Accidental Peers 03 - Compromising Willa (3 page)

“Thanks to the fortune you’ll bestow upon him for accepting me as his wife? No, I am quite happily on the shelf.” She lifted her chin. “Now, will you find me a tutor? You did promise.”

“You are a peculiar female, cousin.” His grave countenance fell away, restoring his usual easy amiability. “Most maidens are interested in the latest fashions rather than world politics and the inner workings of Parliament.”

“There’s just so much to learn and I’ve been rusticating in the country for far too long.”

“Not to worry. I’ve already had my man of business inquire into it. It shouldn’t be long before he finds a suitable tutor.”

Excited by the prospect, Willa favored her cousin with a dazzling smile. Deciding not to marry had freed her to pursue her interests. After the tranquility of country life, she anxiously soaked up London’s bustling atmosphere. The metropolis was so alive and dynamic, teeming with remarkable people and new ideas she longed to explore.

She wasn’t the same sheltered girl who’d almost become Augustus’ wife. Marriage struck her as so limiting now, what with so much of the world waiting to reveal itself. The Ladies Reading Society that Flor had recently introduced her to promised far more excitement than any man could. Although her mother would suffer the vapors if she learned they were currently reading
The Vindication of the Rights of Women
by Mary Wollstonecraft, whose radical assertion that females were not inferior to males was considered scandalous.

Besides, she’d be a fool to take a husband. With her reputation, only fortune hunters would want her now. Augustus had certainly demonstrated how distasteful the physical side of marriage could be, and her late father’s flagrant philandering was a testament to a husband’s inconstancy. Except for Cam and his brothers, men were not to be trusted. She’d learned that lesson well. When the music ended, Cam returned Willa to her mother before wandering off to fetch lemonade for the ladies.

“Adela is enjoying herself,” Mother said. “Her dance card is full.” They watched Willa’s angelic-looking sister float across the floor with her latest smitten dance partner. Now nine-and-ten, her younger sister had grown into a beautiful young woman. Addie moved as if on air, her sunny, ethereal disposition a perfect complement to her fair, delicate looks.

“She will no doubt make a brilliant match,” Willa said. “One can only hope it’s not that clod she is dancing with right now.”

“That is most unkind.” Mother admonished her. “The Earl of Spence comes from a noble ancient family and he has six thousand pounds a year.”

“But he is rather clumsy, I have to agree,” said Cam returning with lemonade and a conspiratorial wink for Willa.

She sipped her lemonade, the lukewarm liquid doing little to cool her in the growing warmth of the assembly hall. Someone had thrown open the terrace doors, but it didn’t seem to make much of a difference because the air remained thick and still. Surveying the hall, her mind wandered as she watched the well-dressed couples take their turn about the dance floor, absentmindedly tapping her slipper to the music. Her foot froze when she saw the scoundrel emerge from the crowd.

Framed by strong shoulders, his towering black-clad form moved with supreme self-assurance, like a god who’d descended from Mount Olympus to walk among lesser beings. He strode across the room in a way that was both leisurely and aggressive, exuding an unmistakable air of dominion. She pretended to ignore him, as if that were really possible, and prayed he wouldn’t see her. But the beast cut a path straight toward her; his long, strong legs moved with determined purpose, eating up the distance between them.

Her stomach plummeted. There was no escape.

“Preston, you nonesuch, however are you?” Cam said when the beastly man came to a stop before them. “I was beginning to think you meant to stay abroad forever.” Cam clapped his hand on the stranger’s shoulder and shook his hand with vigor.

Willa’s mouth fell open. This Mr. Preston person was clearly known to Cam, who seemed quite pleased to see him. There’d be no avoiding the scoundrel now.

“Ladies, allow me to present His Grace, the Duke of Hartwell.”

She jerked back. A duke! It was unimaginable.

“This is my aunt, the Dowager Marchioness of Camryn.” Cam turned to Willa. “And my cousin, Lady Wilhelmina Stanhope.”

The duke greeted them most properly, except for the glint in his dark eyes when he bowed over Willa’s gloved hand. She curtseyed—perhaps not as deeply as one should for a duke—and murmured the usual polite salutations, all the while taking care to avoid his gaze. But once he returned his attention to Cam, she stole a closer look.

He couldn’t exactly be considered handsome—his features were too vivid for that. They were like sharp-cut glass, giving him an almost harsh appearance. He wore his dark mane unfashionably long and tied back at the nape of his neck, which emphasized his bold features.

“For shame, Camryn,” Mother was saying. “How is it that you haven’t made His Grace known to us before now?”

“Preston has been abroad.” He turned to the duke. “Although I suppose you are Hartwell now since you’ve come into the title. Must I address you as ‘Your Grace’?”

“Hardly,” the duke said in a dry tone. “Hartwell will do nicely.”

“The duke and I were up at Cambridge together,” Cam said. “We had some good times, didn’t we, Pres…errr…Hartwell?”

“Indeed.” The duke’s smile softened the severe angles of his face. “However, I fear there is little we can say of it in front of gentle company.”

“No doubt,” Willa said tartly. The words slipped out almost before she realized she’d spoken aloud. Mother gasped at the insolence.

“Touché, Lady Wilhelmina.” Mirth lit the duke’s eyes, which had seemed black at first, but were actually a midnight blue. They crinkled up at the corners when he smiled. “It appears you know your cousin quite well.”

“Willa is hard on me.” Good humor filled Cam’s voice. “I suppose this is how it feels to have a sister.”

“And quite a lovely sister at that,” Hartwell said. “I see the next set is about to begin. Perhaps I could have the honor of dancing with Lady Wilhelmina?”

Willa drew back. “I am complimented, Your Grace. But I find the dancing has quite worn me out.”

“Nonsense.” Barely-controlled excitement caused Mother to fidget as though she needed to use the chamber pot. “You were saying you’d like another turn around the dance floor and, fortunately for His Grace, you have room on your dance card.”

Willa suppressed a sigh. She’d said no such thing. But standing up with someone of Hartwell’s consequence would be quite the achievement for a girl who’d teetered on the brink of ruination for as long as she had.

“There you have it then.” The duke favored Mother with a heart-stoppingly wide smile, revealing an orderly row of long bright teeth, except for a couple of renegades which tilted their own way. His twinkling eyes settled expectantly on Willa as if defying her to disappoint her own mother.

Drat it all. “As you wish.” Willa forced indifference into her voice.

“Excellent!” Mother clasped her hands together, her face glowing with delighted anticipation. “Do enjoy yourselves.”

As fortune would have it, the next dance was another waltz. She shivered when the duke placed a firm hand on her waist, taking her gloved hand in the other as they joined the crowd of dancers on the floor. His solid strength encased her, making her feel strangely safe and protected.

“Alone at last,” he said.

“Indeed.” Slipping behind the protective mask of detachment she often donned in public, Willa gazed about the room, adopting a deliberate pose of polite disinterest.

…

Grey Preston, Duke of Hartwell, cocked one eyebrow, both amused and disconcerted by Lady Wilhelmina’s show of disdain. That didn’t happen to him often, especially now that he’d come into the title. Still, her cool distance gave him a chance to examine her more closely.

She was exquisite. Much of her beauty came from the incandescent quality of her skin. Smooth and flawless, the soft, porcelain-like surface seemed to glow from within. His gaze moved from the graceful turn of throat to the smooth expanse of her fashionable décolletage, which revealed the creamy slopes of generous breasts.

His blood warmed. He couldn’t blame Bellingham for being besotted with such an extraordinary creature. Contrary to what she’d assumed, he’d heard only snatches of the exchange on the terrace. The word
marriage
had certainly been bandied about several times. His stomach tightened with disgust at the thought of Gus Manning laying a hand on her person. Surely, Cam would never allow such a sordid match. But how could she not be married by now? She must have had numerous offers. Her obvious beauty easily eclipsed all of the other, less fortunate maidens in the room.

She regarded him with impossibly large eyes, which dominated her face, their velvety mocha color alight with intelligence. “It seems I should thank you for not referring to our….ah…earlier encounter outside.”

“Do not think of it. It is I who should apologize for discomfiting you.” He paused. “Might I ask if Bellingham is a serious suitor?”

“Most assuredly not. I hadn’t seen him in years before this evening.” She had a voice like melted dark chocolate—creamy, vibrant, and smoothly potent. “Are you acquainted with the earl?”

“We were at Cambridge together.”

The lines of her body stiffened. “So you are friends.”

“No.” He resisted the urge to make a rude sound. “One could not call us friends. Although it appears the same could not be said about the two of you. Bellingham does seem quite enamored of you.”

“It is nothing.”

“From what I overheard on the terrace, Gus would disagree. It is easy to comprehend why he remains besotted with you. You are uniquely lovely.”

Especially given the intriguing strands of red and gold which lit her chestnut curls, dancing each time they fleetingly caught the light. His gaze fell to the enticing plumpness of her moist, pink lips. “Perhaps Byron thought of you when he wrote his latest poem, ‘She walks in beauty, like the night. Of cloudless climes and starry nights.’”

The lady blushed. “Are you a poet as well as a world traveler, Your Grace?”

“Not at all.” The lovely flush of color against her luminescent complexion entranced him. How charming that someone of such extreme loveliness could remain so modest. “It is your beauty that inspires me to quote poetry.”

“I believe Lord Byron wrote that poem for his betrothed wife,” she said coolly.

“A beauty such as yours would inspire thoughts of matrimony.” Taking such an exquisite creature to wife wouldn’t be any hardship. He could easily see her as a duchess. With all of that icy majesty, she already carried herself like a queen.

Her face reddened at his shameless flirtation, the flush on her cheeks extending to the delicate curves of her ears. “Camryn says you’ve been living abroad.” Wintry eyes scanned his face. “Might I ask where?”

He smiled at her obvious attempt to change the subject. “India.”

Her breath caught and her liquid eyes warmed with interest in a way that made Hartwell’s body tighten in one quick surge. “India!” she exclaimed, all of that haughty distance falling away. “You are so very fortunate. Someday, I plan to travel to the faraway places I’ve read about. I long to see India and Greece and Italy.”

“Surely such a thing is not done by young maidens.”

“It won’t be long before I am considered so long in the tooth, no one will have a care what I do.”

He couldn’t imagine that. “Perhaps your husband will show you the world.”

“Tell me of India. It seems such an exotic place.”

He thought of the bazaars, hot and crowded with masses of people thronging forward, the air thick with heat and dust, redolent with the smell of unwashed bodies, sultry spices, and incense. Perhaps it was the cacophony of sounds he remembered most: the clatter of a cart, the noise of fast-talking shopkeepers bargaining their way to a sale.

“There is nothing plain or bland about the country or its people,” he answered. “It is a country of extremes, the hottest of weather, and a rainy season that seems to go on forever. The food can be so spicy it burns all the way down to your stomach. The sweets are almost too sugary to countenance.”

To his astonishment, she smiled, her face relaxing into a deliciously warm expression which reminded him of the sun shining down on a spring garden. “How vividly you describe it.”

Surrendering to the temptation to bask in her radiance, he leaned closer. She smelled of roses, earthy and rich, yet elusive somehow. Heat flooded his belly. “‘I am pale with longing for my beloved.’”

She drew back. “I beg your pardon?”

“It is poetry from India. Centuries old. However, you needn’t worry. There’s nothing romantic about it. I believe it refers to a love of God.”

The chill returned to her voice. “I must say, Your Grace, I find this conversation most forward and unconventional.”

“Ah, but then you do not seem conventional, my lady.”

She stilled. “If that is intended as another insult—”

“Not at all,” he assured her, resisting the impulse to kiss her senseless, to chip away at that icy exterior and revel in that flash of sun he’d glimpsed. “I find most young ladies of the ton to be quite boring and silly. Qualities, I might add, which I would never attribute to you.” He was rewarded with another one of those pink blushes which extended to her ears.