A Certain Wolfish Charm (2 page)

   He slept a fitful sleep the remaining hours of the night, the rocking of the coach his only comfort. He tried to straighten his clothes as he stepped from the coach onto his own cobblestone path, but he knew he still looked disheveled. It was a completely unrespectable way for a duke to present himself to his household. Thank heaven he wasn't a stuffy old member of the peerage. And his staff didn't expect him to be. Of course, they'd also seen him in worse shape.

   Not even bothering to tie his cravat or fasten the top buttons of his shirt, he turned toward the front door and drew in a deep breath. It felt good to be home. He was safe again, until nightfall. Thankfully, the desire had dissipated with the darkness. If only the darkness of his soul could be lifted as easily as the sun in the sky.

   Simon passed through the doorway with a nod to his butler.

   "Welcome home, Your Grace."

   Simon immediately knew something was wrong when he saw the normally unshakeable man wipe his sweaty brow. "Is something amiss, Billings?" he asked.

   "You have a visitor." The butler gestured toward the closest sitting room.

   From his spot in the corridor, Simon had a clear view of the room. The last person he'd ever expected to see here was Lily Rutledge. But there she was, sitting on his settee as though she belonged. With the moonful quickly approaching, that wasn't in her best interest. Simon glared at his butler. Had the man lost his mind? Miss Rutledge could be injured in his presence. "What is she doing here?"

   Billings shrugged. "The London staff told her you were here."

   Damn! Fight or retreat? He sighed.

   Retreat. He couldn't see her. There was no telling what the beast would do.

   "Ready the coach to take Miss Rutledge home, Billings." He turned and hastened toward his study.

   Simon leaned heavily against the door once he was safely ensconced inside and turned the key. He took deep breaths to try to calm his racing heartbeat. She shouldn't have come. Not when he wasn't fully in control. He couldn't hide from the fullness of the moon. It would take him whether he wanted it or not. Sure, she was reasonably safe during the day, but when the sun sank behind the horizon, the danger would become more and more real.

   He knew Lily Rutledge was a strong woman. She was nearly as tall as the average man, standing well above most females. But he wasn't an average man. She only reached his shoulder. He bet that he could tuck her under his chin and still have room to look down at her. He imagined himself doing just that, having her close enough to feel her body against his. He groaned and shifted his trousers.

   No matter how strong she was, Simon would still hurt her. He slumped down in the seat behind his desk. As long as Lily remained safely on the other side, all was well.

   But then he heard her voice.

   "I know he's here, Billings," he heard her cry

from the hallway. Simon flinched when her fist hit the door.

   "You
will
see me, Your Grace," she called.

   What other woman, he wondered, could make "Your Grace" sound so much like an insult?

Lily couldn't remember ever being so enraged. How dare the blackguard refuse to see her? How dare he hide out in his study? She pounded louder on the door. "I am not leaving until you see me."

   Nothing.

   Not a sound came from within. He
was
in there, wasn't he? She knew he was. She'd seen him vanish into the room with her very own eyes. Unless he'd climbed out a window, he could hear every word. Despite last month's mention in the society papers, where he was touted for slipping out Lady T.'s window while the butler helped the inebriated Lord T. to bed, she simply couldn't imagine him folding his big body in two and going out the window just to get away from her.

   Lily crossed her arms over her chest. Really, who could imagine the powerful Duke of Blackmoor would be afraid to see
her?

   Over the years, ignoring her had apparently been easy for him, but that was when she was in Essex. Out of sight and all that. It took real effort to ignore her when she was pounding on his door. "I am a most stubborn woman," she warned him. "I'll wait right here as long as it takes, Your Grace."

   Still nothing.

   Lily jiggled the handle. Locked.

   She heaved a sigh and leaned her head against the large oak door. She knew he could hear her, and she was at a loss. Perhaps talking to him would be easier without his penetrating grey eyes focused on her. What did she have to lose?

   "I'm worried," she said softly. "Something is not right with Oliver and… Well, I know you don't care for the boy, but his father made you his guardian. So that means I'm stuck with you."

   The door was suddenly yanked open, and Lily stumbled forward, right into the muscled arms of the Duke of Blackmoor. She sucked in a surprised breath. Men never held her in their arms. Yet his closed around her as he steadied her. She couldn't really call it
holding her, since she'd fallen into hi
m like a great oak tree whose roots had suddenly given way.

   Lily froze. The heat of his body, coupled with the manly scent of him, was enough to knock her off her feet once more. She steadied herself by placing her hands on his chest. The muscles rippled beneath her fingers. She raised her eyes to his untied cravat and then to the open neck of his shirt, where an improper amount of skin was exposed. She'd never seen such an amazing sight. The light dusting of hair across his chest mesmerized her.

   Lily realized that she was standing on her own two feet, yet his arms were still around her. With her great height, she looked most men in the eye. But she had to tip her head back to look up at Blackmoor. His warm, mint-scented breath blew across her face. Lily closed her eyes and inhaled.

   Suddenly, the duke pushed her away from him, a scowl marring his ruggedly handsome face. "Miss Rutledge, shouldn't you be in Essex?"

   Shaking off his effect, Lily squared her shoulders. "Do you even read the letters I send you?"

   "How much?" he growled.

   "How much?" Lily echoed, blinking at him.

   "How much money will it take to make you leave?"

   Money! Why did it always come to money with this man? Oliver's estates brought in plenty, which Blackmoor would know if he paid the slightest bit of attention to his ward's accounts. She didn't care if she ever saw one farthing of Blackmoor's fortune, for heaven's sake. Lily leveled him with her haughtiest glare. "There is more to being a guardian than proper funds, Your Grace."

   "And that's why Lord Maberley has
you
, Miss Rutledge." Then he stepped away from her, stalking down the corridor toward his grey-haired butler. "Is the coach ready, Billings?"

   Lily chased after him. He couldn't dismiss her so easily. How dare he try to escape her? "There is only so much I can do, Your Grace. We're entering a realm in his development I know nothing about. Oliver isn't the same boy he was before and…"

   The duke turned back to face her. His nostrils flared. His grey eyes darkened to black orbs. A muscle twitched in his jaw. He looked more like a dangerous beast than a refined nobleman.

   Lily swallowed her next words, gaping at the imposing duke as a shiver of fear trickled down her spine.

   "If you are incapable of caring for his lordship any longer, Miss Rutledge, I will find a replacement. In the meantime, I suggest you return to your nephew."

   Replacement? Someone who would care even less about Oliver than Blackmoor did? No one would take Oliver away from her. Not even this great hulking, surly duke. Lily found her voice. "How dare you threaten me? I am concerned about Oliver's well-being, and you won't put me off.
You
are his guardian, for better or worse, and you have duties where he's concerned."

   Blackmoor's eyes darkened even more, which Lily hadn't known was possible. She gulped nervously, panicking slightly when she realized his gaze focused on the movement in her throat. The duke had never seemed frightening until now. Of course, she hadn't laid eyes on him in years. Upon reflection, perhaps it was good he hadn't been to Maberley Hall in the last six years.

   "No one," his voice rumbled over her, "orders me about, Miss Rutledge, and it would be good for you to remember that." Blackmoor turned his piercing grey eyes on his butler and spoke through clenched teeth. "I assume the coach is prepared, Billings."

   The butler simply nodded.

   "You can't run away from me, Your Grace," Lily sputtered.

   "
I'm
not running away at all." He scooped her up in his arms. "But you, my troublesome Miss Rutledge, are returning to your nephew."

Lily's mouth fell open. "How dare you…"

   "You ask that quite a bit. I
do
dare, Miss Rutledge. That is all you need to know."

   She squirmed in his arms, though it was no use. They were like steel bands wrapped around her. "Put me down."

   "In due time," he growled.

   Before Lily could respond, they were on the front stoop and then he was depositing her inside the Maberley coach. "Your Grace!" she managed before he shut the door on her.

   She reached for the handle, but the coach started off with a jerk, throwing her back against the squabs.

Simon watched until the coach disappeared down the drive. Lily Rutledge was a formidable woman, and he didn't put it past her to leap from the conveyance. When all seemed safe, he took a calming breath, prayed to keep his temper in check, and then re-entered his home.

   Foolish woman! He barely had any control over himself as it was. She shouldn't tempt him with her tantalizing hazel eyes that sparkled with indignation. Her creamy breasts that rose higher with each deep intake of breath. Her slender waist that he could span with his hands, if he was of a mind to do so. The image
that
brought to mind shredded the last of his good intentions. What a blessing she was on her way back to Essex. Just remembering how she had felt in his arms filled him with desire.

   Simon tried to tamp down the feelings that suddenly poured through him. It was too close to the full moon to be around women. He'd taken a huge risk when he'd opened the library door. But her plea for help had touched the softness inside him, the softness that even the beast couldn't take out of his soul, not until the night. Not until the night of the full moon.

   When he had heard her impassioned plea, he had been in control of those urges. Then he had opened the door, and she'd fallen straight into his arms.

   She smelled of all things wonderful—a mix of floral scents, probably a perfume applied behind her ears. Or a touch of flower essence between her breasts. But at this stage of the lunar cycle, his sense of smell was enhanced. When she'd frozen in his arms and swallowed hard, he'd smelled her desire and imagined the flush of wetness that surely must accompany it.

   That was when he'd known he had to get her back to the coach and off to Essex as quickly as possible. Otherwise, she would end up flat on her back in the middle of his study with her skirts tossed up around her ears.

   The human side of him, now that he was calming down, knew that she deserved better. Despite her advancing age of twenty-three, she was obviously untouched. He could think of nothing worse than a scared virgin being taken by someone like him. He wasn't nearly good enough for such a gentle and
normal
creature.

   Simon stomped down the corridor, back to his study. He sank into the chair behind his mahogany desk and began to read the correspondence his solicitor had sent, along with the invitations and notes from the
ton
, inviting him to this party or that.

   Would society never realize what he truly was? Would they continue to accept him based on his title alone, despite all the damage he'd done through the years? They seemed inclined to do so.

   He'd heard whispers about
the dangerous duke
, and some of his friends had even relayed what was said about him behind his back. That, in particular, pleased him. Part of him wanted them to know what he was, what he was capable of. But no matter how poor his behavior, they still called for him.

   Simon sat back in his chair and templed his hands in front of him. He tried to remember what Miss Rutledge had said before she fell into his arms. Something about Oliver needing him. The rest was a blur.

   God, he hadn't seen the boy in years. How long since Daniel's death? Had it really been more than half a decade? He winced. Daniel, his cousin and dearest friend, had been one of the few people who understood him. The memories were painful, so he pushed them away.

   He called out, "Billings!"

   The butler entered the room. "Yes, Your Grace?"

   "Do you remember what Miss Rutledge was prattling on about?" He gave a negligent wave of his hand.

   "Something about young Lord Maberley changing and her having no one else to turn to. I believe she was soliciting your help, Your Grace."

   "Do you think she couldn't deal with a little chest hair? Surely the boy has a valet to teach him to shave." He dismissed the thought. The lad's entry into manhood certainly wasn't something to get so worked up about.

   Billings coughed delicately into his hand. "I don't believe she meant
those
kinds of changes, Your Grace. I believe she meant
your
kind."

   "My kind?" he asked. His letter opener clattered to the floor. Billings had been with his family since his boyhood. He knew all of Simon's secrets. Yet he still faithfully served. "You don't mean…?" his voice trailed off.

   "Yes, Your Grace. That's what I mean. She sees the signs and is frightened."