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

by Harmony Williams

  He shifted to his knees on the carriage floor in front of me, raising his gaze to my face. He leaned forward, bracketing my body with his big arms as he placed his palms on either side of me on the seat.

  The motion brought his head closer to mine. The air between us charged with heat, and not the unbearable kind. The irresistible kind.

  “You said you wouldn’t take advantage,” I whispered, so close to him the words almost leaped directly to his lips.

  “I won’t,” he answered, not a hint of teasing in his voice. “But I hope you’ll take advantage of me.”

  No one had to know. A smile swept over my face at the thought. I did like to be in control, especially of a man as dominant and virile as him. I couldn’t resist. I leaned forward the tiniest bit to capture his mouth.

  He opened for me on a groan. He raised his hands to hold my head steady as I took his mouth in as deep a kiss as he’d ever given me. He ran his hands over my shoulders, my back, pulling me closer, clutching me so fiercely I feared to let go. He snaked both arms around my waist and pulled me to the edge of the seat. Using the motion of the carriage, he lurched back into his seat, pulling me atop him, straddling him.

  His manhood was stiff beneath me. The fabric of his breeches rasped against my core. I moved against him, the smallest, tiniest motion, as I sought to recapture that intoxicating sensation. He thrust his hips up to meet mine.

  The carriage was too small for me to move away, even to lift my head away from his. The back of my head brushed the ceiling of the coach. So I didn’t move away. I met him stroke for stroke, kissing him all the while.

  The carriage veered to the right. I gasped as the motion nearly flung me into the side of the conveyance. Warren held me steady with his hands on my hips.

  The carriage slowed, turning into a courtyard. I thrust myself away from him, lips still burning. I jumped from the carriage the moment it pulled to a stop in the inn courtyard where we would take our midday meal.

  As Mary hopped from the other carriage, she frowned. “Rose, where are your shoes? And your stockings?”

  Cheeks aflame, I turned my back on her. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  I walked in a quick clip across the cobblestones to the door, leaving Warren far in my wake. I didn’t care if I had to kick Francine out of her own carriage; I refused to spend the rest of the day trapped with him.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  In the end, Mary invited Pauline into the smaller coach with her, and Emily switched to riding beside the driver of the Annesley carriage. I smirked as Mary’s slim form disappeared into the conveyance. At least Warren was in for as much torture as I was.

  Daisy didn’t say a word throughout the prolonged afternoon drive. Her new husband tried to make conversation, but upon being met with my clipped answers and Francine’s lack of attention as she read, he soon quit the endeavor. By the end of the ride, my shoulders were as stiff as stone.

  I disembarked from the carriage under my own power and turned toward the inn where we would sleep tonight. Daisy and her husband emerged after me, with Francine last, still reading her book. I hurried to check on Emily. She accepted the driver’s help stepping down from the high step.

  She was pale but not alarmingly so. She still had the color in her lips, and she wasn’t nearly as green as she’d looked at lunch. “How are you feeling?” I asked her.

  “Right as rain,” she told me, even though I knew it was a lie. At least she would be able to rest in our room soon enough.

  Warren emerged first from the smaller carriage. He squeezed out of the carriage with such an expression of pain that I had to laugh. I squelched it with my hand but still drew his attention.

  His eyes lit on me. I burned from my crown to the soles of my feet. How could he do that, with only a look? I turned away.

  We reached the front desk to find that only three rooms were available. For a moment, I feared that Warren would suggest he and I take one. But even he knew that such a thing would never be allowed. Unlike Daisy and Arthur, we weren’t married. But he must have entertained the thought, because while we settled on the occupancy of the rooms—the men in one, Daisy with Pauline and Emily in another, and me with Francine and Mary in the last—he didn’t take his eyes off me.

  I recoiled from his hot gaze. Retreating with Francine and Mary to our assigned room, I shut myself inside. My heart pounded. I breathed deeply, grasping for serenity.

  “Is everything all right?” Francine asked, cocking her head.

  “Fine,” I lied. “The ride with Daisy and her new husband set me off balance, is all.”

  “Did it? You scarcely said a word.”

  I was surprised she noticed. Apparently she wasn’t blind to the world the moment she opened a book.

  Mary wrinkled her nose. “That’s the issue, isn’t it? Rose and Daisy are always chattering. This marriage has upset the balance.”

  Although she didn’t say as much out loud, her tone conveyed her disappointment. Her expression read, I thought I’d taught Daisy better. I bit the inside of my cheek. With the amount of romantic novels Daisy read, she would never have stood up to Mary’s standards.

  “I’m starved,” Mary said loudly. “Let’s go down to supper.” She slipped her arm into Francine’s and led my friend past me.

  I stepped to the side. “I’d rather lie down. Will you give my excuses?”

  “To who?” Francine muttered at the same time as Mary barked, “Sure,” and towed her out of the room. I shut the door in their wake.

  Heady, unfettered silence at last. I pressed my throbbing head against the wood. Although I had myriad reasons not to join the others at supper, right now I reveled in the solitude. A nap sounded like Heaven.

  After toeing off my slippers, which Mary had liberated from the carriage for me, I stretched out onto the bed. Although the mattress wasn’t as soft as I liked, it hung from well-tightened ropes. One by one, the muscles in my neck and shoulders relaxed. I sighed.

  Until the door to the room opened. Don’t tell me they returned… When I lifted my head, I froze in place.

  Warren shut the door behind him. The dwindling evening sunlight shone directly into the room, the windows facing west. They cast fingers of shadow, pointing at him. I scrambled to rise from the bed. Better I face him on even ground.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” I said.

  If my distaste for his presence affected him, he didn’t let it show. His mouth was set in a serious line, his eyes dark in the dying light. “You can’t avoid me forever.”

  I crossed my arms. “You underestimate me.”

  He barked out a laugh. “Do I?”

  As he advanced a step, my heartbeat fluttered. I stumbled backward. The backs of my legs brushed the bed. I had nowhere to turn but there. History had proven that a bed with Warren in it intoxicated me. When he touched me, I was powerless to deny him.

  “Stop,” I said when he took another step forward. My voice quavered. “Stay where you are.”

  To my amazement, he obeyed. “You’re afraid of me.”

  “I’m not,” I snapped. “But that doesn’t mean I want you closer. Not after what happened—” In your bed. I couldn’t choke out the last words.

  Nevertheless, he knew what I meant. He balled his fists at his side. His stance grew rigid. Although he faced me, he didn’t look me directly in the eye. “I apologized for that.”

  “That doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

  Heaven help me, tears stung my eyes. No. I refused to cry in front of him. But turning my back would be just as big a defeat.

  He stood mere paces away. If anything, that short distance emphasized the gulf between us. The air crackled with potential. It would never be realized.

  He studied the ceiling. His chest heaved as he took a long, deep breath. Once he’d released it, he lowered his gaze until it met mine again. “I never intended to demean you. I…cherish the moments we had.”

  Good Lord, from the bald earnestness in his
voice and demeanor, he meant what he said. But that didn’t make it easier to stand across from him. It didn’t make reconciliation possible.

  “Please leave,” I said. When the words emerged strong and even, I was proud of myself.

  He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something more. With one hand, he reached for the air between us. I recoiled. He dropped his arm, turned on his heel, and left.

  The moment he shut the door, I lost the battle to remain upright. I collapsed onto the bed, succumbed to tears, and begged for sleep to claim me.

  The hours stretched on, but sleep eluded me. Midnight came and went, without respite. Francine snored softly in between Mary and me. Shifting, I struggled to find a comfortable spot on the small sliver of mattress. For a small thing, Francine took up a lot of space. Finally, I gave up and stood to pace.

  I couldn’t get Warren out of my head. A bounder who wanted me only for my body. The man who had prevented me from finding a romantic match. He dug under my skin like a thorn. But if he was so bad, why couldn’t I shake him from my thoughts? I’d never felt more alive than when I surrendered to the passion found in his arms.

  I romanticized our time together. So I told myself. But in my heart, I knew that whatever passion I found with another man, it wouldn’t compare to Warren’s embrace. If only he hadn’t sought to manipulate me. If only he believed in love.

  My stomach twisted with every round of the room I made to the flickering light of the candle I’d lit. It rested on a low table in front of the unlit hearth, snug between two armchairs. Annoyed, I stopped in front of the candlestick. I contemplated snuffing it. Even if I did, I couldn’t possibly sleep. Every muscle in my body was tense.

  I sighed, wiping the moisture from my cheeks. I shouldn’t think about it. Papa no longer had an excuse to marry me off when I returned, after all. Daisy was married. If I grew into an old spinster, no one would care. Except Mary, she would rejoice to have me become an old maid with her.

  As if my forlorn thoughts had conjured her, Mary asked, “What’s wrong?” Her voice was thick with sleep as she eased out of bed. The bed rocked. Francine’s snores intensified.

  Mary rubbed the sleep from her eyes with the back of her hands. Her hair escaped the braid she’d worn to bed. Short, stray tresses framed her cheeks and sharp chin.

  “It’s nothing,” I said, turning away. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “A fine way to treat your friend.”

  She was right. I turned to her. She stood in a hostile stance, her arms crossed over her chest and her mouth fixed in a scowl. She didn’t seem hurt by my lapse, only annoyed.

  “You think I don’t understand love or marriage?”

  My fingernails bit into the palm of my hand as I balled it. “Do you?”

  My voice was sharp. We both sucked in a breath as Francine murmured and rolled over in her sleep. When her snoring resumed, we met each other’s gazes.

  Mary lowered her voice to a heated whisper. “If you marry, you ought to be so in love what other people think couldn’t possibly harm you. You shouldn’t be able to stop thinking about the object of your love. You should enjoy talking to your future spouse, not only kissing. You only get married once, Rose.”

  I knew that. While divorce was sometimes an option in extreme cases, it left the divorcée with a black mark in her book. Remarriage wasn’t an option, not with a respectable man. And I would never marry in the hope that my husband would die and leave me a widow.

  I sighed. “You sound like you’re in love, Mary.”

  She scowled again. “Don’t sound so surprised. I’m not in love at the moment, but I have been in the past, and I will be again. It’s all about finding the right person.”

  I threw my hands up in the air. “That’s what I’ve been trying to do all these years. It’s all I’ve wanted. To find the right person, fall in love, and get married.”

  “So keep trying. This isn’t the end.”

  My knees weakened. I sank onto the table behind me. I almost burned myself as I groped for the candle. I cupped it between both hands. After a moment, I raised my gaze to Mary’s. “How do I do that? This party was my last chance to find a love match.”

  Mary made a rude sound.

  I drew myself up. “It was.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Last I checked, you weren’t dead.”

  “No, but Papa’s already arranged my marriage to War—to Lord Hartfell.” I’d sworn to Warren that I’d never marry him, but what if he pressed my father for the marriage?

  Gently, Mary pried the candlestick from between my palms. She placed it out of reach before claiming my hand. “He can’t force you to marry against your will.”

  “Can’t he?” I wrapped my arms around my torso. “He controls my dowry. If he turns me out, I’ll have no way to survive.”

  “You have friends.” Mary’s voice was fierce. Her eyes glittered with malice, made more potent for the lack of her spectacles, as she added, “And I’d like to see him try. Don’t think I won’t put him in his place because he’s your father.”

  That would only make the matter worse, but the sentiment made me smile anyway. Softly, I admitted, “I don’t want to shame my family. If I break off this engagement, it could reflect poorly on us. It isn’t as though we have a title to hide behind.”

  I hadn’t thought of that when I’d rejected Warren, but it was true. The arrangement had been announced in the newspaper. If I cried off, there would be a scandal. I didn’t have to worry about Daisy’s marriage anymore, but that didn’t mean I wanted to tarnish the family name.

  After a prolonged silence, Mary asked, “Will you answer something for me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why are you so set against Lord Hartfell?”

  My lips thinned as too many answers sprung to my lips. I glanced away, but couldn’t avoid the question. In a small voice, I admitted, “He used me.”

  “Used you how?” The edge to Mary’s voice sharpened.

  My gaze flew to meet hers, if only to assure myself that she wasn’t about to storm into Warren’s room in a rampage. Her eyes simmered with anger. A muscle twitched in her jaw. Even so, she didn’t move. She stared me down as she awaited my answer.

  “When we first met, he admitted that he believes love to be a construct to control women. Then he did everything under his power to make me fall in love with him.”

  She didn’t move, though her fingers dug into the arms of the chair. “And did you fall in love with him?”

  I studied my bare toes, peeking from beneath my nightgown. “Yes.” My voice was the barest hush. I didn’t even want to admit the truth to myself, let alone Mary. I swallowed twice before adding, “That’s how I know I won’t love him again. I’ve never fallen in love once I’ve lost my good opinion of a man.”

  “Are you sure he’s lost your good opinion?” Mary’s voice was soft, but pointed.

  Aghast, I met her gaze. I saw only earnestness there, nothing accusatory.

  “There’s something between you. Anyone can see it. Don’t you want to discover how it plays out?”

  I shook my head. “Marriage is for life. I can’t suffer a loveless marriage—and Warren doesn’t believe in love.”

  She held up her finger. “He didn’t believe in love when he met you. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t believe in it now.”

  I opened my mouth, then shut it. Could it be true?

  Did it matter if he loved me?

  I shook my head. “What am I supposed to do, browbeat a confession out of him?”

  Mary laughed. “You’ll do what you need to. You aren’t without your wiles, Rose. I have every faith that you can make him fall in love with you, if he isn’t already.”

  She was right. My mouth set in a determined line to match hers. The only question now was whether or not I still loved him. I only had one day left to find out.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The day donned sunny. As Emily emerged from the room she’d shared wit
h Daisy and Pauline, I waved her over to me. She seemed cheerful enough, despite the torture in store for her later today.

  “Yes, Miss Rose?” she asked.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked her. I didn’t want to task her with too much if she was still ill.

  “Better than you look,” she countered. “Did you have trouble sleeping?”

  “Yes.” I’d laid abed the rest of the night, scheming of ways to make Warren fall in love with me. The surest way seemed to be to use the same charms he used against me: passion. “I look horrid. Can you do anything to make me appear…alluring?”

  “Even at your worst, you’re more alluring than most.”

  At my glare she pursed her lips.

  “The cosmetics are packed away, but I’ll fish them out. This must be important.”

  “Very,” I told her. “For your future, and for mine.”

  As Emily disappeared to gather the cosmetics, I slipped into the room again. Pauline entered to help Francine dress. Mary dressed herself, despite Pauline’s protests that she would help. After several choice words trying to complete the task herself, Mary submitted to Pauline’s offer to fashion Mary’s hair in a braid.

  Emily returned with the cosmetics I needed. She directed me into one of the chairs as she applied it liberally, humming to herself. The other women escaped to the inn common room for a bite to eat. My stomach pinched into a thin ribbon, overwhelmed with nervousness about the coming day.

  Once she finished with my face, Emily fashioned my hair in a simple plait and helped me to don a fresh walking dress, this one powder blue. It enhanced my eyes, or so she told me. I hoped so. With my future hanging in the balance, I craved every advantage.

  The others grumbled at the delay by the time I descended to the courtyard below, Emily to my rear. Mary held a bulging napkin holding some semblance of breakfast. “Thank you,” I murmured as I accepted it.

  She held onto the offering for a moment more. Her gaze caught mine and held it. “Good luck.”

  She surprised me with the gesture. I smiled with the full force of my gratitude. No matter what, I could count on Mary to support me.