent-minded. If she didn't take care of herself, who would? It wasn't as though she had a line of suitors clamoring for her attention in Essex. She was firmly on the shelf at almost twenty-four. Emma had once told her she was

willowy

, but that really meant she was skinny and too tall for most.

Those traits could easily be ignored if a woman had ample funds to turn a suitor's head. Lily had none. Perhaps that's why she became so enraged when Blackmoor sent a bank draft instead of answers. He made her feel like a poor relation he was trying to appease, rather than an aunt with legitimate concerns for her nephew. Did he think he could buy her silence, since she had nothing? That money would titillate her so greatly she would drop her suit?

But she didn't have

nothing

. She had Oliver.

Perhaps she was going about this all wrong. Blackmoor was his guardian, but he wasn't Oliver's only cousin. Maybe Lord William or Lord Benjamin would be easier to deal with. They couldn't be any worse at correspondence than their older brother, in any event. So what did she have to lose?

Lily stepped inside the inn and shuddered slightly when the door shut behind her. It was nearly dark as night in the taproom, and the place reeked of unwashed bodies and ale. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she found that her stomach and her nose were in complete agreement, that anything prepared in this place would not be palatable.

She turned to leave but found the exit blocked by a man. Her gaze flickered over him as she clutched her cloak tighter around her body. She raised the edge of her wool cloak to cover her nose, trying to block the smell that drifted off him in waves. She took two steps back.

Lily jumped when her backward footsteps bumped her into a solid object, and she spun around. Another man, equally as horrid as the first, leered at her. She shivered and stepped to the side so she could keep them both in her line of sight.

"Good afternoon, my good men," she began, amazed that only a small tremor was present in her voice. She glanced around the room, searching for the innkeeper, but she found no such source of assistance.

"Did you hear that? She called us good men," one man taunted her.

"Do you come this way often?" Lily thought to distract them with small talk while she backed away from them. But they followed. They stalked.

The wind from outside blew the hair into her eyes when the door swung open. Lily, afraid to take her eyes off the predators, didn't even look to see who came inside.

"Miss Rutledge," a familiar voice said quietly, the sound no more than a low growl. "How nice to see you here."

The duke! Lily had never been so happy to see anyone in her twenty-three years.

"Y-your Grace." Lily nodded at him, unable to keep the tremor from erupting.

Blackmoor held one hand out to her. "Come," was all he said.

"Here now," one of the men started. "We were just havin' a little fun," he protested as Lily stepped toward the duke.

Blackmoor's warm, strong hand closed around Lily's own, and she finally let her gaze drop to the floor as she took a deep breath. She was safe!

The duke tugged her gently toward him and brushed that wayward lock of hair from her eyes. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Lily whispered, wanting nothing more than to lay her head on his chest and weep with joy. But she maintained her composure.

He opened the door and pushed her gently outside. "Go to the coach," he said quietly. "Get inside and stay there."

Lily didn't even think about not obeying his order. She walked out the door and toward the coach, just as he said. Tears welled up in her eyes as she walked across the inn yard. She shivered as she thought of what might have happened had Blackmoor not arrived when he did. Her chest constricted, and it became harder to breathe. Between her quivering knees and the lack of breath, Lily didn't think she could take one more step.

But then she felt warm, comforting, strong arms surround her. "There, now, dear," the man started. "You're just fine." Lily thought it was odd that Jenkins would draw her to his chest and allow her to cry a river all over his coat. Maybe he had daughters of his own. She sobbed and clutched his shirt as the sobs wracked her body. He held her. Stroked her back. Let her cry it out.

But even that comforting moment was cut short when the duke barreled out of the inn. She looked up in time to see that his grey eyes were now black as night and he looked fiercer than any wild animal she had ever seen pictured in books. She moved to step behind Jenkins. But then she realized the coachman stood to her right, and that he was much smaller than the man who'd held her.

The dark-haired gentleman reached out and took her hand in his, raising it to his lips. He lingered only briefly, until Blackmoor roared, "If you want to keep that hand, I suggest that you remove it from Miss Rutledge's person."

Four

Simon didn't know what infuriated him more—seeing Lily Rutledge as she was about to be eaten for lunch by two men inside the inn or seeing her wrapped up in the arms of his brother William. Simon thought he

might

allow Will to live if he would step away from the woman, but when Will's lips touched Lily's gloved hand, Simon nearly lost control.

"Miss Rutledge and I were getting reacquainted," William gloated, as only a younger and irritating brother could. "What on earth did you do to cause such a storm of tears?" He turned toward Lily again. "He has a bit of a temper, dear," he said with a slow grin.

Lily looked confused as she brushed her auburn hair from her eyes. Simon wished he could do that for her, to soothe her, but he couldn't with William between them. He growled low in his throat.

"Try not to bare your teeth, dear brother," William said. "You'll frighten the lady."

Simon stepped closer to Lily and took her elbow, propelling her toward the coach. "What were you thinking, going into a place like that?" he asked her. Then he turned toward Jenkins, who looked positively green. "And you," he said to the worthless driver, "why didn't you protect her? I

should

sack you on the spot."

Jenkins sniffed. "I work for the Earl of Maberley."

"Which is the same as working for me," Simon snarled. "I don't appreciate insolence in my staff. It would be best for you to remember that."

The coachman blanched and then turned toward his box, muttering something about stubborn women. Had the dolt seen Simon two minutes earlier, he would not have dared to sniff nor mutter.

"You have blood on your sleeve," Lily said as her gaze slid across his body. "Are you all right?" she asked, her voice pitched a little higher than before.

"It's nothing," he growled as he pushed her toward the carriage door, hoping to get away from this place quickly.

"No, I think you're hurt," she insisted, her eyebrows drawing together, pinching her pert little nose at the top. Why hadn't he ever noticed she had freckles?

"The blood is not mine," he muttered, hoping she would let it go at that.

She blinked twice. "Those men inside?"

He simply nodded, feeling better as he got the beast back under control.

"What did you do, Simon?" William asked, his body now at full alert, nostrils flaring.

"I don't remember," he said to Will, his voice no more than a whisper.

Will simply nodded and walked into the inn.

"I should have listened to you this morning," Simon said gruffly. "You'll come back to Westfield Hall, and I'll send someone for the boy."