A Certain Wolfish Charm (4 page)

   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."

   Tension seemed to vanish from her pretty face, but she shook her head. "Oliver's never traveled without me before."

   Simon frowned. "I'm certain he'll manage, Miss Rutledge." He wasn't going to let her out of his sight. Who knew what other trouble she could get herself into? The idea struck fear in his heart.

   At that moment, Will exited the inn and cheerfully announced, "Well, you owe me two hundred quid for the tables and chairs I had to pay for. But it was quite worth the expense to see the state of those men, I have to admit." Once he reached Simon, Will added quietly, so only his brother could hear, "They're alive, but they'll bear the scars of that encounter for a lifetime."

   Simon could do no more than nod. He'd known that he shouldn't leave Westfield Hall this close to a full moon. But when he'd realized why Lily was so frightened, he knew he'd have to take desperate measures to retrieve Oliver before he could do harm. Now
he
seemed to be the one they should be worried about.

   A drop of rain fell onto Simon's hair. He looked up at the dark clouds as a crack of thunder split the day. He could either ride Abbadon and get soaked to the skin, which would not improve his disposition in the slightest, or he could stay warm and dry in the coach. With her. He was safer on horseback. So was she. But as he turned to mount his hunter, he saw William slide into the coach along with Lily. Bloody hell. Now he had no choice.

   "You," he called to the driver, "attach these two horses to the back of the coach." He pointed to Abbadon and his brother's chestnut mount. Of course William had paid no mind to his own horse. As soon as the rogue spotted Lily, Simon was certain, every other thought had left his brother's mind.

   He hauled the coach door open, glowering at William, whose innocent expression didn't fool him in the least. Simon settled himself beside Lily, across from his brother.

   When the coach began moving forward, Simon leaned his head against the leather squabs and closed his eyes, willing the journey to be shorter than it was. If he didn't look at her, maybe he could control his lustful thoughts or maybe he could sleep.

   It didn't work. She smelled delightful, like sweet magnolias, and he imagined himself tasting every inch of her. Simon groaned. He nearly jumped through the wall of the coach when her hand touched his cheek.

   What the devil was wrong with her?

   His eyes flew open to find Lily gaping at him with a horrified expression. Well, she should be horrified. She shouldn't go around touching creatures like him, not when she smelled the way she did. "What?" he growled.

   "You made a sound." Her voice was very small. "Are you sure you're not hurt?"

   He was about to
hurt William, whose brow rose wit
h mirth. "I already told you," Simon began, looking once again at Lily, trying not to notice that she'd unbuttoned her traveling cloak while his eyes were closed, trying not to notice how the swells of her breasts rose with each breath she took. "I'm
not
injured."

   "I'm sorry—I mean, I'm glad—oh, never mind." She sat back in a huff, folding her arms across her chest and staring out at the darkening sky.

   Simon winced. Didn't she know that made her breasts rise even further? Was she
trying
to get herself mauled?

   He glanced across the coach at his brother, who'd noticed the same sight. If William touched her, Simon silently swore, he would break every bone in his younger sibling's body. The sneer he sent William was rewarded with an unrepentant wink. To hell with breaking Will's bones, he was simply going to kill him, quick and easy.

   Simon turned his attention back to Lily, who seemed oblivious to everything else going on in the coach. He cleared his throat. "Miss Rutledge, my apologies. I'm not quite feeling myself at the moment. I didn't mean to bite your head off."

   Fortunately, she uncrossed her arms, and then she turned to face him. "Thank you… for everything."

   The image of her terrified expression in the taproom flashed in his mind. "What
were
you doing back there, Miss Rutledge? What are you doing traipsing across the countryside without a chaperone, for that matter?"

   "A chaperone?" Her hazel eyes sparkled, and the most delightful laugh escaped her throat. "Honestly, Your Grace, I am quite on the shelf, raising a troubling twelve-year-old boy all by myself. Traveling alone is the least of my worries."

   Thunder cracked overhead.

   "Is Oliver twelve already?" Will asked, leaning forward in his seat, close enough to touch Lily's leg if he was of the mind to. He had better not, Simon thought. "He seemed a little scrap of a lad when I last saw him."

   "He's hardly little anymore," she muttered to herself, though Simon clearly heard her, his senses more keen than most. Lily frowned at Will. "You last saw him, both of you, right after his parents died. I'm certain he's not the child you remember at all."

   There was a rebuke in her voice. Simon chose to ignore it. He didn't know the first thing about raising a child, and Lily Rutledge had offered her services at the time. If she was unhappy with the arrangement, she should have said so earlier. "You say there've been changes in the boy?" he asked, hoping Billings was wrong in his assessment. "His development is worrisome?"

   His brother's icy blue eyes flashed to Simon as understanding stretched across his brow. "His
develop
ment
?" Will echoed.

   Lily nodded. "It's come on so suddenly. He's nearly doubled in size in no time at all. Just a month ago, he was quiet and sweet natured, but now he's angry and loud most of the time. I hardly recognize him."

   Rain began to pound against the top and sides of the coach. Simon closed his eyes, remembering when the change had first come upon him. It had been like a nightmare he'd been unable to wake from. At least he'd had his father to help guide him through his new life.

   He'd been foolish not to check on Oliver before now. Twelve years old, for God's sake! Time had somehow gotten away from him. It didn't seem like six years had passed. She was right to be annoyed with his guardianship. Daniel would have expected more.

   The coach wheels slid on the muddy road, and Lily gasped beside him. Before Simon could pull her safely to his side, the carriage tilted on two wheels, tossing him onto her. One moment they were all upright, and the next they were on their side.

   Simon stared at Lily, trapped beneath him, and scrambled off her. Terror overtook him when he saw blood trickle from her hairline.

Lily tried to grasp Blackmoor's forearm as the coach tilted, but she could only flail her arms wildly. Her elbow sunk into the flesh of the duke's nose, but he didn't even grunt. Her shoulder slammed into the side of the carriage, her head into the window frame.

   Darkness danced along the edges of her vision.

   "Lily?" She heard a voice call from a great distance. A warm hand brushed across her forehead, testing the wound, pressing gently but insistently.

   "Lily?" It persisted. Why couldn't he just let her sleep? "Lily, you need to wake up, dear."

   Someone else's chuckle broke through the urgency in Blackmoor's voice and reached her. "You've become awfully familiar with Miss Rutledge there, Simon," Lord William taunted. "Using her given name
and
a term of endearment. Tsk, tsk. One would wonder when you plan to offer for her." The chuckle became a laugh. Then a loud yelp.

   "Must you talk?" the duke growled at his brother.

   "Not if talking will elicit such a forceful blow to the side of my face. Have a care, won't you? I have an image to uphold."

   "You'll heal within moments," Blackmoor murmured.

   "Doesn't make it any less painful," Lord William complained.

   "Miss Rutledge?" the duke persisted.

   The darkness lifted, and she could finally look up at him, his body limned by the light from the window. He was a study in masculine proportions. Broad shoulders. Dark hair that fell in a tumble across his forehead. A simple silver streak over his left temple that was highlighted by the light when he turned his head. He was beautiful, and not because he'd saved her life earlier.

   "Now that sounds more like the brother I know. Never let a woman get too close to you, not when the moon is nearly full to fading. Isn't that what you always say?"

   Blackmoor growled low in his throat.

   The driver of the coach opened the door, which was now above them. Jenkins poked his head inside, drenching them with a pool of water. "Everyone well?" he asked.

   "We most certainly are not well," Blackmoor retorted, his voice harsh. "Who taught you to drive a coach?"

   Jenkins quickly retreated from the doorway. "I'll just go gather the horses," he said as he vanished from view. Lily thought she heard him say something about poor-mannered noblemen.

   She reached up to touch the wound at her hairline and winced.

"Be still," Blackmoor commanded her.

   "Can you go five minutes without giving me orders?" she asked as she sat up. "I'm fine. Just a bump on the head." The walls of the carriage spun as she stood up.

   The duke growled.

   "I do like her," Lord William said as he pulled himself up through the open doorway to kneel on the top of the coach. "Not even drizzling anymore." He held out his arms. "Here, pass her up to me."

   Blackmoor hesitated. Lily slipped past him, her body brushing against his, and raised her hands up toward Lord William, feeling rather like a baby waiting to be picked up by her parent.

   Lily gasped when Blackmoor's warm hands spanned her waist. Having his hands on her person felt almost scandalous. Yet wildly comforting at the same time.

   He lifted her effortlessly toward his brother's outstretched arms, which pulled her safely and quickly out of the coach. "Welcome back, Miss Rutledge," Lord William laughed.

   She had to admit she enjoyed his easy-going nature, which was so unlike his rigid brother's. He had a boyish grin and a rakish twinkle in his eye, the contrasting traits mixing nicely in the man.

   Before she could speak, the duke pulled himself from the coach and sat beside her on top of it for a moment. She could see Jenkins slogging down the muddy road in the distance as he led the horses back to the coach. If there wasn't too much damage, maybe they could soon be on their way.

   In one graceful leap, Blackmoor was on the ground and holding his arms out to her. He beckoned with the tips of his fingers. "Come on, now."

   Lily sat down on the side of the coach and slid into his arms. Instead of catching her at the waist, as she expected, he wrapped his arms around her and let her slide down the front of his body.

   She couldn't fight back the gasp that rose in her throat. Her hands clutched at his shoulders and then slipped down to his chest as she made her descent. Her heart thudded. Could he hear it? Certainly he could, because her heartbeats sounded as loud as the pounding of hooves to her own ears.

   "I hear there will be a beautiful full moon in a few days," Lord William said as he jumped down from the coach himself.

   Blackmoor thrust her forcefully away from himself and went to join his brother and Jenkins as they prepared to flip the coach. Surely the three men didn't think they could lift the heavy conveyance on their own?

   Yet, within moments, the coach creaked and groaned as its mighty hull shifted and landed forcefully back on its wheels. The coach must have been much lighter than she thought. No wonder it had tilted over.

   Lily was anxious to sit down inside the coach again. Her head spun like a child's top after the string had been pulled. Blackmoor reached out to take her arm.

   "We need to have someone take a look at your head," he said, concern etched in his features.

   "Not in this coach, you won't," Jenkins said. "Broken axle." He pointed toward the front of the carriage, where Lily couldn't see.

   Blackmoor cursed under his breath.

   "Looks like Miss Rutledge will just have to ride to town with me. She can ride your mount, Simon." Lord William smiled as he untied his large chestnut gelding from a nearby tree where Jenkins had secured the horse.

   Lily's vision grew darker. She shook her head, trying to shake off the queasiness like a hound shakes off water. That only made things worse.

   "It's fairly obvious that Miss Rutledge can't sit a horse." Blackmoor looked down at her and scowled.

   "Oh, delightful luck, there. She can ride double with me," Lord William said as he reached down toward Lily, a sparkle in his icy blue eyes.