by Eloisa James
“And she is mine,” Alaric said, taking her cue. “Miss Ffynche is mine.”
Prudence’s large eyes moved from one to the other. “My heart is a wasteland,” she rasped, as tears began to flow down her cheeks.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Lady Knowe said, moving forward. She towered over Prudence like a pine tree. “Come along, my dear.”
“Where are you taking her?” the duke asked.
“We can’t simply throw her out of the castle,” his sister said.
“We could send her to the village and drop her at the parsonage,” the duke suggested. “Perhaps the vicar can remind her of the prevailing moral principles governing relations between men and women. Those followed by Puritans and all people of good taste.”
Prudence broke into louder sobs.
“Prism will find her a bedchamber, and she can remain here while she decides what to do next,” Lady Knowe said.
Alaric was about to disagree—there was something about Prudence Larkin that he truly disliked—but it struck him that as long as Prudence was in the castle …
He and Willa would have to pretend to be engaged.
“I don’t mind,” he said.
“Two days,” His Grace said, meeting Alaric’s eyes. His father had a way of smiling without moving his face. He was smiling now, even as he regarded Alaric with perfect sobriety. “Miss Larkin may remain here for two days, during which time you must decide what to do with her.”
“Keep me!” Prudence wailed. “Keep me because I am yours!”
Lady Knowe pushed a handkerchief into her hand. “If you haven’t anything sensible to say, keep silent,” she told her, not unkindly.
“I l-l-love—”
“As do I,” Willa said, cutting her off. “I love Alaric, and he is mine, Miss Larkin. I will not give him to anyone. You must come to terms with that fact.”
For the first time Prudence seemed to be struck dumb. She stared at Willa as if she were a burning bush.
Willa gazed calmly back.
To Alaric, Willa was a study in clear lines: patrician nose, high cheekbones, a Cupid’s bow of a mouth. In contrast, Prudence had a round cheek, soft jaw, her blurred features underscored by the tears dripping from her cheeks and creating dark splashes on her gray dress.
“Why her?” Prudence whispered. “Why her, why not me?”
“I don’t even know you,” Alaric said, allowing astonishment to leak into his tone. “You were a tiresome fourteen-year-old when I first met you, Prudence, and you will have to accept that there was, and is, absolutely nothing between us.”
Prudence started weeping again.
“She is bedazzled,” Willa observed.
“I had nothing to do with that bedazzling,” Alaric said. “Her father was living in a house that wasn’t much bigger than a hut; it was hot as blazes; we couldn’t bathe in the river thanks to crocodiles. There was nothing dazzling about me.”
“However it happened, it has,” Lady Knowe said, and led Prudence away, the young woman’s shoulders shaking with sobs.
Alaric did not feel a shred of guilt. Prudence had written the idiotic play that was endangering his chance to marry Willa. She was at least partly responsible for the hordes of women who were stripping his flowerbeds and stealing his bricks.
“There seems to be a great deal of drama surrounding Miss Larkin,” Willa said, as the door closed behind Lady Knowe. “She certainly knows her Shakespeare.”
“Will you pretend to be my betrothed for a few more days, just until we work out what to do with Miss Larkin?” Alaric asked.
The duke bowed before Willa could respond. “If you’ll forgive me, I should inform Her Grace that we will be entertaining another guest.”
“Prudence Larkin can scarcely join us at the table, given her delusions,” Alaric said.
“In fact, I believe she ought to do just that,” His Grace said. “Rumors are far more pernicious than discovering the lachrymose daughter of a missionary at the table. What’s more, given enough contact with you, she might well drop her infatuation.”
Alaric grinned at his father. “Questioning my desirableness, are you?”
“Miss Larkin’s command of logic is debatable,” his father said dryly, “but propinquity will inevitably have an effect.”
When he’d gone, Alaric stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Willa.
“I will pretend to be engaged to you,” Willa said, not pushing him away. “But that doesn’t mean that I agree to marry you. Once Miss Larkin leaves, or comes to her senses, we are no longer betrothed.”
Alaric nodded. He’d accept that for the time being.
It was a step better than friends, because betrothed people could kiss. Did kiss. “We should practice intimacy so as to be convincing,” he suggested.
Willa pushed him away, her mouth curving up. “I think we shall have no problem with that.”
Chapter Twenty
That evening Willa settled down with a book in her hand. Lady Knowe had lent her a tale of great derring-do, with knights dashing hither and yon, wasting a great deal of energy.
The novelist had not depicted a realistic world. Yet Willa kept reading. The castle had fallen silent by the time a large piece of fictional armor fell from the fictional sky and crushed one of the fictional characters.
At that, she sighed and closed the book. She simply didn’t see the purpose of fiction. Events like these made her too curious about things for which there was no answer.
Why armor, for example? Why not a chicken? A chicken as big as a house, perhaps?
Lindow Castle was full of fascinating people. She saw no reason to read about invented events when life was complex enough as it was.
Her bedchamber was bright with moonlight that flooded in the windows of the castle along with the scent of honeysuckle. Sweetpea kept running through the pool of light, a black-and-white streak. She was busily taking everything out of Willa’s knotting bag and stowing each piece under the dressing table.
Willa squinted at the moon; when she was wearing her spectacles she couldn’t see much beyond the printed page. Still, she could tell that the moon was flattened on one side and round on the other, like an overstuffed pigeon.
Right there was the reason why she could never be a novelist. The moon was supposed to be a silver disc, or the goddess Diana’s face … not a fat bird.
The quiet rap on her door was a welcome interruption; she’d been longing to tell Lavinia about the mad missionary’s daughter, but the encounter with Prudence made her feel oddly unbalanced, and she had retired to her chamber rather than return to the salon to play cards.
When she opened the door, cautiously so that Sweetpea couldn’t dash past her, Alaric—not Lavinia—was in the corridor.
There was absolutely no occasion on which a gentleman may acceptably pay a visit to a lady’s chamber—unless that lady had issued an invitation to an affaire. To dally, in plain English. Evidently, Alaric thought she was a lightskirt.
Willa stared at him for a second, feeling a crushing sense of disappointment. It was one thing to kiss her. Or contrive a pretend betrothal. It was quite another to conclude that either fact could be construed as an invitation to further intimacies.
“Lord Alaric,” she said coldly. “You have so many doors to knock on at night. I assure you this one is not a possibility.”
“I didn’t think any of the ladies behind those doors would be interested in this.” He uncurled his hand, which he’d held in a fist. Willa took off her spectacles and looked down to find two roly-polies and an earthworm on his palm. It wriggled.
Willa raised her eyes to his, dumbfounded.
“I brought them for Sweetpea,” he said. “I noticed this afternoon that while she ate insects of several varieties, she is particularly fond of roly-polies.”
“How on earth did you determine that?”
“She pranced,” Alaric said, eyes innocent. Too innocent, to Willa’s mind. “Did you not notice her celebrator
y response?”
“I did not,” Willa said. “She already had a piece of chicken for dinner.” She was unenthusiastic about the idea of touching vermin of any kind.
“Would you like me to give them to her?” Alaric asked. “I promise I won’t be overcome by lust if you allow me in your bedchamber. As you say, there are many doors that would open should I be that desperate to bed a woman.”
“You’re making fun of me,” Willa said.
“Only a trifle. Because you’re jealous.”
“I beg to differ.”
He grinned. “In that case, you might as well let me in. Unless you’d like to keep the roly-polies for a morning snack? I could find a small box so that they don’t crawl around your room.”
Sweetpea would probably love a snack, and Willa was far more covered in this nightdress and dressing gown than she’d been in her evening gown. Alaric was honorable, and she was being silly.
She opened the door and stood back. As soon as he entered, Sweetpea made a happy chattering noise and scampered to him. He crouched down and held out both hands, curled into fists.
“Don’t squish that worm,” Willa said urgently.
Sweetpea was sniffing his hands.
“I’m not,” Alaric said. “Look, she’s figured it out.”
Willa put her spectacles on her bedside table and got down on her knees, making certain that her dressing gown covered every inch of her ankles.
Sweetpea had put a small clawed hand on one of Alaric’s fists and was trying to pry back a finger.
“She’s so clever,” Willa said with delight.
Alaric uncurled the finger and Sweetpea eagerly poked her nose into the gap. When she couldn’t reach her treat, she tapped his hand with her claws. Her chuffing noise took on a commanding tone.
“You know who’s in charge, don’t you?” Alaric murmured.
Willa stopped watching as Sweetpea ate her snack—she was not fond of her pet’s enthusiasm for earthworms, let alone roly-polies—and watched Alaric instead.
He wore no coat, and his white shirt was open at the neck.
His brother, North, would never present himself to a lady in such a state of undress. But she had the strong feeling that the state of his attire hadn’t occurred to Alaric.
“She definitely likes the roly-polies best,” he said now, his voice deep in the quiet night.
Willa took a hasty look down and discovered that Sweetpea had gobbled the roly-polies and was circling the worm. She sprang into the air, as if the poor creature had offered some defense. Her tail flew up … down went Sweetpea on her nose.
They both laughed. “She’ll grow into her tail,” Alaric said. He wasn’t looking at Sweetpea, though.
Willa could feel color creeping up her neck. This was precisely why gentlemen and ladies weren’t allowed to be together unchaperoned. She felt as tipsy as those nights when she and Lavinia had smuggled bottles of wine up to their room and made plans to conquer polite society.
Talking about boys half the night. Or rather, men.
Talking about men.
When Lavinia wasn’t chattering about Lord Wilde.
Alaric’s eyes narrowed. “What are you thinking?”
Willa turned away, leaving the poor worm to its fate. She washed her hands at the basin. Then she said, over her shoulder, “How many evenings I’ve spent with Lavinia discussing her adoration for Lord Wilde.”
He gave a half-stifled groan and joined her, washing his hands as he glanced at her under his lashes. “You were never tempted to read one book?”
“No. I don’t mean to insult you,” Willa said.
He turned, leaning his hip against her dressing table, so close that his breath stirred the tendrils of hair that had sprung free of her nighttime braid. “I am not insulted. Will you be insulted if I tell you how adorable you look in spectacles?”
Of course she wouldn’t be.
That look in his eyes?
It made her want to betray the self she had painstakingly constructed. The self who never sighed, never kissed adventurers …
He moved forward, cupped her face in his hand, and said in a dark rumbling voice, “Evie, may I kiss you?”
“Is that Lord Wilde or Lord Alaric speaking?”
“What do you mean?”
“Lord Wilde is reckless and impetuous,” Willa said, spelling out the obvious. “Lord Alaric is far more restrained and thoughtful. I am currently in a sham engagement with Lord Wilde.”
“Interesting.” There was a moment’s silence.
Then: “Neither one. Not a lord. Just a man who would very much like to kiss you, Evie. Not Willa, who is perfect in every way, but Evie, who is captivating. I think Evie wears spectacles, by the way. Willa has perfect vision.”
She met his eyes and had to freeze to avoid throwing herself into his arms. Damn it, the man was like a fine liqueur. He bent his head and brushed his lips across hers, making her shiver.
“Open your lips,” he said, his voice ragged. “Pretty Evie, open your mouth for me.”
His voice was a caress in itself. It made her feel wanton. She leaned forward and put her lips on his, her breath catching as his tongue traced the seam of her lips and then licked its way inside.
She dimly registered that he tasted of wintergreen. But it didn’t matter because her senses were bombarded and her skin tingled all the way down her back and belly, down her legs. Between her legs.
As Alaric’s tongue curled around hers and his arms closed around her, Willa melted against him. Her fingers curled into the hard muscles of his shoulders and then moved to wind into his hair.
Alaric kissed as if he could imagine nothing else he’d rather do. He didn’t move a hand to her breast, or pull her more closely against him.
Willa’s mind raced, taking note of his steely arms (good), his minty breath (good), his height (good), the silky feel of his hair (good) …
No other man’s kiss had ever pleased in so many ways.
A few kisses later, her brain was beginning to feel dull and foggy. He wasn’t pulling her closer; it was she who was pressing against him, her heart racing.
The taste and feel of him swept all intelligent thought aside, until she was moaning in the back of her throat and running her tongue over his white teeth. Clinging to him.
Lust, she thought dimly. Lust was flushing her skin and making her heart pound in her throat.
“Evie,” Alaric said, and the name slipped out from his lips like a pagan, carnal prayer.
The wonderful thing was that if he addressed her as Evie, she didn’t have to think about Willa’s rules. It made her feel like a young girl again, certain that the world was full of fascinating information merely waiting to be discovered. That little girl had no thought of rules, because her mama and papa loved her just as she was.
She pushed the thought away, her lips drifting along the hard line of his jaw.
Alaric turned his head and took her mouth again in a languorous kiss, one that sent aching sensation down her legs and through her body until she felt as if honeyed wine was running in her veins.
Everything about Alaric, from the low rasp of his breathing to the rock-hard muscles in his shoulders, enticed her.
“Evie,” he said again, some time later, his voice hoarse.
“Hmmm,” Willa responded happily. She wasn’t thinking at all. Every bit of her being was enjoying this moment.
“We must stop.”
“I could kiss you all night,” she said with a gasp. She threaded her hands through his hair and looked at him from under her lashes.
He groaned and caught her against him, his mouth coming hard down on hers as a rumble came from his chest. The sound made her head fall back so he could devour her mouth, his tongue curling around hers, his hands spread to hold her hard against him.
“No,” he said a time later. A minute or an hour. A kiss, or five kisses, or five hundred. Willa was pressing against him, trying to tempt him to run one of his hands down her back
. Or, daringly, up her front. Or even through her hair.
He could loosen her braid and free her hair with his fingers. He could clasp her bottom with those strong fingers and jerk her against him.
She’d never imagined that thoughts like these would go through her mind. Dimly she remembered the bawdy freedom she felt when she and Lavinia laughed about that erotic book they found.
This was another side of that same person. A bold, lustful person. Possessive, too.
She jerked her head back, narrowing her eyes. Alaric had a dark flush, and his eyes were gleaming with desire.
Was she merely the last of many women to see him like this?
The thought was a dash of icy water.
“Have you kissed any other women at this house party?” she asked.
An expression she couldn’t interpret crossed his eyes. If it was amusement, she’d have to slay him.
“No,” he said.
“Are you certain?”
It was amusement, damn it. “There was a lady a few years ago,” he said musingly.
She gave him a little shove. “I didn’t think you were a saint. That’s not what I was asking.”
He snatched her up again, kissing her until she was breathless, her mind hazy again.
“Evie.”
“Hmmm?”
He laughed. “You are the most formidable, articulate woman I know, and at the same time …”
She traced the line of his deep bottom lip with her fingers, her eyelids growing heavy because the only thoughts in her mind were wild.
Imagining those lips caressing her body all over. Imagining moans coming from his throat as he …
“You’re dazed.”
“Hmmm.”
He was laughing and she didn’t care. He wasn’t laughing at her, anyway. He was laughing with her.
“We mustn’t do this,” he said regretfully.
She looked at him from under her lashes and sighed.
Sighed!
She never sighed.
But faced with a man like that, his eyes desirous, even sinful. His body beautiful …