How to Fall for the Wrong Man

by Harmony Williams

  “What is it?” His voice was resigned.

  I crossed my arms. “Is that anyway to treat your fiancée?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Do you expect a kiss?”

  Our gazes met, then skittered away. The memory of our passionate kiss imprinted itself on my body, making me ache to reconcile. I studied a spot on the wall, no different from any other in this white-washed room.

  Without removing my gaze from that spot, I mumbled, “I don’t like the way we parted the other day. I’d like to make amends.”

  With another sigh, he pushed his plate away and got to his feet. “Are you prepared to concede that you were wrong?”

  Isaac mumbled under his breath. “I just convinced him to sit down…”

  Ignoring the butler, I bristled. “I wasn’t wrong.”

  In the corner of the room, Isaac rolled his eyes. “Imagine that…”

  We both glared him into silence. Edwin stormed around the table and ushered me into the corridor, but he dropped his hand the moment we were alone. I swallowed hard against the desire to return to our gentle, playful morning the other day. At the moment, the tension between us was insurmountable. Perhaps that had been an unguarded moment on both our parts, one we might never find again.

  I buried my disappointment. I hadn’t entered into this false engagement thinking that he was anything but the arrogant, domineering lord he’d proven himself to be the other day in the park.

  Edwin pinned me beneath the full force of those hazel eyes. “If you don’t intend to take your safety into account going forward, then I don’t see any means of amending the situation.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous—”

  “Ridiculous?” His voice resembled the growl of a wounded bear. “It isn’t ridiculous not to want to see you hurt.”

  “Getting hurt is a part of life, Edwin. You get hurt, you heal, you move on.”

  It’s what I’d had to do years ago when we’d parted angry. This time, I’d thought things would be different if only I returned to apologize and make amends. At least now I knew that trying, then or now, didn’t make any difference at all.

  Turning on my heel, I stormed down the corridor. Edwin stood between me and the front door, so I chose the other exit, the kitchen. Nancy shadowed the doorway, alarm written across her face.

  “Mary? I need your help.”

  Since I intended to go that way anyway, I embraced the excuse to leave Edwin behind me. Far, far in my wake.

  I schooled the anger from my face as I approached Nancy. It wasn’t her fault her liege lord was a pigheaded cad. As I stepped into the kitchen, I asked, “What can I do?”

  Nancy wrung her apron. She glanced behind her at her kitchen staff, who wore echoing expressions of worry, though to varying degrees.

  To me, she said, “Trevor’s just twisted his ankle.”

  Mop-hair shifted to lean on the counter, favoring one leg.

  I returned my gaze to Nancy. “Does he need a physician?”

  “No, no.” She waved her hands. “Rest will do the trick, but in the meantime, I need a sack of flour from the cellar. Will you fetch it for me?”

  “The devil she will!”

  I cringed at the booming voice, which emanated from the open doorway to the hall. Edwin blocked the door with his broad shoulders and tall frame. His eyebrows hooked low over his eyes as he scowled.

  He pointed a finger at Nancy. “How can you ask her? The bag probably weighs more than she does.”

  I rounded on him. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.” I turned to Nancy and in a more reasonable, agreeable tone added, “I would be happy to help. That’s what I do. Help.”

  I turned on my heel and made directly for the cellar. Behind me, Edwin swore. The floor quivered from the force of his stomping steps. Opening the door, I barreled down the stairs. They shook as he followed.

  “You’ll injure yourself.”

  “Can you, for a moment, entertain the notion that I won’t snap in half under the strain of a strong wind?” I held my hands out to keep my balance on the steep stairs.

  “Only if you’ll start to live in reality and take your limitations into account.”

  “I have no limitations.”

  He exhaled sharply. “Surely you can’t be so narcissistic as to think—”

  “Why not?” I spat over my shoulder. “You are, and I learn from the best.”

  As I reached the bottom of the stairs, the light from the kitchen above cut off. Someone slammed the door.

  Edwin swore under his breath as he collided with me. He pulled me against him to keep me from falling. It reminded me of being pressed up against him in bed. I battled against his hold, which wrapped all the way around me. “Release me.” I pounded my fist against his chest.

  Abruptly, his hold loosened, and I stumbled back.

  “Pardon me for being gentlemanly.”

  I sneered. “A gentleman doesn’t touch a lady with such familiarity.”

  “Good thing you’re shortly to be my wife.”

  If he’d stood in front of me, I would have slapped him. Unfortunately, with the darkness pressing against my eyeballs, I didn’t know where he resided. “The devil, I am. I’m winning this wager.”

  He laughed. “And how would you reckon that? You scandalized everyone with your tree-climbing prowess the other day.”

  “And managed to play the loving fiancée in the process,” I countered, my voice achingly sweet. I groped for the stairs. My fingers touched something hard and cloth covered. A bit of exploration proved it was Edwin’s abdomen and hips.

  “A lady doesn’t touch a gentleman with such familiarity.” His voice was low and breathy. Like it had been when there had been nothing between us but sheets.

  I retracted my hands. “I’m looking for the staircase.”

  “It’s over here.”

  “I know that. You’re standing in the way.”

  The rustle of cloth sounded overly loud in the dark room. A moment later, his hand brushed across my breasts. I balled my fists, trying to suppress the involuntary shiver tingling over my skin as I recoiled.

  “Watch where you’re touching.”

  “You said you wanted to go up the stairs. Go up the bloody stairs!”

  I batted away his guiding hands and did just that. Slowly, step by step, until the door barred my way. I groped for a latch, but there was none on this side of the door, only on the exterior.

  “Nancy!” I pounded on the door. “We need a candle or something in here. We can’t see.”

  No answer.

  I renewed my efforts to bang on the door. “Nancy, open the door.”

  Nothing. I pressed my ear to the wood. The door wasn’t terribly thick; they should hear me on the other side.

  Not a single sound penetrated the wood. After a moment of deafening silence, the faintest voice said, “Don’t go in there—my lord and my lady are reconciling.”

  I groaned as I rested my forehead against the wood.

  “What is it?” Edwin snapped. His voice was clipped.

  I lifted my head to look him in the eye. Not that I could see much in the abysmal darkness. Though, considering I discerned his silhouette from the murky gray cellar, some form of light source emanated from the far end of the room.

  He crossed his arms. “Mary?”

  With a sigh, I shoved myself away from the door and slowly navigated the steps. “She’s locked us in here.”

  “Bloody hell.” He rubbed his forehead, then shouted. “If the lot of you want to keep your positions, you’ll open this door right now. Nancy? Isaac?”

  His voice was a roar they could surely hear on the other side of London. No one opened the door.

  Edwin swore under his breath. “Blasted servants stepping above themselves.”

  I crossed my arms. “Pardon me?”

  He advanced until he stood nose to nose with me. Given the step on which I rested, we stood the same height for once.

  “You most certainly ar
e not pardoned. It’s your bloody fault we’re in here!”

  “How so?”

  “You’re the person teaching the servants across London these bizarre notions of equality. I guarantee you, the servants in my father’s household would not have orchestrated anything like this.”

  I slapped him soundly. My palm burned from the contact. He grabbed my hand, wrestling for the other one. He held them wide, preventing me from making any move. The motion set me off-balance. I leaned into him for fear of falling.

  “You can’t mean that. Everyone deserves to be treated with respect.”

  “And what do you call this? A far cry from respect, I’d say.”

  His breath fanned my face. I smelled the bitters from his tea. Did he ever add sugar? He hadn’t as a boy, claiming the sugar eradicated the natural flavor.

  I pressed my lips together. If Edwin and I emerged from this without strangling each other, I had some choice words for Nancy. I battled to regain control of my body. The movement pressed me against him further.

  “Stop,” Edwin snapped.

  “Why? Are you getting aroused?”

  “Far from it,” he said with feeling. “We need to strike a truce.”

  “A truce?”

  “Yes. Otherwise, we’ll never get out of this blasted cellar. Will you stop being at my throat for one moment please?”

  I balled my fists. “Fine. We’ll strike a truce.”

  He loosened his hold on my wrists. I drew my hand back. He recaptured my arms, this time pinning them to my sides. I squirmed.

  “A truce,” he said, so close I tasted the words on my lips. “Meaning that you will not strike me physically or verbally until we’re out of here. Actually,” he cocked his head, “I’d rather maintain the truce until our engagement ends or, if I win, until death do us part.”

  “I can’t do that,” I protested. “What if you’re an arse?”

  “You’ll have to live with it.”

  “You might be unbearable.”

  “Then remove yourself from my company.”

  I gnashed my teeth rather than bite his lip. It was the only part of his body near enough to bite. “I’d like to do so now.”

  “So we have a truce?”

  I squirmed but couldn’t break free. A tingle of arousal swept my body. Not now. I didn’t care if my body enjoyed being Edwin’s captive; I wouldn’t suffer it for another minute.

  “We have a truce.”

  “For the remainder of our arrangement?”

  As short-lived as that would be. In five days, I would have my reward. “Yes.”

  He released me so suddenly, I nearly fell. As I teetered, he caught my body and removed me from the step. I scrambled back the moment he set me on the ground.

  “Part of the truce is not to touch me,” I said.

  “I need to get to the door.”

  “Why?” I crossed my arms. “It’s locked.”

  “I’m a good deal larger than you. Maybe I can break it down.”

  Considering he had to hunch nearly double just to squeeze up the low ceiling over the steps, I doubted it. I turned my back on him to search for the light source. “Very well, you try that. I’ll get us out of here.”

  He sighed heavily. “Could you be any more arrogant?”

  “You’re the expert on arrogance. Why don’t you tell me?”

  “Give me a moment. This door isn’t thick. I should be able to wrench it free.”

  A thump resonated in the hollow cellar as he threw his weight onto the door. It didn’t budge. It didn’t even crack. He did it again and again, with the same result.

  What an arrogant prig, expecting the door to bow to him as its lord and master.

  “It’s no use.” He groaned. “She must have bolstered it with something on the other side.”

  “The lock?” The darkness ate my words. At this distance, I wasn’t sure he’d heard. Surely I’d neared the far wall of the cellar by now.

  “Mary? Where did you go?”

  “I’m over here,” I called. “There must be a window letting in light. We aren’t completely in the dark.”

  “It seems dark to me.”

  I shrugged. “Suit yourself if you’d like to remain in here. I’m getting out.”

  In slow increments, I continued down the wall of the cellar. From the muffled cursing behind me, Edwin followed my lead.

  Is that…? I squinted. A shuttered window. Gray light seeped between the cracks in the shutters, latched from the inside. “Edwin, I found something.”

  He lumbered over to me, banging his shin into a barrel and hissing in pain. “What is it?”

  I pointed to the window. “It must lead to the outdoors.”

  “You’re mad. That window is tiny.”

  “I can fit through it. Open it and boost me up. I can’t reach.”

  “No.”

  I crossed my arms. “So then you’d rather stay in this dark, dank cellar? Fine. Have it your way.” I stomped away.

  Edwin sighed. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m finding something I can stand on because I’m getting out of here, even if you don’t seem to care.”

  “I can’t fit through that window. Even if you can, how do you propose to get me out?”

  That was just like him, to only want to help me if it also helped him.

  I scowled. “I’ll open the cellar door, of course.” I clipped off each word.

  The silence stretched on, laden with his hesitation. Will he help me? I returned to his side.

  “Do you promise you’ll come back?”

  I clenched my fists. “I won’t leave you here. I’m not that heinous a human being.” Besides, he had been the one in our past to leave me behind.

  He sighed. “Very well. Give me a moment.”

  When he started to haul away the sacks directly under the window—probably the flour Nancy had used as a ruse to trap us in here—I leaped to help him. I wasn’t some damsel in distress. We reached for the next sack at the same time. I bashed my head into his and winced.

  Moaning, he rubbed at his head. “I said to give me a moment.”

  “I can help.” My skull throbbed, but I refused to show it.

  To my surprise, Edwin said, “Stand over there and I’ll hand you the bags.”

  I didn’t argue. I skipped to the side and waited to be handed the bags. Every time, he shuffled them to my feet rather than deposit them in my arms. After I tried to heft one with trembling arms, I held my tongue. One by one, I dragged them to the side next to a barrel.

  When I reached five, Edwin dropped the last with care. “Last one,” he said. The bounder wasn’t even breathing hard.

  I nodded, not trusting myself to speak with the stitch blooming in my side and the sweat beading at my temples. As I reached forward, our hands brushed. My fingers tingled at the contact. I dragged the bag away.

  Edwin positioned himself beneath the window. For all his height, he still had to reach up in order to fumble with the latch.

  He made an exasperated sound. “It’s rusted. Cover your eyes.”

  I shut them tight.

  A moment later, the splinter of wood split the air. Dust rained down. I coughed as sunlight streamed into the cellar. Edwin punched out the rest of the shutter around the latch, opening the way for me to climb through the window.

  The light illuminated the tiny cellar. Including the cobwebs and the big, fat spider resting only inches away from the window. My skin crawled as I examined its bulbous body.

  Edwin beckoned me forward. “Come on.” He made a stirrup of his hands and kneeled for me to step onto them.

  I shook my head. “I can’t.” My voice came out tight and tiny.

  Exasperation crossed his face. “Why not?”

  I pointed toward the spider.

  When he turned to look at it, he rolled his eyes. “You’ve got to be jesting.”

  My throat closed. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t look away for fear the creature would jump and bite m
e.

  “You make grown men cower in fear, and you’re afraid of a little spider?”

  I scowled at the scorn in his voice. The spider wriggled in its nest. I recoiled. “It’s not so little. I think it’s the queen of all spiders.”

  Edwin chuckled. “I’ll get rid of it.”

  My throat worked. “By get rid of it, I hope you mean kill it.”

  “Of course, your majesty. Hand me your shoe.”

  “My shoe?”

  “Well I don’t want to squash it with my bare hand.”

  I shuddered at the thought. But I didn’t like the idea of spider guts being all over my shoe, either. “Use your own shoe.”

  He pointed to his boot, which laced up to his knee. “It takes two people to put these on in the mornings. I’m not taking it off.”

  And he thought I was childish.

  “Use something else, then. A handkerchief.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Would you be willing to lend one for this noble cause?”

  “Lend?” I shook my head. “Absolutely not.” I fished a handkerchief out of my bodice and thrust it into his hands. “You can keep it.”

  He chuckled. “I’ll have someone wash it.” With a swift movement, he reached up, squashed the undesirable beast, and ground it into the wall for good measure. He wadded the handkerchief to cover all the guts and stuffed it into his pocket.

  My skin crawled. How could he stand to be so close?

  He turned with an amused look on his face. “See? It’s gone. Now will you climb up?”

  “Certainly.”

  He knelt to make a stirrup of his hands again. Hesitantly, in case another spider lurked nearby, I approached to step onto his joined hands.

  As he raised me, he said, “Why didn’t I know you have an aversion to spiders?”

  I shrugged, catching hold of the windowsill and searching for the best handhold to pull myself up. “We must not have encountered any.” At that moment, I’d never been so glad for the cleanliness of the Gladstone manor.

  He heaved me up further, his arms shaking as he simultaneously stood. I found my handhold and started to lever myself up, but he grabbed onto my right ankle. His grip was like a cuff, anchoring me to him.