Lydia Dare - A Certain Wolfish Charm

The man barely met his gaze. "The, um, well, the society pages came out today."

Something Simon never cared about. "And?"

The butler gestured to his desk, where a small stack of papers sat, awaiting his perusal. "Well, Your Grace, I'd rather not have to speak the words aloud. Perhaps you could read them for yourself."

"Why don't you just tell me what's going on?" Simon barked. He really didn't want to waste his time like this.

The butler shook his head. "Speaking frankly, I've seen you in a bit of a temper in the past, and I'd prefer not to be the messenger. Though," he pointed again at the stack of papers, "I thought you should be aware

of the word about Town."

Thoroughly annoyed, Simon dismissed the man and sat at his desk. He first opened the

Mayfair Society

Page

. He clenched his mouth shut after reading the first paragraph.

Bloody hell!

Thirty-Seven

Simon stepped from the coach and held his hand out to Lily. He smiled a smile she was sure he intended to be encouraging. However, it did little to ease her nerves. She'd never attended the theatre before, and, though she was excited, the prospect was a bit intimidating. She fingered the moonstone that rested right above her cleavage. She'd been shocked when Simon had presented her with matching earbobs before they left Curzon Street.

For years, the talents of Edmund Kean had been gushed over in one review after another, ever since he'd portrayed Shylock in

The Merchant of Venice o

n the stage in Drury Lane. Lily never imagined she'd see Shakespeare performed in a London theatre, and she certainly never thought she'd actually see Kean himself on the very stage where he'd made his name.

When Simon had informed her that they would watch the famed thespian in the role of Richard III, Lily could barely contain her excitement. Apparently, being a duchess had its advantages.

Bridges Street was clogged with carriages as drivers maneuvered their horses toward Drury Lane. Men and women moved en masse toward the entrance, all dressed in their finest clothes for their night at the theatre.

Lily glanced down at her own dress. "I suppose I should be eternally grateful to Prisca for making this gown for me." She felt a little chagrin at wearing the green silk dress again, but it was the nicest one she owned.

Simon pulled her hand into the crook of his arm and smiled down at her. "Tomorrow, we'll commission London's most expensive modiste. You deserve a grand new wardrobe."

"My reward for putting up with you, Your Grace?" she laughed.

"

My

reward is you putting up with me." His gaze traveled up and down her body. "Among other things."

"Simon," she scolded him. "Do behave yourself." But she couldn't hold back the smile that threatened to erupt. "You're positively incorrigible."

His eyes narrowed at her. "And I thought beastly was the only description you had for me." He made the comment and looked away without meeting her eyes.

"I have a lot more, Your Grace." She stopped walking and tugged his arm. She raised one hand to cup the side of his face. "Beastly is my favorite, though."

He leaned into her hand. "Would that it could be true," he said quietly.

"You doubt me?"

He looked away and changed the subject, just as she'd known he would. "I can't wait to show off my lovely wife at the theatre." His eyes caught hers. "But I must warn you…"

Before he could even finish his sentence, a booming voice said, "Well, there's the Duke of Blackmoor. Finally out of seclusion, I see."

The man approached slowly and extended a hand to Simon. His height was nearly equal to the duke's, and the family resemblance was unmistakable. He shared the same black-as-night hair and grey eyes. Lily wracked her memory to come up with a name, but it eluded her.

"Lily, this is Mr. Alstott, a distant relation on my father's side. Charles, meet my duchess." Lily's heart did a little flip when he said her new title with such pride.

"Lovely to meet you," Lily replied.

"Your Grace, I knew it would be a lady such as you who'd finally get Simon to the altar," Mr. Alstott said, pressing his lips to her gloved fingers.

"I'm not sure if I should take that as a compliment or not," Lily said quietly.

Simon simply laughed and whispered dramatically, "It's a compliment, love. You may take it as one."

"Most definitely," the man boomed. "It would take a woman of great strength to finally collar this pup."

Simon narrowed his eyes and shook his head slightly, almost unnoticeably, at his distant cousin. At first, Lily thought she'd imagined it, but she knew she had not when Mr. Alstott tilted his head to one side in confusion. Then Simon made his signature move and changed the subject.

"Where is your lovely wife?" Simon asked.

"She's gossiping with friends, as usual," Mr. Alstott answered, as he searched the lobby with his eyes. Then he caught his wife's attention across the room and gestured her toward them. "Mary," he began when she reached them. "Meet the Duchess of Blackmoor." After the introduction, he draped his arm around his wife's slender shoulders.

"Lily, please. I'm not quite used to the title yet."

"Charles and Mary will be sharing our box tonight," Simon informed her and directed her toward the staircase.

"Oh, how nice," Lily replied.

Beside them, Mary Alstott leaned toward Lily, her brown eyes wide. "I think it's quite brave of you to come out in society like this after the…"

Charles coughed loudly, interrupting his wife's statement. Mary stopped talking to place her hand on her husband's chest. "Are you all right?"

Lily frowned as she watched them. All the male members of the Westfield family seemed to share the same predisposition toward untimely changes of subject matter.

"Yes, yes, of course," he said. "I am a bit parched, however. Come, Mary. We'll find some wine."

"Perhaps we should take our seats," Simon suggested. He ushered Lily through the crowd and up the stairs to his box.

The number of theatre-goers was slightly overwhelming. Lily had never imagined such a crush. One lady after another looked at her out of the corner of their eyes, and Lily was certain she wasn't dressed nearly nice enough for this. "Perhaps we shouldn't have come," she muttered to herself.

Simon stopped walking and frowned at her. "Why?"

"I beg your pardon?" Lily blinked at him.

"Why shouldn't we have come?"

Lily shook her head. How was it possible he'd heard her? "I… um… Well, I feel a little underdressed."

A roguish smile lit his face as he directed her down the corridor past one box after another. "You're beautiful, Lily. And you're the Duchess of Blackmoor. You could walk in here wearing rags if you wanted."

"Rags?" She couldn't hold in a giggle.

"Personally, I prefer you wearing nothing at all."

"Simon!"

He ignored her rebuke, pressing her lower back toward one of the boxes. "Ah, here we are. Sit right near the front, love, so you have a good view of the stage."

Moments later, the Alstotts joined them and the theatre grew dim, signaling the remaining patrons to find their seats. Lily sat forward against the rail, excitement coursing through her veins as the stage captured her attention.

Simon's hand clasped hers when the play began. With a sidelong glance, she saw his bright smile in the darkness and it warmed her heart.

***

Simon couldn't concentrate on the play even the slightest. He held Lily's hand clasped comfortably in his for fear that, if he let go, he would lose her. It was a foolish thought. She was safely seated beside him, entranced by Kean's performance.

Still, the worry persisted. Both Charles and Mary had very nearly told Lily the word about Town. The society rags were full with the news of his nuptials and rife with unflattering speculation. Not one column mentioned how wonderful Lily was. Instead unsubstantiated gossip filled the pages. One author after another suggested Lily was already expecting Simon's child before their nuptials, hence the swift wedding.