by Diana Quincy
Chapter Eight
Restless and frustrated with Willa’s continued reluctance, Hartwell slipped out for a brisk ride shortly after their arrival at Camryn Park. He galloped over wide expanses of open parkland, releasing tension as he breathed in the fresh country air and enjoyed the cacophony of sounds from swooshing trees and chattering birds. Spotting a glimmer from a pond hidden in a secluded copse of trees, he dismounted and led the animal toward the lush greenery surrounding the pond.
Just before he came out of the clearing, the sounds of splashing water halted him. Someone was taking a swim. He looked toward the noise and his mouth went dry.
A womanly form, clad only in a shift, emerged from beneath the surface, water streaming from her curves. Willa. She dipped back to wet her hair. Her full, upright breasts arched up, straining against the wet, diaphanous shift that left little to the imagination. Desire and want slammed through him. Staggering backward, his hand shot up to seize an overhead branch to steady himself.
He hadn’t realized how lush her breasts were. They were full and heavy under the now transparent chemise that outlined their every curve. He could see the rosy pink outline of her areolas and the hardened nubs at the center of them.
She turned away and dove back under the surface. He lost his breath when her shift floated up in the water as she did so, exposing an exquisitely rounded, white bottom which curved above the water for a tantalizing moment before disappearing under the surface. Re-emerging, she flipped over to float on her back and he almost lost his mind. Her lavish breasts jutted skyward as if in exquisite offering to the sun gods, the cold water swelling their rosy tips to pert splendor beneath the gossamer cloth. His gaze trailed downward to the shadow between her legs.
Heat pooled in his groin. It was as if he were seeing the genuine Willa for the first time. She moved with pure abandon, seizing the pleasure of the sun and water for herself, meshing with the natural surroundings. It was not only the sight of her body, smooth and rounded to feminine perfection, but also the way she moved through the water with simple, unrestrained pleasure, that shook him. That cool aloofness she usually showed the world fell away. Stripped of all artifice, Willa was spellbinding. The pure intimacy of the moment made his throat ache. Any lingering doubts about making her his wife melted away.
She floated along, eyes closed, with an occasional lazy swirl of her arms. Her languorous gaze turned in his direction and they locked eyes. His heart sped up as silence stretched between them, as if she didn’t comprehend his presence in the midst of her private, sun-dazed revelry. Then her eyes widened.
“Hartwell?” She startled into action—jerky, panicked movements of flailing arms and shapely legs splashing in the water. And an abundance of other wiggling feminine parts that made his mouth go dry. She finally sank, leaving only her head bobbing above the water’s surface.
He belatedly remembered himself. Much too late, of course. In a strangled voice, he uttered, “I do beg your pardon,” and pivoted, giving her his back.
“I most certainly will not beg your pardon!” Her outraged voice trembled with agitation amidst more splashing noises. “How long have you been standing there ogling me?”
“I had no intention of—” His tongue tangled. He had been leering at her like the worst kind of lecher. He hadn’t meant to watch her. He certainly shouldn’t have. But really, what red-blooded male could have looked away from Willa’s lush, womanly form floating in the water as if she were Aphrodite herself? He half expected flowers to spring up under her feet once she stepped back onto dry land. “I took my mount for a run and spotted the water. My intention was to give my animal his fill.”
“It appears you looked your fill instead.”
The sound of rushing of water behind him suggested she’d pulled herself out of the pond. His mind didn’t have to work terribly hard to imagine what she looked like with the water-drenched translucent fabric of her shift plastered against the hard pearl tips of her breasts.
“It was the behavior of a scoundrel and a blackguard.” His back still to her, he focused on his mount grazing nearby. “I shall leave you to your privacy.”
“A little late for that, don’t you think?” she muttered.
“Whatever I can do to make it up to you, I shall do.” As if that were possible. They both knew he couldn’t unsee the vision of her damp, nubile body glistening in the sun.
Clothes rustled behind him. “Actually, there is a way you can make amends.”
“There is?” The calculation he heard in her voice made his skin prickle.
“I’ve wanted to meet with you alone.”
“Dare I be hopeful?”
“Do not be disgusting,” she said sharply. “You may turn around now.”
He obliged, steeling himself to meet her accusing gaze. Only he turned to find she wasn’t looking at him. Instead, she’d turned away to wring water from the white cloth in her hands. Which allowed him to sneak another look at her. Good lord, she was a goddess. Her cascade of chestnut hair fell in ringlets about her shoulders. Water rivulets dampened her dress, which clung to her sweetly curved bottom as she squeezed liquid from her shift. He swallowed hard. Her shift. Which meant that under that gown, she wore…nothing.
He felt lightheaded. Surely the god of temptation was punishing him for some grievous sin from his past. “What did you wish to discuss?”
“How to put an end to this ludicrous betrothal.”
The words hit him like a blow to the gut. “So Cam was correct in assuming you had cause to delay the announcement of our happy news.”
“You saved me from a footpad,” she said in a determined voice. “You shouldn’t be punished for your chivalry by being chained to me into perpetuity.”
“Perhaps I care to be chained.” His deepened his voice. “Especially after today.” Her cheeks warmed. He’d wager her ears were red, too, but that glistening curtain of curls hid them from view.
“Besides,” he continued, “I’m easily bored and, if the past few days are any indication, life with you is bound to be most interesting. What with footpads, clandestine tea enterprises, and a marriage proposal, I’ve barely had time to follow recent developments.”
“A marriage proposal?” She uttered a sound of derision. “I don’t recall being asked for my hand in marriage. You and Cam arranged it.”
“You acquiesced.”
“Under the strain of dire consequences. You threatened to kill my cousin. It was most romantic. Every girl’s dream.”
“To be fair, Cam is the one who challenged me, but if that is all—” He promptly fell onto one knee, taking her soft hand, with its long slim fingers, into his own. “Lady Wilhelmina, I admire you above all others. Will you make me the happiest of men by agreeing to become my wife?”
She snatched her hand away. “No, that is not all and I most certainly will not. Do be serious. We are barely acquainted.”
“After today, I would say that isn’t exactly true.” He pushed to his feet, raking his eyes over her abundant curves. “I look forward with great anticipation to coming to know you much more intimately.”
Heat suffused her face. She parted her lips and brought her hand to her neck, her chest moving more quickly. The air between them swirled with carnal awareness.
“You made your true feelings quite clear at my mother’s dinner party in town,” she finally said, her voice shaky.
Cold remorse filled his lungs. Of course she’d want nothing to do with someone who behaved as caddishly as he had after he’d stolen that kiss. “My behavior was that of the worst blackguard. I deeply regret my actions of that evening.”
“It is in the past,” she said carefully. “What is best is for us both to move forward. In order to do that, you must release me from this betrothal.”
“I will do no such thing.”
“Why must you be so obstinate?”
“It would be dishonorable not to proceed as planned. And I think perhaps you need me to keep you out of harm’s w
ay.”
Her large mocha eyes held his. “I gather we are speaking of Augustus now.”
Bellingham. The realization she couldn’t get that whoreson out of her mind clogged the air in his lungs. “So that’s the way of it.”
She frowned. “What’s the way of it?”
The lady had no idea what depravity Bellingham was capable of. And honor, in the form of a long-ago promise, prohibited him from enlightening her. But he could keep her safe. Determination hardened in him. “There is nothing to left to discuss.” His words were curt and harder than frozen tundra. “We will marry. It is done.”
…
Exasperated, Willa dropped to the ground to pull on her ankle boots. He’d intruded on her private oasis, piercing the tranquility that always came over her whenever she went for a swim at the pond. She squinted up at him, shielding her eyes against the sun with her hand. The sun shone behind him, casting a bright halo around his darkened silhouette. It outlined his tall, hard body, defining the curve of muscle in his thighs. The sunlight streaming through his white shirt allowed her to take in the turn of strength in his arms. Her pulse flowed faster at his nearness.
She struggled to collect her thoughts. Perhaps the truth of what happened at the inn would cure him of his obstinate resolve to marry her. One he understood she was already as good as ruined, surely he’d relinquish his gentlemanly insistence, and this absurd competition with Augustus. “If you insist on pursuing this course of action, we must speak truthfully about the earl.”
His eyes darkened. “Bellingham?”
Anxiety stretched in her chest. She’d never spoken of this to anyone. “You understand I have a history with his lordship.”
His expression remained inscrutable. “Go on.”
“I did want to marry him once, very much so.”
“Then I can only request that you refrain from any indiscretions, at least until you’ve given me an heir and a couple of spares.” The words were sharp and cold, all traces of his previous warmth gone. “Just so there can be no doubt about lineage and succession.”
Her mouth fell open. “Indiscretions?” Nausea bubbled in her chest. “Is this your way of informing me you plan to take mistresses?” She knew many ton marriages were marked by open affairs on both sides, but she could never countenance that kind of union for herself.
He examined her face. “Would you care if I did?”
Her body sank inward to absorb the blow of his words, as if he’d physically struck her. The duke planned to humiliate her with his affairs—just as her father had her mother. Tears prickled her nose. Like all men, he could not be trusted.
“Clearly, we hold differing views on the matrimonial state,” she bit out, proud she managed to inject a coolness she didn’t feel into the words. “It is fortunate we’ve realized our mistake before proceeding any further.” Shoulders back, chin tilted upward, she moved to walk past him.
“I have no intention of taking a mistress.” His large body stepped in her path. “There is only one woman I want and she stands before me.” The profound tenderness in his expression stole her breath. “You are all the woman I need.”
He lowered his face and gentle lips covered hers, his masculine scent filling her nose. He cradled her cheeks in his large hands and tilted his head to better take possession of her mouth. His lips were both firm and lush, imbuing the intimacy with intense emotion. Heat flooded her insides. The tip of his tongue touched her lower lip, asking for entry. She opened her mouth immediately and wrapped her hands around his neck.
Their tongues met, flickered together, and then mated in full stroking motions. Shivering with pleasure, she tasted the lingering essence of tea and cheroot, and an explosion of other nuances in the velvet warmth of his mouth. Hart’s tongue probed and demanded, tasted and devoured. His large hands closed over the swell of her bottom, cupping and massaging the sensitive mounds, urging her closer.
She went willingly. Shocking herself, she clawed at Hart’s shirt, desperate to feel the warm, bare skin underneath. When at last she reached the smooth, hard musculature of his back, his skin burned under her fingers. Her body throbbing with need, she pushed her heavy breasts against his chest, the curve of her body clinging to the determined lines of his. His arousal pressed into her softness. Just when it seemed as if nothing could stop her wantonness, an indignant voice rang out.
“Unhand her this instant.”
The shrill tone in Augustus’ outraged words pierced Willa’s abandon. Instead of floating on a cloud of warm pleasure, she returned to earth, to the feel of the hard ground beneath her boots and the press of the afternoon sun on her back. She broke away from Hart as though touched by fire, her cheeks and ears burning. The earl sat atop his gelding, watching them with a blanched face contorted with rage. Dismounting, he strode toward them, his body tensed with challenge.
Hart turned to Augustus with arrogant confidence, satisfaction etched in every line of his face. “I beg your pardon?” His cavalier tone suggested no trace of shame or humiliation at being caught in flagrante. Quite the contrary. Instead, he exuded the air of a man greatly enjoying himself.
Anxiety shot through her. She could not bear for this tawdry scene to become fodder for gossip among the house guests. It would humiliate her mother and taint the festivities planned in honor of Addie’s engagement.
Hart seemed amused by Augustus’ obvious distress and appeared to be in no hurry to alleviate it for him. “You have no right to interfere here. This is none of your concern.”
Augustus’ eyes widened. “None of my concern?” He dismounted in a quick motion and took a step toward them. “You, sir, have corrupted this lady and I shall call you out for damaging her honor.”
Another duel. Over her. Willa’s head spun, and not just from Hart’s kiss.
“You needn’t concern yourself with my affianced bride’s virtue.” Taking Willa’s arm, he tucked it into his elbow, signaling he had rights to her that no other man had.
The earl’s imperious features froze. “Your bride?” he said with a harsh laugh. “The Lady Wilhelmina? I think not.”
“What you think is of no consequence to me or my betrothed.”
Augustus’ gaze shifted to Willa’s face. “I have heard nothing of a betrothal. If you think to spare yourself from the dueling field by hiding behind her skirts—”
Hart took a step toward Augustus, his tone full of lethal warning. “As I said, our betrothal is none of your concern. You have no rights to the lady.”
“Ah, but she and I have unfinished business.” The earl ran in his eyes over Willa’s body, his eyes lingering on her breasts. She flushed, crossing her arms protectively over her chest. “Do you truly believe you are the only man to have sampled her abundant charms?”
Willa stiffened. Shame and dread shot up her spine at the mention of her ruination. Clearly, the earl meant to destroy her once and for all.
“You will speak no words against the lady nor do harm to her reputation.” The cut lines of Hart’s face sharpened into a menacing mask, his still-untucked shirt adding to an aura of untamed ferociousness. “Or I warn you I shall not bother to wait for the dueling field. I will beat you to a bloody pulp. I promise you another thrashing that will make Cambridge seem like a glove to the face in comparison.”
Warmth spilled into her belly, radiating out to her limbs at the fierceness of Hart’s tone. No one had ever defended her honor this way. Not even her family. Although they’d sought to shield her by ignoring the swirling rumors of her ruin, no one had ever stood up for her as Hart did now.
Augustus stared, for the first time betraying the faintest sign of alarm. “When is this supposed betrothal going to take place?”
Willa lifted her chin and sealed her fate. “It is already set. His Grace has spoken to Camryn.” Her hand remained in the comforting strength of the crook of her betrothed’s elbow. Her betrothed. She’d never intended to become anyone’s betrothed. But, to her immense surprise, the sound of that appea
led to her.
“Is that so?” the earl said coldly. “And why is it no one seems aware of this most joyous news?”
“We are waiting until after the house party to make the announcement.” Willa placed her other hand on Hart’s elbow, so that she almost cradled his arm. “So as not to interfere with Adela and Race’s betrothal celebrations.”
“You needn’t concern yourself any further.” Warning saturated Hart’s words. “She is under my protection now and forever more. An insult against my lady is a slight against me and will be dealt with accordingly. Now, I suggest that you mount your beast and leave us to our privacy.”
It was not a request. Augustus’ eyes moved over Willa, lingering longer than was appropriate. Hart cursed under his breath and stepped forward, but Willa tightened her hold on his arm, silently imploring him to desist.
“I will withdraw. For now.” The earl swung up onto his horse. “But I warn you, this is far from over.” With that, he urged his horse onward at a leisurely pace, not appearing the least bit rushed or intimidated.
When he’d moved a distance away, Willa turned toward Hart and took a deep breath, steeling herself for the questions he would inevitably ask. Of course he would want to clarify Augustus’ pointed implications. If they were to marry, she knew the time had come to answer Hart’s questions honestly.
He regarded her with clouded deep blue eyes, but his tone was easy. “That settles it then.”
“Settles it?” She pressed a hand flat against the heavy disappointment in her stomach. He was leaving her. Just an hour ago, she might have welcomed it. But no longer.
“Yes.” He walked over to his mount and picked up the reins. “No bits of muslin for me and no strange men in your bed.” He walked back over and offered her his arm. “If that kiss is any indication, I’ll have no need to look further than the marriage bed to satisfy my needs.”
…
With a loud cry of outrage, Augustus hurled the brandy decanter. It shattered against the stone hearth, spewing shards of glass onto the faded Aubusson carpet. Standing in the dark-paneled study at Bellingham Park, he battled to calm the storm in his head.