How to Play the Game of Love (Ladies of Passion)

by Harmony Williams

  “You.”

  Warren had the audacity to grin. The thin light of the lamp peeked around the corner, glinting over his eyes and teeth. “Did you expect someone different?”

  Yes! I wanted to scream. The maid had delivered my note to Frederick at dinner…hadn’t she? My stomach shrank. What if Emily had given the note to Warren instead? That did seem in character, the saucy wench. Mary put too many ideas into her head.

  I lifted my chin. “And if I was?”

  He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that turned the muscles in my abdomen to liquid. He stepped closer, shortening the distance between us.

  “He’s long gone,” Warren said softly. He stood so close; he craned his neck down to meet my gaze. His eyes glittered with triumph.

  No. But his voice was even. Firm. He had no reason to lie. I said nothing.

  I felt nothing. Shouldn’t I be distraught, heartbroken? With Warren standing so close, every hair on my body stood on end. Every muscle tensed as I awaited his next move. I breathed shallowly, resisting the heady scent of his cologne. It took all my concentration, leaving me no faculties to lament the future slipping from my grasp.

  With a sly grin, Warren added, “If it makes you feel better, my cousin gave him a proper send-off in your place.” The tone of his voice and his smug posture left no doubt that he had orchestrated the meeting.

  Anger burned at the base of my throat. I walloped Warren in the shoulder with my fist. “You cad! Of course that doesn’t make me feel better.”

  When I raised my hand to hit him again, he caught my wrist. His fingers encircled my wrist, trapping me. I hefted my less dominant hand. He captured that, too.

  He held me immobile, inches from his body. My chest heaved, brushing the lapels of his jacket with every breath. The scrape of the fabric, even through my dress, aroused my nipples to attention. It was torturous. I leaned away. I refused to give in to the passion glinting in his eyes.

  After all, he’d admitted to having a fiancée. Even if it must be a lie…unless he’d kept the secret from Lady Dunlop. Then why confess to me?

  I struggled, but he held firm. With a strangled noise of exasperation, I gave up.

  He raised an eyebrow, the curve of his mouth quirking into a half smile. “Are you quite done?”

  “I’ll stomp on your foot.”

  He didn’t budge. “I highly doubt a shoe as delicate as yours will do much damage.”

  I bared my teeth. “Perhaps I’ll find a more uncomfortable place for it, then.”

  His eyes widened. His nostrils flared. When I shifted, he pulled me flush against him to prevent my threat from coming to fruition.

  The feel of his hot body lit my entire front aflame. I licked my lips. I must be wanton at heart, because I no longer wanted to pull away. “What would your fiancée think of this?”

  My gaze dropped to his mouth. He supported the bulk of my weight, my position too precarious for me to stand fully upright. The muscles of his abdomen bunched against my body as he spoke.

  “I don’t think she’d mind nearly as much as you pretend she would.”

  “Of course she would. What woman wants to be cuckolded?”

  His hands slid over my wrists and down my arms to my shoulders. He traced the line of my dress. “We have a…unique relationship.”

  “Is that so?” I caught his gaze and held it. “Who is she?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “No one you’d recognize.”

  “Try me. What’s her name?”

  He averted his gaze. “It isn’t important.”

  Triumph flooded through me. “I knew it. You don’t have a fiancée.” I thrashed against his hold. The movement fitted me even closer to his body. His manhood stirred.

  “I do.” His voice deepened, rough.

  I tossed my head. “You do not. What woman would have you?”

  Several locks of my hair tumbled loose from my pins. The blond tresses drooped into my eyes. I shook my head. One strand fixed to the corner of my mouth.

  Warren’s gaze dropped to my lips. “Evidently, not you.” He slid one hand down my back, pinning me against him, but retracted the other. I flattened my palms against his chest, ready to push away if necessary. With gentle fingers, he herded the hair away from my face. The touch of his bare hands burned over my skin. He still hadn’t donned his gloves. He tucked the loose strands of my hair behind my ear.

  “Never.” My voice was every bit as hoarse as his.

  “Has anyone ever told you how wild you look when you’re aroused, Miss Wellesley?”

  I gasped in affront. “I am not aroused.”

  “No?” He smirked. He lowered his head. For one awful, thrilling moment, I feared he would kiss me. His lips traveled toward my ear instead. He whispered, “I have ways of proving that you are.”

  I pressed my thighs together as his words shimmied over my skin to settle in the pit of my belly. I didn’t know those ways, but I didn’t care to find out. Not from him.

  Intending to berate him, I turned my head. His mouth was so close, I brushed it with the corner of mine. The overwhelming sensitivity weakened my knees. I licked my lips.

  He kissed me. His free hand cupped the back of my head, holding me steady. The sensation consumed me like a tempest.

  In the next instant, he released me. Cool air drenched me. My head spun. He leaned back against the stable wall, spreading his arms wide. Even though I could only distinguish his silhouette, the sight of him branded itself on my memory.

  “Pretend for a moment that you’re my fiancée. What would you do to me right now?”

  I nibbled on my lower lip. I didn’t know what I wanted to do more—smack the smug smile off his face or kiss him senseless. “We aren’t engaged.”

  “You aren’t very good at pretending, are you?”

  To the contrary, I spent most of my days pretending to be a demure young lady of good breeding and no personality.

  “How would you have greeted Captain Paine if he were here?”

  Warren’s voice cut through the night air. I grinned. He was jealous. Did that mean he cared that he was here with me instead of another woman? The notion was surprisingly alluring. I took a step toward him, then another.

  “If he were here, I would never do this.” I pressed myself against his body.

  His breath hitched. He lowered his hands to my waist. They hovered, but didn’t touch.

  “Why not?”

  I slid my hands up his chest and neck to tangle in his hair. My stomach flipped at my audacity. “It isn’t very ladylike, is it?” I tipped my face up to his. My breasts ached as I leaned against his chest. My lips throbbed with awareness. I’d never craved a kiss more.

  “I don’t think he’d mind.”

  “Of course he would. No gentleman wants an unladylike wife.”

  His breath teased my lips as he leaned closer. He smelled like the red wine that had been served at supper. “Maybe you haven’t been attracted to the right men.”

  Maybe not. No man let a woman take control, not in my experience. They asked, they cajoled, they demanded, or they took. They never gave me the reins, especially not when their pleasure was at stake. I could walk away from him. I should.

  “You talk too much.” I pressed my lips to his.

  He returned the kiss with all the passion he’d held in check. He wrapped his arms around me. I clutched him as his tongue wrestled with mine. We fought for supremacy. I dug my fingers into his shoulders, holding on for dear life. Groaning, he pressed himself even closer to me. With a slow, grinding motion, he rubbed his manhood against the crux of my thighs. The ache in my belly grew, demanding to be appeased. I lifted my hips to his, desperate for more.

  He tore his mouth from mine to trail kisses over my jaw and neck. He found a sensitive spot below my ear, tonguing it. Liquid shivers cascaded over my body. I could barely breathe, let alone speak.

  I forced out the words anyway. I was in control, not him. No matter the wicked things he did to me. The wick
ed things I couldn’t get enough of.

  “Is this what you wanted?” I gasped as he nipped the sensitive spot, soothing it with a lave of his tongue.

  His chuckle rumbled along my skin as if born there instead of in his chest. “Rose, I want whatever you’re willing to share with me.”

  As he devoured my mouth, my thoughts dissolved. I clung to him as he swept me away with this mad passion. When he lifted his head to nibble across my chin, clarity slowly returned.

  Stars shone, pinpricks above my head, some obscured by clouds. They twinkled, lending the night a surreal aspect. A breeze tickled my skin, cool against my flushed flesh. Warren didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy pressing hot, openmouthed kisses against my neck and collarbone.

  I shivered with delight at the sensation. I ground my hips against his once more. He thrust back in answer. This was a war he would not win.

  “Kiss me again.”

  When he obeyed, triumph swept through me. I reveled in the control I had over him. My head spun like I’d had too much champagne.

  Warren set a tantalizing rhythm. The dark, hot feeling coiled in the pit of my belly demanded more. He barely brushed against that intimate part of me. I arched against him. It wasn’t enough.

  “More.”

  Dropping his hands to my hips, he surreptitiously inched my skirt higher. Not fast enough. I hiked the fabric to my thighs. With a grin, he broke the kiss to lift me into his arms. He spun, pressing me against the stable wall.

  Only his body held me in place. I was completely at his mercy. But when he fit himself against my core, with only his breeches and my drawers separating our bodies, I didn’t care if he held the upper hand. I crossed my legs around his back, hooking my ankles to bind him in place.

  He devoured my mouth with a ferocity that set me aflame. Every long sweep of his tongue, he met with an answering thrust of his pelvis against me. I rocked into him, fisting my hands in his hair. I met him stroke for stroke, abandoning myself to the pleasure he induced. At least until he pulled away to ask, “Are you enjoying this, Miss Wellesley?”

  The use of my surname shocked me like a blast of icy air. Warren and I were nothing but strangers. This was wrong, wanton. I should stop it. But he set my loins aflame with an ache he could appease, if only I granted him a little more time…

  I reached for him, murmuring, “Yes.”

  I pressed my lips to his, but he didn’t open to my questing tongue. Instead, he broke away to press small kisses against my jaw.

  “Aren’t you happy you found me here instead of Captain Paine?”

  I stiffened. That bounder. As if I’d succumbed to passion with any man. I shoved him away. As he moved reluctantly, I slammed my feet to the ground. His body, close and hot, trapped my skirts between us. I drove my gloved hand into his chest, but he grabbed it. Turning it over, he pressed his burning lips to the inside of my wrist. I shivered.

  “I shouldn’t be doing this. With you or anyone else,” I added with a glare when he raised his gaze to mine. He still held my gloved hand. His tongue emerged to trace a slow circle over the fabric.

  Goodness, but that felt good. My knees weakened. I steadied myself against the stable wall, not willing to relinquish control to Lord Hartfell. Ever again. This was a mistake.

  Why did such a sin have to feel so good?

  I snatched my hand away. He tightened his hold, but I proved more tenacious and flung my hand back. I smacked into the stable wall with a walloping sound, wincing at the crack. My knuckles smarted.

  The snoring stable boy quieted. Rustles sounded as he stirred.

  Warren and I locked gazes as we froze in place. What if the boy found us here? With my skirts and hair in disarray, it wouldn’t be good.

  Warren stepped back in such a hurry, a flood of cool air washed over my front, inducing goose bumps. “Go,” he said, shooing me with his hands. “I’ll follow.”

  I didn’t argue. I snuck around the back of the manor to the garden. I stilled as I heard the murmured voices of a romantic couple. Warren and I weren’t the only pair taking advantage of the night.

  No. I shook my head. Taking advantage was not the right word. I didn’t set out to do…that…with him. I groped over the back wall, inching forward until I found a door. It opened into the library. Dark, unoccupied, but thick with the memory of Warren’s half-naked body. The sharp scent of cheroot smoke soured the air. The men must have met here after dinner, at least until Mary chased them out.

  I crept to the doorway to the hall. When I peeked inside, the glimmering lamp cast long shadows down the empty corridor. I scurried upstairs using the servants’ staircase. My heart leaped into my throat as I heard Mary’s sharp voice bid good night to my sister. A door shut, and Mary resumed her conversation with someone else, presumably Francine. The closing of another door muffled the words.

  I breathed a slow sigh of relief as I peeked around the corner. If Mary encountered me while I looked every inch the fallen woman, I’d never hear the end of it. Once I was certain the corridor was deserted, I bolted for my room. I rested my back against the sturdy door as I battled for breath. My heartbeat slowed.

  Since Daisy had returned to her room with the departure of Lady Dunlop’s impromptu guests, Emily should have waited alone in my room. Instead, I found her seated at the vanity, opposite Mary on the bed. I froze. Oh no.

  I forced a smile. “Mary. What a pleasant surprise.”

  “It took you long enough.” Her mouth puckered as she swept her gaze over my disheveled appearance, but she didn’t comment on it. “Here I thought you would be waiting for me.”

  “Why?” I frowned.

  She sent me a chastising look. “Because I’ve been investigating your options, of course.”

  Dear Lord, what had she done?

  My voice faint, I echoed, “Have you?”

  “Of course. I can’t let you set your cap for a man before I know whether he’s the honorable sort.” Again, she studied my appearance.

  Stepping away from the door, I crossed to perch on the bed beside her. “Did you discover anything of note?”

  She lifted her hands and checked off each item using her fingers. “Lestor has a penchant for gambling. Beaufort seems to enjoy drawing one of the maids in explicit detail—I checked with her, it’s consensual. Mr. Wray has been given a room adjoining a lady’s room, and the door doesn’t lock.”

  I held up my hands. “Wait. How did you find this out?”

  “I searched their rooms, of course.”

  “You did what?” I clapped my hand to my mouth to keep something else shrill and disapproving from tumbling out.

  Mary made a face. “There’s no need to have an apoplexy. They weren’t inside at the time.”

  As if that excused her behavior.

  Emily leaned forward, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Did you discover anything about Lord Hartfell, by chance?”

  Mary sighed. “Sadly, no. His valet was one of the stubborn few who refused to allow me entrance.”

  I didn’t blame him.

  With a slim smile, I begged, “Perhaps we can discuss what you discovered tomorrow? It’s been a long night.”

  “Yes, of course.” She hopped off the bed. “I believe I’ll visit the kitchen and see what else I can learn. Good night.”

  “Good night.” My voice was weak. I couldn’t believe she’d done something so outrageous. She must be bored to tears to go to such lengths to help me. I didn’t know whether to be grateful or scandalized.

  As the door shut behind her, a smile teased Emily’s mouth. “Did you enjoy your excursion to the stables?”

  I glowered at her. “You gave the note to the wrong man!”

  “To the contrary,” Emily said with a shrug. She seemed unbothered by the venom in my voice. “I ensured it was delivered to Captain Paine. Lord Hartfell showed great interest in the contents, so I didn’t see the harm in letting him read it before I handed it off.”

  “Letting him read—” I bit
my lip at my shrill tone. I reined in my anger and lowered my voice. If Daisy and Francine heard the commotion, they’d barrel into the room and demand the full story. “It ruined my plans. Warren prevented me from meeting Frederick—he arrived in Frederick’s place.”

  Emily raised her eyebrows as she studied my flushed countenance and disarray. “Judging by your appearance, Miss Rose, I’d say you very much enjoyed the switch. That stiff Captain wouldn’t have given you near the satisfaction as your lord did.”

  “He is not my lord,” I snapped. “He never will be. I’ll thank you not to encourage him again.” I stomped away from the bed, murder in my heart. “If you do, I swear on my grandmother’s grave, I will hand you off to Daisy for her Season.”

  Emily stood with a chuckle. She didn’t look the least bit afraid. “If you say so, Miss Rose. I wouldn’t dream of interfering with your happiness.”

  She’d done irreparable damage already.

  Chapter Eleven

  I stretched the muscles in my legs one by one as I emerged from the cramped church into the balmy sunshine. Those hard, wooden seats were made for women the size of Mary or Francine, not for me. I basked in the freedom to unfold my legs again. At least the service hadn’t been boring, not with Mary whispering about the skeletons she’d unearthed from the gentlemen’s closets.

  Lady Dunlop spilled out of the church and into the open air. “Let’s adjourn on a picnic,” she said with good cheer.

  I grimaced. I’d been up late last night, plagued by images of the passion Warren had incited in me. Wicked, wicked passion that I never intended to indulge again. Emily had admirably hidden the bags under my eyes with some powder, but what I longed for most dearly this afternoon was a nap.

  Alone. Even Mary and Daisy grated on my nerves more than usual this morning, with their cheery chatter. Francine, I could at least depend upon to remain silent.

  The tension crept into my shoulders once again as I eyed the long line of picketed and saddled horses. Hostlers stood between them at intervals, clasping a set of reins in each hand. “Where are the carriages?”

  Lady Dunlop grinned. “Why, we won’t need them. A set of ruins lies not far from here, a lovely place for a picnic. It dates back to the old Saxons. I daresay some lucky soul might even find treasure beneath those old stones.”