How to Woo a Wallflower
Page 25
Blood raced in her veins, flooding her cheeks, heating her chest and neck and the tips of her ears. Her skin pulled taut, muscles cramped.
She’d never been kissed, but she’d been this close to a dangerous man once before.
Flirtation and seduction meant nothing to Westby’s sort. But to Sophia, her first kiss was more than an item to tick off the list of all that she’d yet to experience in life.
She still hoped for marriage and even had a prospect in mind. Research for her book was not worth forfeiting favors to a blackguard who reeked of oversweet cologne.
“I’ve been gone too long,” Sophia insisted. The rush of blood in her ears wasn’t enough to block the ticking of the clock. Why had no one come to look for her after all this time?
Lord Westby tucked a hand around her waist, twisting her to face him. With one brusque slip of his hand, he palmed her breast, pushed until he’d pressed her back against the door.
“I’ll have a kiss before you go.” Westby hooked a hand around her neck, sliding his fingers into her pinned hair.
She was on the verge of stomping her foot as Miss Honeycutt had done, but forcefully and on his toes, when Westby dipped his head. A current of shock rioted through her when he swept his tongue across the seam of her lips.
She recoiled, pressing at his chest with one hand and lifting the other to swipe across her mouth. Something had to eclipse the soppy wetness of his tongue, like a warm slug slithering across her lips.
“You do taste like honey,” he enthused.
He tasted like cigar smoke and the rose water he’d apparently licked off the lady he’d been kissing moments before.
“Enough of this nonsense, my lord. Let me go.” She twisted her body, pushing at him with her hip to create distance between then.
When she finally had the man at her back and the study door latch in her hand, he gripped her arm and whispered, “Did you hear that?”
Somewhere in the house a woman raised her voice. A man shouted in reply, though Sophia couldn’t make out his words. Heavy footsteps shook the floorboards, louder as they continued, growing closer to the earl’s study.
“Get behind the drape.” The earl shoved her toward the window. “Don’t look at me like that. You were quite content there a moment ago.”
Sophia loathed his dictatorial tone and rough handling. She rubbed at the spot where he’d left a bruising sting around her arm.
“Look, you little fool,” he growled, “a forced marriage will never be my fate. And I trust you don’t wish to ruin your reputation entirely. Get behind the damned curtain.”
Sophia scowled at him as she sheltered behind the velvet drapery. The moment she drew the fabric across her body, the study door swung open.
“Winship?” the earl called out. “Good God, man, it’s been an age. I wasn’t sure you were still among the living.”
“That must be why your housekeeper was so reluctant to admit me.” The visitor’s voice was as rich and smooth as warm honey. But there was more underneath, a note of barely leashed ire.
“Well, you’re here now. Care for a scotch?” Westby seemed oblivious to the thread of fury in the man’s tone.
The clink of crystal indicated the earl had turned his attention to the liquor trolley. Sophia sensed the other man moving, the rustle of clothing and thud of his footsteps as he circled the room.
“Did you rip this ribbon off a lady, or did she offer it as a token?” The visitor’s voice was humming with anger.
Westby let out an ugly bark of laughter. “Let the fripperies fall where they may, I always say.”
Sophia held her breath. She needed to hear the stranger speak again. Something about his voice was oddly familiar.
“You bloody knave, where is she?” He no longer attempted to hide his anger, and Sophia no longer doubted his identity. Westby might call him Winship, but the man’s appealing voice gave him away as Jasper Grey, her brother’s theater friend.
“What the blasted hell. I don’t—” The earl began to sputter before his words cut off, followed by a sickening wallop of flesh colliding with bone.
“Phyllida is besotted with you, as you well know. Tell me where she is, and I’ll consider letting you live.” Mr. Grey’s tone had tempered to a deadly calm.
“Liddy? What business would I have with your sister? Check the bloody nursery.”
A struggle ensued, grunts and movement, then the thud of a body hitting a solid piece of furniture. The desk?
“Where is she, Westby?”
“I have . . . no”—the earl’s voice emerged on a breathless choke, as if something, or someone, was cutting off his air—“idea.”
“In that case, letting you live seems far too generous.”
Sophia fumbled with the drapery, trying to disentangle herself. Westby deserved a walloping, but Mr. Grey would suffer far more if he assaulted a powerful aristocrat.
“Mr. Grey!” she shouted and finally found an opening in the thick fall of velvet fabric.
Both men froze when she emerged. Westby lay atop his desk, face pink with exertion, as Jasper Grey leaned over him, a muscled forearm braced across the earl’s throat.
Mr. Grey was just as she recalled him, tall and lean, with tumbling chestnut hair and striking gray eyes, as cool as a January breeze.
“Miss Ruthven?” The infamous actor squinted at her. “What the hell are you doing in this bastard’s study?” He scowled down at the earl, then straightened and faced her. “I had no idea you possessed such wretched judgement, Sophia.”
“And I had no idea murder came so easily to you, Mr. Grey.”
They both cast a glance at the Earl of Westby, who’d sat up and begun clawing at his necktie to loosen its folds.
“There, you see. He’s alive. I’m not quite a murderer yet.”
“What in heaven’s name is going on?” The earl’s sister skidded to a halt in the study doorway. “The housemaid nearly fainted.”
Sophia scooted into the recess of the bay window, hoping to escape notice.
After an assessing glance at her brother, Lady Vivian turned her gaze on Mr. Grey, a grin curving her lips. “Winship,” she purred as she approached, “why are you in such a state? Come and have tea with us to soothe your nerves. We’ve missed your company at Westby House.”
This Sophia remembered about Jasper Grey too. The man had a way with women. Not only did they buzz about him, but he seemed to exude a calming effect too. On the day she’d met him, he’d turned an angry woman into a fawning, cooing fool with a few sweet words. The second time she’d seen him, as lead actor in one of her brother’s plays, his effect had been even more potent. Ladies in the audience swooned and the clamor to visit him backstage ended with one young woman crying over her trampled hat.
Now Lady Vivian wore the same look other ladies did around him—a sort of blissful, awestruck hunger.
“Leave us, Viv,” the earl commanded in a rusty bark. “Close the door behind you.”
She shot her brother a look of concern and offered their visitor another simpering grin before doing as Westby instructed.
When Sophia emerged from the window nook, Mr. Grey lifted his arm, and Westby shrunk back as if to avoid a blow.
“Let me take you out of here.” Mr. Grey crooked his fingers, bidding her to come toward him.
“You,” the earl began, scooting a safe distance away before shoving a finger in the air toward Mr. Grey, “get out of my house. Immediately.” He turned his attention toward Sophia, skimming her face before gaping at her breasts. “Do return another time for your kiss.”
“I—” Offense and protest perched on the tip of her tongue, but Grey spoke over her.
“Don’t speak to her, Westby.” He extended his hand as if he expected her to take it. As if he expected her to allow him to make her decisions.
“I will choose when to depart, Mr. Grey.” She’d had enough of high-handed men for one day. Never mind that she shouldn’t have been snooping in the earl’s st
udy in the first place.
“The man is a wretch.” He flicked his gaze toward Westby. “An utter scoundrel. A certifiable scalawag.”
“I”—the aristocrat cleared his throat—“am standing right here.”
“And you cannot deny a single claim.”
The earl frowned but offered no rebuttal. “What’s become of you, man? A few years on the stage, and you lose all sense? If you were anyone else, you’d be clapped in irons for assaulting me.” He rubbed a hand across his jaw where an abrasion bloomed in shades of red and blue. “We were friends once.”
“We were never friends, Westby. You’re an arrogant sod and have no respect for the fairer sex.”
The earl chortled. “Says the man who’s bedded half of London’s fairer sex.”
Sophia thought she spied a patch of pink on the high cut of Mr. Grey’s cheek, but the look he cast her was tinted with more pride than humility. Lifting his hand again, he petitioned her. “Come with me, Sophia. Please.”
“I can’t simply leave.” Sophia owed Westby nothing, but she couldn’t say the same for his sister. “Lady Vivian invited me. What shall I tell her?”
“Nothing,” Grey said quietly. “Returning to the drawing room will raise questions you won’t wish to answer.” He tipped his head toward the earl. “Westby will direct the housekeeper to say you fell ill and called a cab to take you home.”
“Will I?” Westby asked with arch haughtiness.
Mr. Grey cast him a hard stare, and the earl stomped across the rug. With a dramatic sigh, he yanked his study door open. “Anything to get you out of my house, Winship.”
Sophia didn’t take Mr. Grey’s offered hand, but she moved past him toward the door. For however long she remained in London before returning to the countryside, she suspected her days of receiving invitations from the aristocracy had just come to a crashing end.
“This isn’t the time for worrying about etiquette,” Grey said, close behind her, a hand heavy at her lower back as he guided her through the door. Once she was across the threshold, he turned back. “Not a word about Liddy to anyone, Westby. If you hear word of her whereabouts, wire me immediately.”
“You truly have no idea where your sister is?”
Sophia couldn’t detect any concern in the earl’s tone for the sister of a man he claimed had once been a friend.
“No.” Grey’s jaw tensed, his hands tightened to fists against his thighs. “But I will find her.” He spun away from Westby and started past Sophia.
For a moment she thought he’d storm out of Westby House without her. Then she felt his fingers, warm and insistent, tangling with hers as he reached for her. He paused in the hallway, waiting for her to respond.
She felt a tremor across his skin. His hands were shaking.
Sophia clasped her fingers around his and let him lead her quickly toward the front door.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Fueled by Pacific Northwest coffee and inspired by multiple viewings of every British costume drama she can get her hands on, USA Today bestselling author CHRISTY CARLYLE writes sensual historical romances set in the Victorian era. She loves heroes who struggle against all odds and heroines who are ahead of their time. A former teacher with a degree in history, she finds there’s nothing better than being able to combine her love of the past with a die-hard belief in happy endings.
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ALSO BY CHRISTY CARLYLE
Romancing the Rules series
A Study in Scoundrels
Rules for a Rogue
The Accidental Heirs series
One Dangerous Desire
One Tempting Proposal
One Scandalous Kiss
A LETTER FROM THE EDITOR
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In January, we have a delightful, charming debut novel from Marie Tremayne! LADY IN WAITING features a runaway bride who takes a position as a maid in a lord’s household. He’s incredibly tempted by his new servant, but he knows they can never be together due to class differences . . . or can they? You don’t want to miss this fantastic first book in Marie’s Reluctant Brides trilogy!
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COPYRIGHT
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Excerpt from Rules for a Rogue copyright © 2016 by Christy Carlyle.
Excerpt from A Study in Scoundrels copyright © 2017 by Christy Carlyle.
HOW TO WOO A WALLFLOWER. Copyright © 2017 by Christy Carlyle. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins Publishers. For information, address HarperCollins Publishers, 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007.
Digital Edition NOVEMBER 2017 ISBN: 978-0-06-257239-4
Print Edition ISBN: 978-0-06-257240-0
Cover art by Christine Ruhnke
Cover photograph © Mary Chronis, VJ Dunraven Productions & PeriodImages.com
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