Accidental Peers 03 - Compromising Willa (17 page)

Willa slipped into the library for a few moments of solitude, reluctant to join the other ladies who were gossiping and doing needlework in one of the public rooms. She settled into a comfortable chair by the fire and opened her book. It wasn’t long before a short rap on the door interrupted her.

The door pushed open and Hart sauntered in, his eyes going to the book in her lap. “I thought I might find you hiding in here. Wollstonecraft again?”

Smiling in welcome, she nodded and put the book aside as he approached. The duke wore a linen shirt open at the neck, revealing a dusting of small dark curls. His muscular thighs were gloved in fawn breeches.

He came to stand in front of her chair, causing her pulse to ratchet up. “Wollstonecraft was quite the adventurer. She had children without the benefit of marriage. Lived with the man she loved.” He bent closer, placing a hand on each armrest, his face just a hair’s breadth from hers, his eyes like black velvet. “Tell me, Willa, are you adventurous?”

She swallowed, her nerve endings enthralled by his closeness and the clean masculine smell thickening the air.

“Wollstonecraft speaks of a woman’s passion being like that of a man’s.” His eyes glowed. “Do you agree?”

“I cannot say I have fully experienced a man’s passion,” she said, feeling decidedly lightheaded. “Or my own for that matter.”

Hart’s eyes flashed in a way that made desire pool at the bottom of her belly. “I will endeavor to change that, my dear. We will have to mount a full exploration.”

The back of Willa’s neck prickled. He lowered his lips on hers, loving her mouth with light teasing kisses. She parted her lips to receive him. His tongue stroked inside with a seductive, flirtatious rhythm. Willa felt her skirt being lifted and then Hart’s warm hand on her bare thigh at the top of her stocking. She froze.

“Are you willing to fully explore a woman’s passion?” He watched her face as his finger skimmed the top of her thigh. “Solely in the interest of scholarship, of course. To test Miss Wollstonecraft’s theories.”

Heat flushed through her. How was it possible that she ached for his touch—down
there
of all places? “Perhaps when we are married—”

He chuckled against her ear and it rippled through her. “Not a forward thinking answer at all. What would Miss Wollstonecraft say?” His tongue slid inside her ear. “Tell me to stop and I shall.” Willa closed her eyes, captive to the sensual uproar raging inside her, unable to bear the thought of him stopping.

He obviously took her silence as permission to go forward. Straightening, he strode to the door and threw it shut. He pushed a heavy wooden table up against it. He turned and looked at her with gleaming eyes. Striding over, he lifted her without warning, carrying her to the table that now barred the door. He sat her on it, his lips coming down on hers.

“Now I am quite compromised,” she murmured through his kisses.

“You shall be thoroughly so once I’m done with you.” His fingers feathered along her inner thigh. Willa reflexively squeezed her legs together.

“Open your legs,” he said softly, licking her ear, making her tremble. “Do not deny me.” His lips came back to hers, consuming her again. His hands gently pushed her legs apart while his fingers still moved enticingly along them.

Willa’s heart thumped through her body. Closing her eyes, she leaned back, relaxing her legs as the insistent throbbing between her thighs grew all encompassing.

Hart’s unrelenting lips, soft and hot, moved along her neck with caressing kisses. His fingers brushed her most intimate area. She stiffened, embarrassed by the dampness he must feel there.

“Not such an ice queen after all.” He seemed delighted. His clever fingers probed her folds, his breath coming out in short hard bursts. “You are perfect.” He knelt, shocking her by kissing her intimate area.

Startled, she pushed him away. “Hart, do you—? Is it—?” She couldn’t seem to form a coherent thought.

“Let me love you here, Willa,” he said, kissing her there again. She bit back a scream of shock and pleasure when she felt the moist probing of his tongue moving lightly up and down along the length of her womanhood. He paused before delving his tongue inside of her. An intense tremor rocked her. She shivered and tried to move away from the delicious intensity, but Hart caught her, holding her hips as his tongue latched onto a spot that seemed to have a million nerve endings.

“You are so beautiful,” he said huskily, his warm breath puffing against her intimate folds. “No other man will ever touch you like this.”

“No,” she panted, her womb convulsing with pleasure. She could hardly believe he was touching her this way. “Never.”

He rose to his feet—a wildness lit his eyes. Sliding his hands over her breasts, his deep, dark gaze locked on her face. He stroked and caressed her breasts, which had never felt so sore and sensitized, through the thin muslin of her dress. “You are mine and only mine.”

“Yes.” She leaned back on her palms, her body trembling.

An intense look flashed across the sharp planes of Hart’s face. He eased down her bodice, baring her breasts. His breath caught as his hands moved reverently over them, cupping and massaging. He tweaked an aching nipple between his thumb and finger. “Say it.”

But she could only moan in response.

“Say you are mine and only mine.”

Her body arched up of its own accord, offering her greedy breasts to his insistent fingers. She could not imagine ever wanting anyone other than this man. This man who touched her as though he knew her every secret desire. Her future husband. “I am yours and only yours, forever.”

He bent and took a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard. She bucked at the sensation, bringing her hand to his head, pulling out the ribbon that held his hair in a tidy queue. She ran her fingers through his loosened hair, reveling in its soft feel. He responded by sucking harder at her nipple, biting it gently. “To whom do you belong?” His voice sounded labored, almost guttural.

She writhed in a delicious agony. “I belong utterly and completely to you, Grey Preston, Duke of Hartwell.”

He pulled his mouth away from her breast, his lips wet, his eyes glimmering with satisfaction. His loosened black hair enhanced the primal air about him. “Say it again.”

She ached with desperation, but somehow found the words to tease him. “You are my lord, my master.”

He laughed, his dark eyes gleaming. “As your lord and master, will you let me do with you as I please? Give you pleasure as I see fit?” Watching her face, his hand moved between her legs.

A painful ecstasy gripped her. She longed for his skillful fingers to answer the throbbing between her legs. “Yes. I am yours to do with whatever you desire.”

“I should stop, but I find I cannot,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Tell me this is what you want.”

“Oh, yes please.” She felt herself growing more desperate, hurtling toward some oblivion his touch seemed to demand.

“Show me,” he demanded, his voice low.

She was in a haze again. “What? How—?”

“Show me your passion, Willa. Prove Wollstonecraft’s hypothesis about a woman’s passion matching a man’s. Show me you have the freedom to take your pleasure.”

The knowledge that they were forever intertwined emboldened her to accept his challenge. For the first time in her life, she felt completely safe and protected with a man.

This man.

Hart.

She relaxed and leaned back, giving herself fully over to him. Dropping the reserve that always guarded her innermost self, she surrendered her body completely to him.

He sucked in his breath. “You are as I saw you at the pond. Pure and unencumbered.” He knelt before her again. “You are so beautiful. I want you to hunger for me as much as I yearn for you.” He brushed a kiss on the inside of her thigh. “I want you to leave this encounter knowing there can never be another man for you.”

He kissed her there again. She responded by crying out and arching her body, which was quickly careening out of control. The strokes of Hart’s tongue became hard, deep, and relentless. Willa rocked with him, her entire being coiling up with tension. They moved together, lost in each other as though nothing else mattered. The library echoed with the sounds of their lovemaking, her soft moans as his mouth loved her and his fingers coaxed her to fulfillment.

Willa cried out in surprise when her release came, as bits of light and unfathomable pleasure exploded within her, tremors of bliss shimmering out to her limbs. When she came back to herself, Hart was kissing her. He lifted her, their lips still melded together, and carried her across the room. He settled her on his lap, lowering her skirt as they sank down in the large chair Willa had been reading in. They clung to each other in silence for a few minutes.

After a time, Hart smiled with lazy satisfaction. “I daresay we did Miss Wollstonecraft’s theory proud.”

…

Willa stood at her work table in the solarium, concocting a new brew she’d been thinking about for several days. Mixing the leaves, she exhaled a calming breath, grateful to lose herself to the endeavor. For a time, at least, it quieted her mind and pushed her troubles far away.

Although the situation with Hart had resolved itself in a most pleasing way, the earl still needed to be dealt with. She shook Augustus out of her thoughts. She’d worry about settling matters with him once he returned from Town.

She focused on the task before her. Hart’s Indian tea had stirred her creative sensibilities. Its light flavor reminded her of a sweet wine. By blending it with a touch of green tea from China, she hoped to achieve a deliciously fruity taste. Inhaling the musky aroma, she considered how to best serve it. Cream would ruin the effect. Perhaps a touch of warm milk would be the perfect compliment.

Footsteps sounded in the hall. Expecting to see Hart, her heart quickened with expectation. Instead, Augustus stepped across the threshold.

Her heart contracted in her chest. “You’ve returned.”

“Yes, I completed my affairs in town as quickly as possible.” His eyes shifted to the teas on her work table. “Surely you are not still concocting those brews of yours?”

“It is for the guests,” she said in a clipped tone. “My blends are always served at Camryn Hall.”

He picked up a jar of tea and studied it in an absentminded fashion. “If it amuses you, I see no harm in it.” He fixed a gaze on her. “It is well past time to finalize our betrothal.”

She bit her lip at the sight of the earl handling her tea. She itched to tell him to remove his hands from it. Instead she said, “I am already promised to another.”

His mouth pinched. “We have been over this.”

She took the jar of tea from him and set it on the work table with a deliberate plunk. “I will not succumb to your demands.”

He tilted his head while studying her, as though trying to determine what she was about. “You will allow your friends to fall into ruin with you?”

“No, the coffee house will be the Duchess of Hartwell’s first philanthropic effort.” The giddiness of triumph swept through her. “It will be all the crack. Everyone will want to follow the mode set by Her Grace.”

“Do you think you can escape the stain of trade with that Bambury tale?” he asked, stepping closer to her, his voice rising.

“It is not a lie.” She spoke in her calmest tone. “Hartwell owns the building and takes no coin from the coffee shop. Everyone will applaud our charitable endeavor.”

“Don’t do this.” The words were urgent. “Not after all we have endured. This is our time, we must take it.”

Discomforted by his proximity and familiar manner, she moved back from him. “Our time is long past.”

He followed. “Willa, I must speak honestly and tell you what is in my heart.”

“It is not my place to know what is in your heart.”

“But it is.” He took her hand and put it against his chest. “Feel that. My heart beats only for you. It always has. I love you, Willa. We finally have our chance. You mustn’t squander it for some passing infatuation.”

For an instant, she saw his vulnerability and glimpsed the companion of her youth. But the bond she’d once felt to Augustus didn’t compare to the intense feeling and passion she felt for Hart. Just the thought of the duke’s touch sent a shiver of excitement scurrying down her back. Her long-ago affection for Augustus now seemed flimsy and inconsequential by comparison. They’d been friends and neighbors. It had been quite natural for them to develop a flirtation. She smiled softly and eased her hand away from his. “I am betrothed, as you well know. Let us leave memories in the past where they belong.”

“You love me.” Stubbornness gleamed in his silvery eyes. “I see it in your face. You cannot marry another.”

“I have fond memories of the boy you once were, but I do not love you and I realize now that I never did.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “That cannot be true. You are my fate.” Taking hold of her shoulders, he jerked her to him and crashed his lips down on hers.

She panicked, struggling against the hard, insistent lips pressed on hers, wet and demanding. It was like the inn all over again. His tongue slammed against the tight seam of her mouth, demanding entry. Her stomach turned, his perfume stung her nostrils, the smell of rosemary and almonds nauseating her. She wrenched away, ramming her hands against his chest.