Lydia Dare - A Certain Wolfish Charm

"It's the kind you can't go on!" he snapped at her.

Lily's indrawn breath made him cringe.

"Lily," he said softly as he walked to her. Perhaps he should grovel at her feet. He could drop to his hands and knees before her and lay his snout over her slipper. Maybe she would take the hint.

He reached for her.

She raised her hands to fend him off. "Don't touch me, Simon."

He stepped back, surprised by her tone of voice. "This is really bothering you?"

"As though you have to ask," she said before she turned on her heel and left the room, slamming the door behind her so hard that the portrait of an old ancestor in front of a lake shook from its hanger and hit the floor with a bang. His Lily certainly knew how to leave a room.

"Billings!" Simon called. The man appeared in the doorway. "Find Maberley, will you?"

The butler nodded. Since this was the last cycle of the moon before Oliver was to be at Harrow, Simon had, indeed, been fortunate to make arrangements with Lieutenant Schofield. The man's generosity with taking Oliver for a few days so he could become acquainted with young Leo Schofield would not be forgotten.

In the morning, he and Oliver would leave for Surrey. Instead of traveling on to London, as he'd told Lily, Simon planned to return to Westfield land and go deep into the woods to a small crofter's cottage that wasn't used any more. And there he would wait until the moon began to wane. Until he was once again free to love her.

He would wait there alone in sheer misery. He already missed her, and he wasn't even gone yet. It would be torturous to be so close to her, yet so far away.

***

Lily punched her needle through the fabric with much more force than was necessary, she knew. But she had to take out her frustration on

something

. Simon was out on estate business, and Oliver was in his chamber, sequestered with his Latin text, so the poor fabric she was stitching would have to substitute.

Leaving. How could he possibly leave? They had been married less than a month, and he wanted to

leave

her already. And he wouldn't even tell her what he was doing! Just like Daniel.

She should at least be allowed to accompany him. She'd gotten quite used to having him around. She didn't even know if she would be able to sleep without him wrapped around her, their legs tangled.

Why, just the night before, he'd done things to her that she'd never dreamed possible. He'd even made her cry out so loudly that she worried the servants could hear. It had been sublime. But afterward he had turned from her with a guilty look on his face.

Guilt?

What in the world did he have to feel guilty about? He'd brought her supreme pleasure. Yet he acted as though she was a fragile piece of glass that might break at any moment.

Billings caught her attention when he coughed quietly in the doorway.

"Your Grace?"

"Yes?" She looked up from her sewing and fixed him with a stare.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, but there's apparently a problem in the kitchen and Cook insists on speaking with you."

"Do you know what she needs?"

"She said you were the only one she would speak with, Your Grace."

"Oh, bother," Lily groaned as she set her sewing in the basket at her feet and then went to find Cook to see what the matter was. How strange. What sort of problem did Cook need her for? And in the kitchens? Lily had never entered that room before.

Lily stepped into the kitchen and was assaulted with the smell of freshly baked bread. She hadn't realized she was hungry until she heard her stomach rumble. Did all kitchens smell this delightful?

Concentrating on her work, Cook chopped carrots and onions, and only looked up as Lily approached her. "What seems to be the problem?" Lily asked, pasting a smile she didn't feel across her face.

Cook whispered, "His Grace asked me to prepare food for your retreat in the woods. But he told me not to tell anyone that you were leaving."

"Leaving? I'm not leaving," Lily said. She reached to rub her temples, trying to chase away a headache that threatened.

"You

won't

be going into the woods with His Grace? The dowager always did," she mumbled that last part to herself, though Lily heard it.

"Into the woods? I have no idea what you're referring to." It was becoming more and more strange. Like a house of horrors, where nothing was as it seemed.

"Oh, my," the old woman said. "It seems as I have misspoken. I must have misunderstood." Cook attempted a half-hearted laugh. "My ears aren't what they used to be."

"No, I'm sorry," Lily said, quickly changing her tactics. "His Grace and I will be going away. I have a dreadful headache. Please forgive me."

Cook took a sigh of relief. "I figured you would. The late duke always took his duchess with him."

Why?

Lily wanted to scream, but she held her tongue. She'd get more out of Cook if she maintained her composure. "Of course. What day did he say we would be leaving?"

"After leaving the earl in Surrey, he thought he'd be back tomorrow night, Your Grace."

"Excellent." Lily turned to leave.

"Your Grace!" the woman called. "The basket?"

"Oh, I trust your judgment implicitly," Lily called back. She took the stairs at a run, anxious to have time to absorb all she'd just learned.

Simon wasn't going to London. He was going into the

woods. Why in the world would he do that

? And why had his father done the same thing? If she thought she'd get a straight answer out of Alice, she'd ask.

Lily returned to the sitting room, where her sewing waited. But now, on the settee sat Oliver, who had his head buried in a book.

"I do hope that's Latin," Lily remarked as she settled beside him.

"O-of course it is, Aunt Lily," he said. But then he moved to tuck the book between the cushions.

Well, that was obviously not a Latin text. Though her mind was on more important matters than why Oliver would try to hide a book from her. She sat down to think.

Simon appeared in the doorway. "Maberley, I'll have a word with you in my study," he said.

"Yes, Your Grace." Oliver seemed to be much more accepting of Simon's authority now, and he followed him from the room like a faithful puppy.

Lily picked up her sewing but realized she'd lost her thimble. She lifted the settee cushion to see if it had fallen in the crack. She heard a thud as Oliver's book hit the floor.

When Lily bent to pick it up, she turned it over in her hand. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the black leather cover. Embossed in gold, the title, Lycans: Legen

d

and Lore, captured her attention. She turned to the firs

t page, where a rendering of a lone wolf, his snout high in the air, called to the moon. A masculine scrawl marred the inner cover. It simply read: A Lycan cannot be embrace

d

by another until he embraces the wildness within himself.

Lycan?

Oliver had tried to hide a book about wolves from her? Why in the world would he hide a fairy tale? Because he didn't want her to know it wasn't his Latin text? Lily turned to the first page.

A folded piece of foolscap fell to the floor. Lily bent and picked it up, unfolding it and pressing the seams flat so she could take a closer look.

A Lycan family tree? Lily scanned through the names. Surely that was the product of someone's overactive imagination. Then she saw Westfield and stopped. Her finger hovered over the three names— Simon… Benjamin… William. Her name was listed along with Simon's, with the date they were married. Lily sat down heavily on the settee. Her finger traced over to Daniel and Emma's names, which also listed the date they were married and the date of their death. Below them, Oliver had been added. Was this Simon's handwriting?