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they'd been to earlier.
       A bosomy barmaid rushed to Lily. "Oh, you poor dear, his lordship said you'd been injured."
       "Indeed," Will said with a frown. "Do you have Her Grace's room prepared, Molly?"
       Her Grace!
       Lily took a surprised step back. A strong hand
    squeezed her shoulder, and Lily turned her head to see Blackmoor behind her, a deadly frown on his face. "I would like for my wife to lie down until your doctor arrives."
       Lily's head began to pound, and she thought she might faint. Apparently Blackmoor did, too. Before she knew it, the duke had scooped her up in his arms. What was it with these men who felt the need to lift and carry her from place to place?
       "Right this way, Your Grace," the bosomy girl said in a panic.
       Blackmoor carried Lily up a flight of stairs at the back of the taproom, depositing her in the middle of a small bed. He waited until the tavern wench shut the door before sitting on the edge of the bed beside her.
       Lily gaped at him. "What was that about?"
       The duke shook his head. "I do wish Will had warned us, but he is right. It wouldn't do for someone to know that an unmarried lady traveled with the two of us. This is for your own good."
       "My reputation?" Lily closed her eyes, wishing the pounding in her head would subside. There were so many more important things to worry about. Like the fact that he was sitting on the end of her bed, with the door closed.
       "Yes, your reputation."
       Either she was slightly addled from the knock on the head or he thought she was an idiot. She wasn't sure which.
       "Surely you can do more than just repeat what I say," she said as he fluffed a pillow and placed it under her head, urging her to lie down. She batted his hands away.
       Blackmoor scowled at her. "If it was found that you traveled unescorted with us by coach, tongues would wag and you would have to marry one of us."
       "Twenty-three years and no one has ever offered for me, so it might be quite a novel experience. One I would have to turn down, of course."
       She had to admit he looked quite dashing with his hair tumbled over his forehead. But the vee between his eyebrows was slightly unattractive.
       "Your Grace, you're looking at me as though I've sprung a second head."
       She didn't expect it when he reached out to move a lock of hair from her eyes. His fingertips lingered at her temple before he turned his hand and brushed her cheek with the back of it, his knuckles trailing all the way down to her chin. "If no one has offered for you in twenty-three years, the loss is certainly theirs, Miss Rutledge. Not yours."
       She snorted. "The loss would be theirs, Your Grace. The lack of a dowry makes me a poor prospect for marriage." She shrugged. "But I am quite happy with Oliver, taking care of him."
       "Speaking of that," the duke began. "We'll need to discuss his present living situation. I have decided that Oliver will come to live with me at Westfield Hall, at least for a short while."
       Lily sat up quickly. "Why on earth would you want to do that?" she exclaimed. She grabbed her head when the pounding started again.
       "Stop that," the duke rebuked her. "Lie down before you keel over." He grasped her forearms, one in each hand, and pushed her back onto the bed.
       He had to be the strongest man ever, because Lily found herself unable to fight him, no matter how much she wanted to do the opposite of what he instructed.
       "Let. Me. Up." She must have spent too much time in the duke's company, because she heard the growl in her own voice. Perhaps surliness was contagious.
       He leaned over her, his body mere inches from hers. "I will let you up when you promise to lie still, Miss Rutledge."
       "I will promise you nothing," she said loudly.
       "Then I'll just have to hold you like this forever," the duke replied.

Six

    Simon wasn't sure which was worse, that Miss Rutledge