Reading Online Novel

A Certain Wolfish Charm(86)





"What exactly is my crime, Lily?"

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Tears threatened to escape her eyes, but she sniffed them back. "What is being said about me, Simon?"



The gossip! Thank God! Relief washed over him, but only for a moment. Lily looked so forlorn, his heart ached. "I thought it best not to tell you."



She poked him in the chest. Hard. "You thought it would be better for people to laugh at me instead? For me to be completely in the dark?"



The beast threatened to erupt from within him. Someone had laughed at her? He'd kill them. "What happened, Lily?" he growled.



"Take me home," she hissed.



Simon stepped toward her and brushed his knuckles across her soft cheek. "I didn't tell you, love, because I knew it would hurt you. But we can't go yet. If we turn tail and leave, the rumors will persist and grow even uglier. We need to keep our heads high and finish out the play."



"What are they saying about me, Simon?" she asked, her brow furrowed with concern.



He shrugged. "That you're enceinte."



Realization reflected in her eyes, and Simon hated to see her hurt. "But I'm not," she barely whispered.



Simon tugged her against him and nuzzled her neck. "You might be. Nothing would make me happier, Lily. But you certainly weren't before we married. And when no child arrives in seven months, or eight, they'll all realize they were wrong."



She sagged against him. "We have to wait eight months?"



He lifted his head. "Or sooner, if it's obvious you're not with child. However, since you have expressly demanded that I ravish you nightly, I don't know how long that will remain."



When a giggle escaped her throat, Simon breathed a sigh of relief. He slid his arms around her waist and kissed her soft lips. Now he wished they could return home.



"Simon," she said, pushing at his chest.



"Yes, love?"



He'd hoped she would smile at him, or in the very least have a sultry look, but her brow furrowed and her nose scrunched up.



"What else aren't you telling me?"



Simon's stomach dropped. "Nothing," he lied, feigning innocence.



Lily stepped out of his arms. "I'm not a fool, you know."



"Of course not, I—"



She held up her hand to stop his excuse. "I don't want to hear it, unless it's the truth."



"Lily, there's nothing to tell," he insisted as his palms grew sweaty. How long could he keep her in the dark? Would it be safer if he put some distance between them? Lived separately? The idea made him cringe. He didn't want to go on without her. He didn't know if he could.



The theatre grew dim again as intermission ended.



Charles poked his head back inside the box. "Simon…"



He nodded at his cousin. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Charles."



***





Lily stepped from the Blackmoor coach in front of

Madam Pelletier's shop on Bruton Street. She wasn't sure why she was here. When they had intended to stay in London for a time, it had made sense to visit a modiste. However, both she and Simon were now anxious to return to Westfield Hall.



She didn't have a need for gowns befitting a duchess in Hampshire. Yet, Simon had insisted. He grasped her elbow and directed her into the exclusive shop.#p#分页标题#e#



An olive-skinned, dark-haired woman rushed forward at their entrance. "Your Grace," she gushed over Simon, her French accent surprising to Lily's ears. "You do me such an honor."



"Madam," Simon began, "you are a visionary. I would never take my wife anywhere else."



The Frenchwoman stood back, placing her hand over her heart. "Mon dieu! You've brought me a Greek goddess."



Lily's cheeks warmed at the statement, especially after she'd discovered where Simon had stashed the vicious columns and read them, each one maligning her character and her appearance. A Long Meg with unfortunate hair and the fashion sense of a medieval peasant.



"Isn't she, though?" Simon replied, a note of pride in his voice. "We're only to be in London another day. Do you think you can see Her Grace this morning?"



"Oh, indeed!" the modiste answered. Then she took Lily's hand and towed her toward a set of mirrors. "Let's start with your measurements, Your Grace."



"Oh, and, Madam," Simon called, "I'd like to order—"



"I am well acquainted with Your Grace's tastes."



How many women had Simon clothed?



"Thank you," he replied, before leaving Lily to be



poked, prodded, and measured for the better part of the day.