Wilde in Love

by Eloisa James

  “I can imagine,” Lavinia said, gurgling with laughter.

  “When we returned to Canton, we filled the hold of our ship with pekoe and cloud tea, which I will brew for you one day,” he said, looking directly at Willa. She had the sense that he was leaning forward, though he hadn’t moved a muscle.

  “I doubt we shall have time for that,” she said, picking up a cucumber sandwich.

  Just then the resident peacock crossed the lawn toward them. He was the most magnificent bird Willa had ever seen, even with his long train furled. His throat was bright cobalt blue and his feathery crown was equally dazzling.

  “How beautiful he is!” Lavinia exclaimed. “Is there any way to entice him to fan out his tail?”

  “Peacocks show their tails to attract a mate,” Mr. Sterling drawled, glancing at Lavinia as if to suggest that she had something in common with a peacock.

  Willa swallowed a grin. One could say Lavinia’s bosom was akin to a peacock’s tail, but with the sexes reversed. She wasn’t wearing the blue dress, but her bodice was quite revealing.

  “I’ve offended you again,” came the voice of a beguiling devil in her ear. “I didn’t mean to do so. I’m making a hash of what can and cannot be said in polite society. Do you mind if I call you Willa, by the way?”

  “Yes,” she said flatly.

  “You could call me Alaric.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “I find formality tedious.”

  “I find boredom indicates a lack of application,” Willa replied, keeping her voice steady, though she felt as if she were trembling all over. “Life is always interesting, if you pay attention.”

  “I am not at all bored at the moment,” he said.

  His gaze burned right down Willa’s spine and she felt color rising in her cheeks. “That is beside the point,” she managed.

  “You didn’t mean to imply that men and women should carry out flirtations in order to avoid boredom?”

  Lavinia clearly found Mr. Sterling irritating; she’d hopped up from her chair and accepted some grain from a footman. Now she was bent over the balustrade, trying to bribe Fitzy into spreading his tail.

  “No, I do not,” Willa said. “Society is interesting, because people are interesting. There is always more to learn. Conclusions to be drawn, rightly or wrongly.”

  They watched as Lord Peters joined Lavinia. “I’m not sure there’s anything very riveting about Peters,” Lord Alaric said in a low voice. “Is that an example of Miss Gray’s spread plumage, by the way?”

  Willa frowned. “That is not only improper, but downright rude,” she whispered. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “That,” Alaric responded, unconcerned by her rebuke. He nudged her with his elbow.

  Lavinia was leaning toward Fitzy, who was regarding her with a beady eye, but showed no inclination to spread his tail.

  Willa looked back at Alaric, mystified.

  “Look at Parth,” he said.

  Mr. Parth Sterling had showed no sign of being charmed by Lavinia—rather the opposite. But now he was staring at her as she leaned over the rail. The small side panniers she wore under her gown merely enhanced her already generous curves.

  As they watched, Lord Peters laughingly put his hands around her waist, presumably to keep her from toppling over the parapet.

  Mr. Sterling made a rough sound, snatched up a cucumber sandwich, and got to his feet.

  “Is a cucumber sandwich a more effective bribe than grain?” Willa asked Lord Alaric, unable to stop amusement from sounding in her voice.

  “Fitzy loves cucumbers. But more to the point, the peacock responds to other males, even the human variety.”

  Sure enough, as soon as Mr. Sterling moved to the edge of the terrace and barked, “Fitzy!” the peacock made a burring sound, shook himself, and fanned out his tail in a spectacular display of purple and green feathers.

  Then he stalked to and fro, obviously daring Mr. Sterling to show some plumage of his own.

  Instead Mr. Sterling tossed the sandwich toward the bird, said something to Lavinia, and returned to his seat.

  “Thank you!” Willa said. “His tail is quite remarkable.”

  Mr. Sterling shrugged. “Fitzy is decorative, for all he’s an irascible fellow.” He gave her that quick, rare smile of his. “May I be so bold as to guess that you and Miss Gray are very high society, indeed? She just gave me a look that would have done a queen proud.”

  “Mr. Sterling,” Willa said, “do you think that you might be romanticizing your position? You were raised by a duke, and remain best of friends with his sons. I would guess that you have a formidable estate. Could it be you are simply avoiding the reality that you would be perfectly welcome at society events?”

  “I was raised to believe that rank is contingent on blood.”

  “That certainly used to be the case,” Willa said, “but from what I have observed, it is less and less so each day. A fortune, together with excellent breeding and powerful friends, is a great leveler.”

  “Huh,” Mr. Sterling said.

  “This house party celebrates the betrothal of a future duke to a woman whose grandfather was a grocer,” Willa said, proving her point.

  She glanced at Lord Alaric for support in her argument only to see faint irritation on his face. Evidently, he didn’t like it when she spoke to other men, even his childhood friend.

  “I will take your idea into consideration,” Mr. Sterling said.

  “Take what into consideration?” Lord Alaric asked.

  “I merely told Mr. Sterling that I think he would be welcome in high society,” Willa said.

  At that moment a hush fell over the party; the duke and duchess had arrived. As they stepped onto the terrace, a cluster of footmen moved among the guests, offering glasses of champagne. A chair was quickly brought, and the duchess carefully lowered herself onto it.

  “The last of our guests arrived this morning, and thus we are complete,” His Grace announced. “I would like to officially open this party in honor of my son’s betrothal to Miss Diana Belgrave by offering a toast to the happiness of the betrothed couple.”

  He turned to Lord Roland, who was standing beside Diana at the far end of the terrace. “In centuries past, we would have gathered to make certain that Miss Belgrave had not been kidnapped by my son. I wouldn’t have been surprised to find that North had been forced to kidnap such a beautiful, intelligent woman.”

  Everyone laughed, but Lavinia’s eyes met Willa’s. In view of Diana’s lack of enthusiasm for the match, that was a tactless remark.

  “My father has an odd sense of humor,” Alaric said in Willa’s ear.

  His Grace raised his glass. “I offer this toast to my future daughter-in-law, whom I have discovered to be a gentle, thoughtful warrior, with an impeccable flair for dress and an even more impressive skill at chess.”

  “She beat him,” Alaric supplied in a low voice.

  “Welcome to the family,” the duke concluded. Everyone drank.

  “I should like to add my voice to His Grace’s,” Alaric said, rising.

  The heads on the terrace swiveled in his direction, like poppies toward the sun.

  He kept his eyes on his brother’s face. “I am very fond of a fourteenth-century Persian poet named Hafez. I’ll ask your forgiveness in advance for butchering this translation, but he says that we are all holding hands and climbing. Not loving, Hafez says, is letting go.”

  Lord Roland nodded.

  “So don’t let go,” Alaric said, his deep voice holding everyone captive, “because the terrain around here is far too dangerous for that.” He raised his glass. “To my future sister-in-law, whom we are honored to welcome into the family.”

  “I will never let go,” his brother said into the silence, as everyone drank to the betrothed couple. Diana turned visibly pink.

  Willa thought it sounded like a vow. “Are your books as eloquent as that?” she asked Lord Alaric, when he was once
more seated.

  The question seemed to startle him. “As the poet, Hafez? Not at all. I wouldn’t describe myself as eloquent.”

  “ ‘The terrain around here is far too dangerous for that,’ ” Willa quoted. “I’m hopeless at understanding poetry, but he wasn’t talking about Persia’s mountain ranges, was he?”

  He smiled at her, a smile so intimate that Willa drew in a breath. A girlish part of her soul that she hadn’t even known existed cheered.

  “No,” he said. “No, the terrain he was referring to is quite different. I haven’t been there myself.”

  “Ah.”

  “But I hope to in the very near future.”

  “Girlish” was not a strong enough word for what Willa was feeling. “Giddy” came closer. Something about that made her suddenly cold, despite the warm sunshine.

  Even if Lord Alaric’s intentions were honorable—which now struck her as possible, if unlikely—she had absolutely no desire to be married to a man whose printed image was concealed in young ladies’ Bibles.

  “I wish you the best of luck in your exploration of new terrains,” she said coolly. “I have no interest in journeying around the world myself, but I understand it must be quite intoxicating.”

  “Yes, it seems to be,” he said, grinning. “Surprisingly so.”

  The man could make anything sound suggestive.

  Willa had decided long ago exactly what she wanted in a husband. She wanted a decent man who didn’t drink to excess. It would be nice if he had a fortune, but since she had inherited her father’s estate, it wasn’t necessary.

  He had to be steady; to have all his teeth; and she would like him to have his own hair. She even knew what his voice would be like: quiet, and private.

  Very private.

  If possible, she would prefer him to look clever and pale. Not gaunt, but lean and unlikely to run to fat later in life.

  Lord Alaric was not only not a private man, but everything that happened to him—and several things that hadn’t—was displayed for public consumption.

  The engravings were a prime example of the problem. Whoever married him would find her likeness in the windows of printshops. A lifetime of seeing one’s face depicted in bookstalls.

  Or—how ghastly!—on the stage.

  With that thought in mind, Willa turned back to Mr. Sterling. Now he was a man whom she ought to consider seriously. He may think he wasn’t suited for high society owing to his parentage, but to Willa’s mind, that was an advantage. Whomever she married would be accepted everywhere; she had no worries about that.

  He was extremely good looking, and seemed unencumbered by a Helena Biddle. But she had to clarify something first.

  “Mr. Sterling,” she said, “am I right to think you might have some connection with Sterling Lace?”

  “I am honored to think that you know of my lace,” he said, taking her hand and pressing a kiss on the back of it.

  A growl sounded near Willa’s ear, but when she turned to look incredulously at Lord Alaric, he smiled at her as placidly as if he were a vicar.

  “Stop that,” she ordered.

  “Stop what?” he asked innocently.

  “That,” Willa said, less than articulately.

  He snatched the hand that Mr. Sterling had just kissed. “I think you just soiled your hand.” Before she could stop him, he brought it to his lips and kissed the same spot.

  “Better?” he inquired.

  Willa frowned at him. “Lord Alaric, please stop.” She could feel pink rising up her neck. She glanced over his shoulder and realized that a good many of the guests was watching them. Naturally, they were watching.

  They would always be watching whatever he did.

  In that instant she understood exactly what was happening. The man was unused to women who didn’t collapse at his feet. A woman who remained upright?

  An undiscovered country. Terra incognita.

  Lord Alaric was flirting with her because he was a man who had to win. He didn’t understand that she was not—and never would be—a prize. She meant to choose her spouse after a thoughtful review, and no part of that review included being “won.”

  “I am not someone who cares to be a spectacle.” She said it quietly but firmly as she drew her hand away.

  His lordship turned his head to survey the terrace. Eyes fell, and a murmur of sound rose again from the tables. He scowled.

  “Notoriety is a great facilitator of book sales, my lord. Of that I have no doubt.”

  He opened his mouth but she lifted her hand to stop him.

  “I am not a territory to be conquered for the mere sake of it. I would be grateful if you would direct your attentions elsewhere.”

  His jaw flexed, but Willa held his gaze. It was essential she make this clear, because he was used to intoxicating women, and his successes had made him confident. Or arrogant. Whatever one wanted to call it.

  She was as susceptible to him as any woman. But she had no intention of being conquered.

  “I do not see you in that light,” Lord Alaric stated. If Willa hadn’t observed the darkening of his eyes and the way his shoulders stiffened, she might actually have believed that he was merely issuing a polite correction.

  “In some sense, we are all foreign countries,” she said, not giving in. “In my analogy, your shores are frequented by ambassadors like Lady Biddle.”

  His jaw tightened again.

  “When I become a citizen of a foreign land, it will be one without pomp and circumstance,” she said, rising. “Without ambassadors.”

  She smiled at Mr. Bouchette, sitting at the next table, and he sprang to his feet. As he eagerly asked her to accompany him on a promenade in the rose garden, she overheard Lord Alaric speaking behind her.

  “She’s angling for dinks too tiny to keep,” he said to Mr. Sterling, the rest of his remark unintelligible.

  She had the vague idea that a dink was a fish. Was he saying that Mr. Bouchette was too small to keep? A minnow, in fact?

  Lavinia gave Willa a look that reminded her, in the nick of time, that ladies did not empty teacups over a lord’s head.

  “Might you escort both of us?” Lavinia asked Mr. Bouchette, who beamed with pride.

  A lady could not spill tea, but she could walk away, exaggerating the sway of her hips.

  So Willa did.

  Chapter Eleven

  The following day

  Willa successfully avoided Lord Alaric all that evening, and over the next day’s luncheon, even though he seemed to be always within earshot. For example, the moment that Lavinia expressed interest in walking to the nearby village of Mobberley, he appeared out of nowhere and declared he would accompany them.

  The truth was that his lordship had paid no attention whatsoever to her command that he not woo her. Every time she looked, he seemed to be watching her, even while surrounded by his admirers.

  She had to remain resolute. That, and cling to her suitors, who were as assiduous as his. They made Lord Alaric curl his lip, but why should she care? They might be boys compared to him, but they were safe, biddable young men who would never make her infamous by association.

  Mobberley was a half hour’s walk from the castle, down a long lane lined with elder bushes just beginning to fruit, and ditches full of cowslips, with a sprinkling of poppies. It was a perfect day for a stroll, and a party of twelve set out not long after luncheon.

  She and Lavinia each had two suitors in tow to Lord Alaric’s three, among whom Helena Biddle seemed to be leading the pack. The mathematics of the situation was amusing. Willa left the suitors to Lavinia, dropping back to walk with Lady Knowe while ignoring Lord Alaric, who was shepherding his flock in the rear. Mr. Sterling had Lady Biddle on his arm, and while he wasn’t scowling, he seemed less than happy.

  “The villagers call cowslips ‘paigles,’” Lady Knowe told Willa, nodding at the wildflowers. “They make an excellent wine around here that will have you dizzy as a goose after a glass or two. By the w
ay, I meant to ask whether Prism has lectured you about Lindow Moss yet.”

  Willa nodded. “He warned us to stay out of it, and I believe he also talked to our maids and grooms. Do you find it difficult to live on the edge of such a dangerous wilderness?”

  “ ‘Dangerous wilderness’ is an exaggeration,” Lady Knowe said. “It’s merely a bog, and quite beautiful in the right weather.”

  Willa hesitated, thinking of Prism’s revelation that the eldest of Lady Knowe’s nephews had perished in Lindow Moss. To her, that fact alone qualified it for the label “dangerous wilderness.”

  Before she could formulate a sentence, Mobberley, came into view on the far side of an ancient bridge. The village consisted of a small cluster of houses lining a single street. Their gables seemed to lean toward each other, as if the buildings on either side were having a cozy chat.

  Lady Knowe gave a whoop. “Bless me, Mr. Calico is here!”

  “Who?”

  “The peddler!” her ladyship crowed. “Mr. Calico is the most reliable source of pleasure in this area. I’m on subscription lists for novels, so they arrive by the post. Traveling theater troupes come through the village. But Mr. Calico? He’s a magician.”

  “I’m surprised that he’s still traveling,” Lord Alaric said, catching up with them. “I considered him already ancient when I was a child. Good afternoon, Aunt Knowe.” His voice lowered. “Willa.”

  “I address Miss Ffynche by her Christian name, Nephew, but what’s sauce for the goose is definitely not sauce for the gander,” Lady Knowe declared, casting him an admonishing look.

  “I agree!” Willa exclaimed. “Lord Alaric has misspoken.”

  To which he just laughed.

  His deep voice licked at the back of her neck and she almost squirmed. But she didn’t. She was determined to be a perfect lady today. She’d achieved it without a problem all Season, and there was no reason why the arrival of one arrogant explorer should cause her to behave differently.