A Certain Wolfish Charm (27 page)

   "Yes, Your Grace," the butler replied evenly. "I took the liberty of preparing the late earl's chamber for the duke and the countess' chamber for you."

   Lily shook her head at that. "Findley, that isn't necessary. I can stay in my old room for a night."

   It was necessary, however, in Simon's mind. The earl and countess' chambers connected, and he had no intention of being separated from his bride. He cleared his throat. "Love, Findley had the right of it."

   "Are we only staying one night?" Oliver asked from behind them.

   Simon nodded. "Indeed. Take the opportunity to get whatever you'd like to have with you at Westfield Hall, anything you might have left behind."

   "Of course, Your Grace," the boy said with more respect than he'd shown thus far. Then he bounded up the staircase.

   The tone caught Lily's notice, and she glanced up at Simon. "What was that about?"

   He feigned ignorance and shrugged. After all, he couldn't give her any details.

   Lily's eyes narrowed on him.

   "Aren't you going to show me to my chambers, love?" he asked, offering her his arm.

   She took it but frowned slightly. "Simon Westfield, what exactly are you trying to hide from me?" Lily asked as she led him up the stairs. "And why are you drenched and Oliver dry as a bone? Where was he? What happened with the two of you? And why—"

   Simon couldn't help but laugh. "Lily, have you ever heard the term 'Don't look a gift horse in the mouth'?"

   She stopped at the top of the stairs. "Of course I have, but I don't see how that is fitting in this situation."

   He prodded her along. "You wanted Oliver found. I did so. You wanted me to take an interest in the boy, and I've done so. You wanted Oliver to accept our marriage, and now he has. Simply smile and say, 'Thank you, Simon.'"

   Lily directed him toward the master's chambers. "I am happy, Simon. Thank you, but—"

   "It's this door, isn't it?" Simon asked, hoping to distract her.

   She nodded, "Simon—"

   He silenced her by pulling her against him and wrapping his cold, wet arms around her. "I don't have my valet, Lily. Can I beg you to help me out of these clothes?"

   She blushed, smiling up at him. Finally, he had her attention where he wanted it.

   "Simon, I'm certain you can manage that all on your own."

   "Yes, but it would be much more enjoyable with your assistance," he whispered, as he opened the door to the suite of rooms.

   Then someone coughed delicately behind them. Simon looked over his shoulder to find Findley's eyes on Lily. "Your Grace," the butler said to her. "We weren't expecting you, and Cook needs to begin preparing dinner. Could you please come see her about the menu?"

   Lily slid from Simon's arms. "Yes, of course, Findley." She threw a glance back at Simon as she followed the butler down the corridor.

Don't look a gift horse in the mouth!
Lily frowned. Something was wrong. Something had happened, and Simon was trying to keep it from her. What was it?

   Lily went through the tedious task of choosing cucumber soup, roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, fresh vegetables, and lemon tarts for dessert. She then assured Findley that there wouldn't be any changes to the household after her and Oliver's departure.

   That thought brought her back to her conundrum. What had happened between Oliver and Simon that had rendered such an obvious truce? Before the storm, she'd had the feeling Oliver wouldn't have poured a bucket of water on Simon even if he'd been on fire. Now she felt like their feelings had changed.

   Oliver had needed the influence of a father for quite some time. She'd often thought about marrying, simply so he could have a male presence in his life. But the situation never presented itself, and she never went in search of a husband. She was much more content to lead a rather solitary existence.

   Lily twisted the wedding band on her finger. Until now, that is. Now all she could think about was how to get back upstairs to Simon. She flushed as she imagined him shrugging out of his sodden clothes. Then he would sink his lean body into a warm bath.

   Lily called for Findley. The man appeared as if by magic. How
did
they do that? She shook her head. No matter.

   "Findley, would you have Cook send lunch up to His Grace's room, please?" The man simply inclined his head. Lily turned to run up the stairs. Findley's voice stopped her.

   "For two, Your Grace?"

   Lily couldn't avoid the blush that she knew must stain her cheeks. "That would be lovely," she replied with quiet dignity.

   She raced up the steps in very unladylike fashion. Thank goodness, no one was watching. Or they would think she was in a hurry to get to her husband. Then they would assume to know why.

   And they would be completely right. She wanted him to enfold her in his strong arms and hold her tightly. But even more than that, she wanted answers about Oliver.

   Lily didn't even knock before stepping into Simon's room. He was her husband, after all. She couldn't suppress a shiver. The door clicked closed behind her, and she walked farther into the room.

   "Simon?"

   "Yes, love?" She would never get over the thrill that came with that term of endearment.

   "May I talk to you?" she called.

   "Not very effectively if you stay that far away," he called back.

   "Are you decent?"

   He chuckled. "I have never been called decent in my whole life. Why should I begin now?"

   "Simon," she scolded him.

   "I think you enjoy the fact that I'm not quite decent most of the time. Don't you?"

Simon couldn't help but tense up to prepare himself for her answer. She'd alluded to the fact that she liked his beastly behavior in the coach. It would be beyond his wildest dreams to know that she accepted him just as he was.

   Of course, he would never be able to fully reveal himself to her, but it would be nice to know that he didn't have to pretend every minute of every day.

   When she didn't answer, he called, "Lily?"

   "Yes, Simon." She stepped from behind the bathing screen and immediately turned her head to look the other way, her face coloring prettily. "I'm so sorry," she started.

   "Lily love." Simon allowed his gaze to travel down her body. "I have been
inside
you. I don't think it will hurt for you to see me in the bath."

   Her hands fluttered nervously. If he wasn't in the bath, he would have gone to her in an attempt to calm her. Unlike any woman he'd ever been with, she was a novice to all of this. He usually chose women who were as jaded as he.

   "You shouldn't say things like that out loud, Simon," she gasped.

   "Say what?" He couldn't keep himself from teasing her.

   "That you have been… there."

   "I'm planning to go
there
again when I get out of the bath."

   "Oh, my," she said, as her hand fluttered to land on her chest. "You're incorrigible." The corners of her mouth finally tilted into a grin.

   "There's that smile I love." He did love to see her happy.

   "You like to embarrass me."

   He did. He liked to see her out of sorts. He liked to surprise her. He liked that all this was fresh and new for her. But would she feel the same way about him if she knew the truth? Would she still laugh at him? Or would she be disgusted? Would she turn and run from him? He wasn't willing to take that chance.

Lily watched the play of emotions on his face. "What is it, Simon?" She took a step closer to the tub. "What are you not telling me?"

   "I don't know what you mean," he said, avoiding her gaze.

   "I think there's something you're keeping from me." Lily closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I know you didn't want to marry. Or to be a father."

   "Who implied that?" he suddenly barked.

   "You
do
want to be a father?" she asked.

   "I think I have made that perfectly clear," he said

as he stood up and took a towel from a nearby chair. Water sluiced down his naked body and puddled on the floor when he stepped from the tub. "I came all the way here on our wedding night to search for Oliver. Then I went out in the pouring rain to find him. Then I actually made peace with the little pup. If that's not acting the role of father, I'm not sure what is."

   Lily turned to face away from him. He crossed the floor in three quick strides. Lily gasped as he took her shoulder and turned her around, then pulled her close to his naked, wet body.

   "Don't ever assume that I'm not a normal man. With the same wants and desires as any other."

   "Wants and desires?" she managed to croak out.

   "Those, too," he said, shaking his head. "But listen to me, Lily."

   She nodded, the water from his body soaking the front of her gown. But she paid it no heed. The intensity in his eyes had her total attention.

   "I want you to be my wife. I want to raise Oliver like he's a son. I want you to be the mother of my children. I
want to share my life with you in every way.
" His lips pressed against hers quickly. "I just wish…"

   "You wish what, Simon?" Oh, please talk to me. Tell me what's in your heart.

   "I just wish I were a different man for you," he finally admitted before he turned away to pat himself dry with the towel. "Could you ring for Oliver's valet?"

   "I could help you," she offered. She really wasn't ready to be dismissed.

   "The boy's valet will do." He walked away from her, apparently forgetting his earlier promise of intimacy. Lily was left with a soaked gown, wounded pride, and just as many questions as she'd had before their conversation began.

   She went to the bell pull and tugged harder than was necessary. "Simon," she began, "I asked Findley to have lunch delivered to you here. I'm certain you're famished."

   "How thoughtful," he replied, looking out the window with his back to her.

   "I thought we might enjoy the meal together. I thought we could talk."

   She saw the muscles in his back tense at those words, which only made her more suspicious. "Simon?"

   "Lily, it's been a long day," he said quietly.

   She frowned at him, not understanding him in the least. "What secrets are you keeping from me, Simon?"

   He laughed and glanced over his shoulder at her. "Secrets? Lily, you yourself said you knew them all after keeping up with my scandalous exploits through the gossip columns all these years. What else could I possibly have to hide?"

   That was a very good question, but Lily was certain he was hiding something. "I am your wife. You do know I'm trustworthy, don't you?"

   Simon sighed. "I'm certain you are. If I had any secrets, Lily, I would lay them at your feet."

   At that moment someone scratched at the door. "Come," Lily called.

   When Oliver's valet opened the door, Lily knew she had run out of time. At least with Simon. Oliver, however, might very well shed some light on the situation.

   She strode purposefully down the hall and around the corner to her nephew's room. She knocked lightly and then pushed the door open. "Oliver," she began.

   "Aunt Lily!" When Oliver leapt off the bed, a book thudded to the floor at his feet.

   "What's that?" she asked, stepping forward.

   Looking more guilty than she'd ever seen him, Oliver shrugged. "Just one of my father's books. I found it in the library."

   Lily shook her head. Oliver wouldn't feel guilty over a book. He was far from studious. She must have misinterpreted the expression. If he wanted to study some of Daniel's old books, she'd gladly welcome the activity. "I suppose it's too much to hope that it's Latin."

   Oliver nodded his head vigorously. "There is some Latin text, Aunt Lily."

   Now she didn't believe him at all. But old tomes belonging to the late Earl of Maberley were not her highest concern at the moment. "Oliver, may I ask you a question?"

   "Of course," he answered, dropping back to his spot on the bed and kicking the book under the counterpane.

   Lily took a spot beside him. "Why did you run off?"

Oliver hated to lie to his aunt, but the duke had made the rules very clear. Blackmoor had told Oliver what to say, and he hoped he'd be able to carry it off.

   "I was jealous," he repeated his contrived response.

   "Jealous?" Aunt Lily echoed, a crease marring her brow.

   He nodded while guilt consumed him. "Well, when I arrived at Westfield Hall, Blackmoor seemed to demand all of your attention. And you seemed taken by him."

   "Oliver York," she said quietly, "you have always been my life."

   He shrugged. "Not anymore. I'll be going off to school, and you have the duke, and…"

   Aunt Lily kissed his cheek, just like she always did when she was trying to soothe him. Oliver swallowed his guilt about deceiving her. He did want her to be happy. She deserved all the happiness in the world. Knowing what he was, what the duke was, wouldn't bring that to her. So he squeezed her hand and continued his ruse.

   "I am sorry, Aunt Lily. I shouldn't have run off. I suppose I thought you'd be so consumed in your new life, you wouldn't miss me."

   "Oh, Oliver!" she said, brushing tears from her cheek. "I was so worried about you. How could you think that? When you go off to Harrow, I will miss you more than you will ever know."

   He hugged her then. Fiercely. "I love you, Aunt Lily."