A Certain Wolfish Charm(42)

"Are you happy, Simon?" she asked quietly. Before he could even answer, she said, "You certainly should be. Because, despite my desire not to be your mistress, you made me your whore instead."





Eighteen





What had she done?



Lily clutched her skirts in her hand and ran back down the darkened path toward the assembly hall. Simon called after her, but she paid him no attention. Tears began to stream down her face. He'd never marry her now.



She found Emory Hawthorne on the bench where he had left her, a cup of punch in his hand. When he noticed her tears, he dropped the cup and raced toward her. "My God, Lily, are you all right?"



She doubted she'd ever be right again. Lily managed to shake her head.



Emory pulled her into his arms, and she cried even harder. Why couldn't she feel something for this man or one of the others? Why was Simon Westfield the only man who had ever made her pulse race?



"I'd like to go home," she whispered.



Emory nodded. "Of course, Lily."



"Hawthorne!" Simon's voice boomed from the darkened path. "You won't take Miss Rutledge anywhere."



Emory stared into the darkness. "Blackmoor?"



Simon emerged from the shadows, looking darker and more menacing than Lily could remember, even more so than when he saved her from the awful men at the coaching inn. She shivered.



"Lily is staying at Westfield Hall, and I'll take her home. Your services aren't required."



"Now see here, Simon," Emory began, puffing up like a peacock. "Lily can stay wherever she wants. I'm sure Prisca would enjoy her company again."



Simon chuckled darkly. "Good luck with that, Hawthorne. She'll never leave her beloved nephew. Not for you or anyone else."#p#分页标题#e#



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?"