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  Oliver. Somehow she’d lost sight of him. Simon was right. She’d never leave Oliver, not if she had a say in it. Lily brushed her cheeks and stepped away from Emory. “Excuse me.”

  “Lily.” Simon started toward her.

  She shook her head. She didn’t have a choice. She’d go back to Westfield Hall, but not without Will. Simon wouldn’t do or say anything untoward with his brother nearby.

  Lily dropped onto her own bed at Westfield Hall, after turning the lock in her door. She was of no temper to entertain guests in the middle of the night.

  Simon had fumed the entire way back from the assembly room, and Will hadn’t been in the mood to use his charm to make the ride more palatable for anyone. Lily was more lost than ever.

  She had never felt so connected with another soul as she had in the garden with Simon. Then the interlude had ended and reality came crashing back around her. No matter how deeply she had fallen for him, Simon didn’t love her and he wouldn’t offer what she truly needed.

  It was time to leave.

  She’d say good-bye to Oliver in the morning and start back to Maberley Hall. In a few months, he’d head off to Harrow and wouldn’t need her as much as he had up until this point. No matter that Simon couldn’t be what she needed, she didn’t believe he’d let any harm come to Oliver.

  Her decision made, she snuggled under the counterpane and cried herself to sleep.

  “You should know,” Will began, as he slumped in an overstuffed leather chair in Simon’s private suite of rooms. “True to form, Prisca has stirred up a bit of trouble for you.”

  Simon shrugged out of his coat and threw it across the room to land on a slight Chippendale chair. “What’s she done?” He couldn’t possibly have more trouble than he’d made for himself. Lily wouldn’t even look at him, and his heart had ached when he heard her turn the key in her lock and start to cry. Perhaps she would see reason in the light of day.

  “Got Mrs. Bostic all worked up that Lily’s been living here without a chaperone.” Will threw back a whisky and closed his eyes.

  The vicar’s wife? Simon grunted. He couldn’t care less what the old bat thought. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d stepped foot in a church. He was many things, but hypocritical wasn’t one of them. He picked up the decanter of whisky and started to pour.

  “I know you don’t play by the rules,” Will continued. “Well, not their rules, anyway; but this is bad for Lily. She’s ruined, Simon. Living with two bachelors, neither of whom have pristine reputations, and with no one watching out for her virtue. No chaperone. Her name will be dragged through the mud tomorrow morning.”

  Simon crushed the whisky bottle in his hands. Shards of glass penetrated his skin, while blood and drink pooled on the floor at his feet. Will didn’t even look surprised or pull himself out of his seat. “Damned Hawthornes.” Simon dropped what was left of the bottle to the floor and pulled a piece of glass from his palm. “That woman is a menace. Why would she hurt Lily like that?”

  Will scoffed. “Prisca is calling your bluff. She doesn’t think you’ll let Lily be called a whore, that you’ll marry her instead.”

  God! Simon winced. She’d called herself a whore, which wasn’t even close to the truth. He’d spent many a night with women who were, but Lily Rutledge couldn’t be counted in their number. He’d kill anyone with his bare hands who would speak out against her. “I’d like to get my hands around her neck.”

  Will growled. “You stay away from Prisca. She’s only trying to help Lily, as unorthodox as it seems.”

  Simon pulled the last piece of glass from his hand and wrapped his once snowy white cravat around his wound. He shouldn’t bother ruining the cloth; he’d heal in no time, but he was at a loss for what to do, what to say.

  “What are you going to do?” Will finally asked.

  Simon didn’t have a clue. “I can’t marry her, Will. She doesn’t want to know about all of this.” He moved his injured hand about, gesturing to both of them. “I can’t ask that of her.”

  Will shook his head. “You’d rather she be branded a whore?”

  “Don’t you ever say that again,” Simon snarled.

  “I won’t need to. Everyone else will.”

  There had to be a way around the situation. He could send her back to Maberley Hall. He could send her to his family’s old estate in Scotland. “She wants to go back to Essex.”

  “Did she say that?” Will asked.

  “Not to me, but I can feel it.”

  Will shook his head. “It’s no matter, Simon, this will follow her anywhere. You’re you, and what you do—and who you spend time with—has a way of making it in the papers. Mrs. Bostic isn’t known for keeping her tongue.”

  “I could rip it out of her head,” Simon suggested, offhandedly.

  “Charming.”

  Simon glared at his brother.

  “Look, Lily doesn’t have to know. You were going to set her up in a house nearby anyway. So you set her up here instead. Marry Lily. Protect her. But when the moon calls, you’ll tell her you’re going hunting with me or Ben. Make plans. Be somewhere else. Stay with her the rest of the time but keep her in the dark a few days. It’s the best solution there is.”

  “It’s not fair to her,” Simon said as he buried his head in his hands.

  “Let her decide, won’t you?”

  Nineteen

  LILY WOKE AND DRESSED BEFORE THE SUN CAME UP, needing the time to bolster her confidence. She paced the length of her room, practicing what she would say to Simon, Oliver, and Will—and even what she would say to Prisca and Emory Hawthorne.

  She could just imagine how Emory viewed her at this point, having seen her run from Simon into his arms. She’d seen herself in the mirror when she’d arrived home. Her hair hung tangled and wild about her shoulders; gone was the elegant upsweep that made her look so sophisticated. In its place was the whore that she’d become.

  Could she still salvage her reputation? She would have to leave Oliver and return to Essex. Of course, she would refuse Simon’s offer of a dowry. No one would want her now, not once word got out about her wanton behavior.

  Oliver would be safe with Simon. Despite his lack of interest in providing supervision in the past, he would care for the boy. He would be firm yet loving. And Oliver would have Will as well, someone who was already having a positive effect on him. William had even managed to coerce Oliver into practicing his Latin, which was a miracle in itself.

  Lily descended the stairs slowly, listening for sounds of footsteps in the foyer. She was slightly relieved to find no one moving about. But as she turned the corner, she heard voices from the breakfast room.

  Simon and Will.

  Her task seemed more difficult now that she was here, and her heart pounded ruthlessly. But it had to be done. She took a deep breath and steeled herself to face them. To face Simon.

  Lily pressed forward and stepped over the threshold. At once, Simon leapt to his feet. Anguish marred his brow.

  “Lily,” he said as the air rushed out of him.

  Will slowly rose and smiled at her. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

  Lily shook her head. “That’s not necessary, Will.”

  “Oh, I think it is.” He winked at her and quickly quit the room.

  Lily watched him go and then turned her head back to Simon, only to find him right next to her. How could he possibly have moved so quickly? She took a step away from him, not able to look him directly in the eyes. “Your Grace, I—”

  “We’re a little past ‘Your Grace,’ Lily.”

  Heat infused her cheeks, and she nervously smoothed her skirts. “Your Grace, I have no excuse for my behavior, and I think it best if I leave for Maberley Hall today.”

  Simon’s knuckles brushed against her cheek, sending tendrils of desire straight to her core. The sooner she left, the better. She couldn’t trust herself alone with him at all. Who knew what she’d do next?

  “I can’t let you leav
e, Lily,” his deep voice rumbled over her.

  Lily closed her eyes, wishing herself away from him. Wishing this could be easier. “I won’t be your mistress, Simon. I can’t. It’s time for me to leave.”

  “No,” he said, his voice strained. “Not my mistress, Lily. You’re going to marry me.”

  She must have misheard him. Simon Westfield couldn’t possibly want to marry her. She would interfere with his lifestyle. Wasn’t that what he’d said?

  Slowly, Lily opened her eyes. His penetrating grey gaze bored into her. His brow was furrowed. A muscle twitched in his jaw. Whatever was going on, Simon was the furthest thing from happy. “Marry you?” she asked.

  He nodded. Once.

  A feeling of dread settled in her belly, and Lily shook her head. “Why would you ask me such a thing?”

  “It’s necessary.”

  “Necessary?”

  Again, he nodded.

  “Why?”

  He quietly watched her, and, for the longest time, Lily thought he wouldn’t speak at all. Did he really not want to lose her? Her heart expanded at the thought.

  “We don’t have a choice.” Simon’s voice interrupted her thoughts, dashing her hopes.

  Unsure what to say to that, Lily blinked at him.

  Simon shook his head. “If you don’t marry me, Lily, you’re as good as ruined.”

  “I am ruined,” she reminded him with a whisper.

  Simon closed the distance between them and tipped her chin back, forcing her to look at him. “Lily love, you are far from ruined. Last night I gave you pleasure; I didn’t take your innocence.”

  She wasn’t quite sure what the difference was. She felt the furthest thing from innocent.

  “Will has a connection to the Archbishop. He’ll leave for Lambeth Palace this morning to acquire a special license, and we’ll be married in three days time.”

  Lily shook out of his hold. “Why don’t we have a choice?”

  Simon raked a hand through his black hair. “Damn it, Lily! I thought this would make you happy. You were prepared to settle for Emory Hawthorne or one of the other dolts from last night.”

  Not really. Not that she could tell him how much he’d hurt her with his offer. “That was different.”

  He glared at her. Lily had never expected to receive an offer of marriage from anyone. She didn’t have lands, connections, or money to offer a prospective husband. If she had ever let the stray thought enter her mind, Simon’s proposal was far from what dreams were made of. There were no declarations of love, no looks of adoration, nor promises for a happy future.

  She was already a poor relation. The last thing she wanted was to be stuck in a loveless marriage. She’d seen that with Daniel and Emma, and had no desire to live in one herself. Not that there wasn’t love on her side; there was. But Simon obviously didn’t return the sentiment, and she didn’t think she could face a lifetime with him, knowing he never really wanted her. That she was an obligation.

  If her heart wasn’t already broken, this would certainly have done the job.

  “Look,” Simon began gruffly, “I wish it could be different, Lily. Really, I do. You’re better off without me, but there isn’t a better solution.”

  She didn’t believe that. “Why?” she asked skeptically.

  “Because word has gotten out that you’ve been living here with me.”

  “But I only came to speak to you about Oliver, as you couldn’t be bothered to return a letter.”

  “It’s no matter. You’re a young, unmarried woman staying under my roof without a proper chaperone.”

  “Young?” She snorted. “Heavens, Simon, I’m almost twenty-four. I’m Oliver’s spinster aunt. I don’t need a chaperone.”

  One black eyebrow arched. “You are hardly a spinster. Not one man last night thought so.”

  They hadn’t wanted her either. They were after her funds, or Simon’s funds, as the case may be. She didn’t realize she was crying until Simon brushed a tear away with the pad of his thumb.

  “Why would you consider marriage to that pack of fools, but not to me?” he asked softly.

  Lily’s eyes flashed up to him. He was the only man she’d ever wanted in any way, shape, or form. “Because you don’t want me.”

  His arms snaked around her waist, and he pulled her length against his. She could feel his arousal through her skirts, and heat crept up her face.

  “Certainly you can feel how much I want you.”

  “For a tumble, for an arrangement. You don’t want to marry me, Simon.”

  “I never wanted to marry anyone, Lily. If things were different, if I was different, it would be another situation all together, but I am who I am. Somehow we’ll find a way to make it work.”

  “What about your lifestyle?”

  He blanched. “We’ll find a way to make it work,” he repeated.

  “Simon—” she began, but he placed his finger on her lips, silencing her.

  The intensity of his grey eyes pierced her, and Lily lost her breath. She did want him. He was offering respectability and his name, if not his heart. Perhaps that would come. She prayed it would.

  Lily nodded her consent.

  Simon thought his heart was going to leap out of his chest, right up to the moment she nodded her head. When she finally nodded her acquiescence, he was sure he looked like a besotted fool. Surely she would turn her head and laugh at him any moment. But he couldn’t be romantic, could he? He had to let her believe his offer of marriage was simply to protect her reputation. But it was far from that.

  Well, it was partly that. He could already imagine the society pages when the scavengers reported that someone had finally shackled the Duke of Blackmoor. He was notorious for his escapades; he’d spent years cultivating his image, after all. He could only imagine how Lily would feel when the gossipmongers began to speculate about an eight-month baby. They might even make wagers in the London clubs about how long it would be before a blessed event would occur. Even though he and Lily hadn’t been intimately involved, she would be slaughtered by their poisonous pens.

  Simon turned away from Lily and scrubbed a hand across his face. How best to protect her?

  “Is something wrong, Simon?”

  “No, no, Lily,” he said, suddenly distracted by his wayward thoughts. “Nothing is wrong.”

  “Simon,” she said as she laid her delicate little hand on his chest. “You don’t have to marry me.” His heart sped up beneath her touch.

  “Oh, I do,” he murmured, already feeling aroused from her innocent touch.

  “I can survive a bit of scandal…” she started.

  “There is no need, Lily.”

  “I can’t imagine forcing you into something you don’t want to do.” She turned away from him. Then she spun back quickly. “Will you hate me?”

  “I can’t imagine anyone hating you,” he said, tipping her chin up with his finger. “And you will make a perfectly beautiful duchess.”

  “Oh, my, Simon.” She smiled. “I almost forgot about that part.”

  “You will be perfect,” he said, looking into the amber depths of her eyes.

  “Who will make a beautiful duchess?” Oliver asked as he breezed into the room. He stopped and looked at the pair of them, his stance one of supreme bullheadedness. He stomped like a horse as he walked toward them and plopped into a chair.

  “Really, Oliver,” Lily said. “Mind your manners.”

  Oliver had the nerve to smirk at her. “Why?” He looked at her with the utmost disrespect, reminding Simon of a young pup who’s just learned he has teeth but hasn’t yet learned how to use them to his advantage.

  “Because an earl is expected to behave properly.” Lily’s eyebrows scrunched together.

  “Aunt Lily,” Oliver said. “My manners are certainly not the only thing that’s improper about me. If you only knew…”

  “Enough!” Simon barked, worried the boy would reveal too much.

  Oliver snapped his mouth
shut and sat up straight. That was much better, Simon thought. He really didn’t want to take the pup to heel. Not again. Not today.

  “So, who is going to be a duchess?” Oliver asked again.

  “It appears as though I am,” Lily sighed. Simon’s eyes sought hers. She sounded as if she had just said “I’ll be going to the gallows tomorrow” or “I have three days left to live.”

  “Well, that was fast,” Oliver said. “You met a duke last night? And he has already offered for you? It’s that dowry, isn’t it? I had a feeling…” he trailed off when Simon shot a look at him.

  “No, Oliver,” Simon began, adjusting his stance to lean casually against the door frame. If he wanted the boy to be less of a peacock, he might try by setting an example, so he attempted an air of relaxation. “Your Aunt Lily has agreed to marry me.” Before he could even attempt a smile at the lad, the boy was up and stomping across the room.

  But what tipped his hand was when he grabbed Lily’s upper arms and shook her slightly. “Are you daft, Aunt Lily? You simply cannot agree to marry a man like him.”

  Simon fought the beast to maintain control when he pulled the boy away from Lily. It was difficult but not impossible. He picked the lad up by the scruff of the neck, grasping his shirt tightly, and set him away from Lily.

  She already had red marks appearing on her upper arms, and she reached to rub them, a scowl on her face. “What is wrong with you, Oliver?” she demanded.

  Simon wanted an answer to that, too. So, he stood between them, waiting for Oliver to speak.

  “You don’t know what he is,” Oliver snarled.

  Lily rolled her eyes, a movement Simon found to be quite endearing simply because it was so improper. “I know all about him, Oliver.” Simon’s heart expanded as she slipped her tiny hand into his. “I have read every scandal sheet, every rumor posted in The Times.” She met Simon’s eyes. “And there were a lot of them.” His heart hurt with that last statement. “But people change.”

  “Oh, he does change, Aunt Lily. You don’t know the half of it,” Oliver said, reaching for her again.

  “Out, Lily!” Simon ordered before the boy could hurt her. She looked as though she was going to hesitate. “Now,” he barked.