Accidental Peers 03 - Compromising Willa (15 page)

“Enough nonsense. It is devil warm out here. Pray do finish your turn so we can adjourn for some lemonade.”

Race advanced on the pins for his tipping shot. The guests playing at Skittles had broken into foursomes. The sisters were paired off with Race and the earl, which Willa suspected Augustus had orchestrated. So far, the earl behaved as though yesterday’s encounter had never occurred, as if he hadn’t caught her acting the wanton with Hartwell. He’d vanished afterward, likely retiring to his neighboring estate before returning this morning to rejoin the guests. There was a certain smugness in his demeanor that unsettled her. He wasn’t behaving like a man who’d lost his long-standing battle with the duke.

Looking off across the wide expanse of lawn to where some men were engaged in target practice, Willa could make out Hartwell’s towering form next to Cam’s lean, sinewy one. Bringing her fingertips to her lips, she recalled the startling pleasure of Hart’s uncompromising mouth rubbing against hers, demanding a response. It had been starkly different from the gentle, almost deferential, way he’d kissed her after the attack at the coffee house. He was a man of contrasts and she couldn’t deny how much every side of him intrigued her.

“Willa, it is your turn,” called Addie. “Do stop your woolgathering.”

“Oh, of course.” Shaking Hart from her mind, Willa stepped forward and threw her ball at the Skittles, pouring her nervous anticipation into it. She knocked six down and moved forward for her tipping shot. Throwing from just beside the pins, she made the final throw with precise determination and succeeded in laying them all out.

Addie clapped her hands. “That was very well done.”

Race whistled low with appreciation. “You always did have a mean throw, Willa.”

“Not particularly ladylike, but it certainly did the job,” said the earl, stepping forward for his turn.

Addie scowled openly at Augustus’ rude remark, but Willa bit back a retort. Her scalp tingled at the way he looked at her, with the confident precision of a bird of prey honing in on his victim.

The earl hurled the ball in one quick, decisive stroke. Sun glistening in his blond curls, he moved with a lanky ease, knocking all of the pins over with one blow. “Behold,” he said to his brother gesturing to the downed pins, “how Skittles is correctly played.”

Race grinned. “You’ve quite unmanned me, which is very badly done of you in front of my betrothed.” He offered Addie his arm. “Come, my dear, let us leave this braggart to his pins. We shall endeavor to find an activity at which I do excel.” Addie blushed and giggled, looking quite happy to be led away on Race’s arm.

Left alone with Augustus, and eager to be away from him, Willa said, “Shall we go for lemonade?”

“In a moment.” He offered her his arm. “Walk with me for a spell.” When she hesitated, he said, “Come now, we are to be family and it is just a stroll about the lawn in full view of the other guests.”

Shaking off her lingering unease, she reluctantly took his arm. “Very well.”

They started at a leisurely pace about the grass and drew more than a few curious looks from the guests. The elderly Mrs. Beasley didn’t bother with subtlety; she pointedly drew up her lorgnette to examine them from her seated position among the older guests.

Willa planted a pleasantly bland smile on her face. Thankfully, a straw bonnet covered her burning ears and the day’s warmth might account for any blush upon her cheeks. The thinly veiled interest they drew came as no surprise considering her rumored history with the earl, and the duke’s recent attentions to her had not gone unnoticed. “I think you should reconsider my offer,” the earl said.

Fidgeting with the pendant of her necklace, Willa asked, “What offer is that?”

“Come now.” Condescension drenched his words. “I speak of marriage, as you are well aware.”

“That is not possible.” She blinked, then smiled with a nod at the curious Mrs. Beasley before continuing in a pleasant tone. “I have an understanding with Hartwell, as you are well aware.”

“I suggest you reconsider.”

“I cannot.”

“Cannot or will not?”

“They are one and the same. I’ve given my word.”

“A woman’s word is rarely to be taken seriously.” He smiled indulgently. “Come now, Willa, I will make you a fine husband. I regret what occurred at the inn. Allow me make it right. You deserve for people to know you are not a woman of loose morals.”

The pull of their shared childhood tugged at Willa’s chest. For a fleeting moment, she recognized the boy she’d once cared for, now standing before her offering redemption. Yet the thought of his hands on her… “You must accept my decision.”

“It is regrettable that you do not know what is in your best interests.” The earl paused to greet a passing guest before continuing. “It would mean your complete and total ruination if people were to learn that you are not only a probable trollop, but also a tradeswoman to boot.”

Surprise clogged the air in her lungs. Good lord. He knew about the coffee shop. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Once we’re wed, it will all be in the past.” He patted her hand where it rested upon his arm. “I shall always protect and guide you.”

She lost her footing and he caught her arm before she could stumble, smoothly keeping them both walking at a sedate pace. Anyone watching would no doubt see a gentile pair out for an uneventful stroll. Willa’s panicked thoughts coalesced with painful clarity. “You mean to threaten me into marrying you.”

Augustus nodded toward Lady Rawdon, who played at battlecock and shuttledore. The lady’s appreciative eyes ran over the earl’s strong masculine form.

“Threat is such an unpleasant term,” he said lightly, ignoring Lady Rawdon’s appraisal. “Just think of it as gentle persuasion.”

Anxiety filled her chest. “Why would you want a female of questionable virtue as your countess?”

“You came to me that day an innocent.” His mouth firmed. “And I choose to overlook any indiscretion you have committed with Hartwell.”

“Why would you overlook it? You’re an earl.” She fought to keep her tone free of the desperation swelling inside her chest. “You could have anyone you choose.”

“Precisely, and I choose you.” The sun glittered in his steel eyes. “Make no mistake, he will never have you.”

“So this is about vanquishing Hartwell, not wedding me.”

“Only in part. I won’t insult you by dissembling. But remember this, I’ve wanted you from the first, before you were even out of the schoolroom. We both know he only wants you because I do.”

Willa’s mind swam. How many ways could she ruin herself? She’d come perilously close several times just in the past few days. Now Augustus sought to blackmail her, taking away any choice she might have in her own future. Fury and indignation kindled in her chest. She refused to be his victim again.

“Do your best, sir.” She struggled to keep her benign expression for the benefit of the curious spectators following their every move. “I have no interest in becoming your chattel. I have little to lose. I am already as good as ruined.”

They strolled past Mr. Dudley, a gentleman of later years, who paused while taking his turn at croquet to stare at them. Only when his embarrassed wife elbowed him in the ribs did he say, “Hmmm? Oh yes dear, I was just perfecting my aim,” before turning his attention back to the game and hitting the ball across the grass.

“You have always been too free with your reputation,” the earl said once they passed out of earshot, speaking in a calm voice as though he were discussing idle things. “But do tell, will you be so easy with Lady Florinda’s as well?”

Her stomach hollowed. “What do you mean to say?”

“Only that you, at least, have considerable appeal.” His smile was smug, as though he knew he’d won. “She is rather plain. I suppose Lady Florinda’s dowry is acceptable as the Earl of Bromley’s daughter, but I doubt she is so cavalier with her reputation.” He tugged on her elbow to continue walking. She stumbled blindly along beside him. “And what of Lady Octavia? Imagine how her father will react when he learns the daughter of a viscount has taken to trade.”

She forced her leaden feet to move. “Even you would not be so cruel.”

He continued on as though she had not spoken. “And then there is the Widow Grenfell, Pamela. With her minor fortune and even lesser consequence, she would no longer be welcome in the finest homes.”

Willa’s chest felt as though several large rocks rested upon it. “You have been spying on me.”

“I look after my own and make no mistake, you are mine. You have been since that day at the inn, by rights and by society’s dictates.”

“Do you know why I did it? The coffee shop, I mean.”

“I have some idea. The report prepared by the Bow Street runner is most informative.”

He’d set a Bow Street runner on her?
“Then you understand I did it to help the less fortunate, not to make a profit,” she said. “I kept nothing for myself and neither did any of the others.”

“What I understand is that if your involvement in trade is made known, you will all be ruined.”

Fighting growing panic, she looked blindly at the guests around her. She was trapped and he knew it. She’d never allow Flor or the others to fall into ruin as she had. “I am already promised,” she said weakly.

“The gentler sex cannot make such important decisions. We men must do it for you. Cam has let you run wild.” He patted her arm. “But I shall guide you.”

He would have complete control over her…and the unlimited right to use her body as he pleased. Images from the inn flashed before her, his lips pressing hard against hers, determined hands pulling up her skirt. Swallowing back a swelling wave of despair, she whispered, “I won’t do it. I cannot.”

“It might take you a while to accustom yourself to the idea.” He smiled with a victor’s satisfaction. “Fear not, I shall not impose too much upon you in the marriage bed.”

“Willa,” her mother called from where the older people sat. “Bring the earl in for some lemonade. You look peaked.”

“I regret I must return to Town for a few days. I’ll anticipate your answer immediately upon my return,” Augustus said in a mild voice before turning to flash his bright smile toward her mother, one that usually left women weak in the knees. “Indeed, lemonade would be quite the thing.”

Willa shook her head, desperate to be away from him, to find a way out of his trap. “I am unwell. I shall retire.”

He tightened his grip on her elbow. “Nonsense. I should like to take lemonade with my betrothed wife.”

A pang of anxiety twisted in her stomach. “You are not my betrothed.”

“No, but I will be,” he answered, smoothly directing her toward the lemonade.

…

Turning away from the sight of Willa traversing the lawn on Bellingham’s arm, Hart lifted his weapon and squeezed the trigger. The loud popping sound sliced the air as his shot hit wide left of its intended target. He cursed under his breath.

Next to him, Cam chuckled. “You could use more time on the practice field.” He focused his concentration on the target several yards ahead of them and squeezed the trigger, scoring a direct hit at the heart of the target. “That is how it’s done, old boy. You must actually try to aim.”

“I am out of sorts today.”

He eyed the placement of Hart’s shot on the target. “I begin to see why you declined to accept my duel challenge.”

“It would have been badly done of me to shoot you after our long acquaintance.” Hartwell focused on reloading his weapon, waving off the servant who stood ready to do it for him.

“All the same, you would do well to avoid calling anyone out any time in the near future,” said Cam. Willa’s cousin had recovered his good spirits now that the business of Hart and Willa’s betrothal would soon be official. The same could not be said for Hart. His somber mood related directly to Willa of course.

The irony of his situation was not lost on him. He planned to marry Willa to save her honor. But, if one believed the rumors and Bellingham’s unsubtle insinuations at the pond, it had been lost long ago. That would explain her lack of suitors. It certainly gave credence to what the men at the club had intimated. He kept hearing their voices in his head.
She belongs to Bellingham. Utterly and completely compromised.

A part of him longed to demand answers from her
.
As her betrothed husband, he certainly had the right. If she’d already ruined herself, he wasn’t honor bound to marry her.

Her strong reaction to Bellingham’s insulting manner at the pond came flooding back. Her pain had been palpable. She’d reacted physically, her body shrinking inward as though she’d been hit. Hart’s immediate instinct then—and still now—was to shelter her from that pain, and from any hint of disgrace. He never wanted to see that look on her face again.

He’d come to realize it didn’t matter if Willa were no longer innocent. Bellingham was a villain who could have easily manipulated a young girl into a regrettable indiscretion. But she hadn’t let it defeat her and he admired her for that. Willa carried herself with pride and self-worth. He thought of the way her eyes sparkled when an idea intrigued her mind, and of the cutting sense of humor she often kept hidden.