Accidental Peers 03 - Compromising Willa (7 page)

She cast an appraising eye over her new friends. “This is a most unusual Ladies Reading Society.”

Pamela brushed a farewell kiss over Willa’s cheek. “And we are most happy to have you join us.”

Closing the door behind them, she turned around to find Addie coming down the hallway polishing an apple on her sleeve. “Why are you smiling?”

Willa straightened up. “Is it a crime to smile?”

Addie’s eyes narrowed. “If I did not know better, I would say you are up to something.”

“Me?” She reached for the apple and took a bite. “Do not be ridiculous. You are the adventurous sister.” She handed back the apple. “The most exciting thing I’ve done all week is host the Ladies Reading Society.”

Addie rolled her eyes. “True enough. Between all that reading and your tea blending, you really can be quite the bore.”

Feeling almost giddy, Willa suppressed the urge to giggle. “Quite right.”

Addie bit into her apple and chewed slowly. “So why you do look like the cat who ate the cream?”

“I cannot say.” She sailed past her sister with a secret smile. “Read into that what you will.”

…

Willa smoothed out her pale pink dress as her maid put the finishing touches on her hair. Her unruly chestnut curls were in an upswept style, with some tendrils left loose to frame her face, softening her features, although there was nothing to be done about her overly large mouth and eyes. She certainly would never have her sister’s delicate looks.

Still, she’d taken extra care with her appearance this evening and tried to convince herself that it had nothing to do with the Duke of Hartwell being on the guest list. A tap on the door sounded, followed by a beaming Addie.

“Are you quite ready? Mother is asking for us in the drawing room.” Addie actually glowed with happiness now that she’d found Race again. She looked as though she could float away at a moment’s notice. “You really do look so lovely,” Addie said.

“Pish, posh.” Willa turned to kiss her sister on the cheek. “It is you who are beautiful.”

They were interrupted by a tap at the door. A footman appeared when Willa bid that he enter. “My lady, Mr. Smythe says there is a package you would like sent out?”

She swallowed hard. What unfortunate timing for him to appear at the same time as Addie. Hoping her sister would not suspect anything, she said in an off-hand manner, “Yes, thank you.” She pointed to the sizable package containing the tea blends she’d prepared for the first delivery to Pamela. “Please take it to Lady Grenfell.”

Addie eyed the package with interest. “What is in it?” she asked after the footman departed.

A guilty ache stirred in Willa’s stomach. Although lying did not come easily to her, she forced herself to answer in the same easy manner as before. “Just some books we are exchanging.”

“I should have known.” Addie groaned. “You are such a bluestocking.”

She gave an inward sigh of relief. “Shall we go down then?”

Addie paused, her demeanor turning more serious. “Willa, are you certain this is all right for you?”

“Of course. I am beyond thrilled for you and Race. I see the way he makes you feel.”

“Still, because of my betrothal you have to receive his swine of a brother. Has Bellingham called again?”

She resisted the urge to shake out the growing tightness in her shoulders. Augustus had tried to see her twice since arranging Addie and Race’s betrothal. The first time, she’d had the good fortune to be out with Flor. When he called again, she instructed Smythe to tell him she was not at home to callers. “If you are referring to Augustus, yes, he has called, but I have not received him. Nor do I intend to in the future.”

Addie bit her lip in a familiar nervous gesture. “I’ve placed you in a terrible spot.”

“Nonsense. I am no longer a young silly girl. I have no interest or remaining feelings for Bellingham.” Hearing the words spoken aloud made her realize how much she truly meant them. Carrying the weight of the scandal all these years had exhausted her. She finally felt ready—eager even—to put it behind her.

“I cannot abide the man.” Addie wrinkled her nose. “He is far too well pleased with himself. I should think his neck would hurt from constantly sticking his nose in the air.”

Willa suppressed a genuine laugh. “Addie, you mustn’t say things like that. We are liable to giggle all through dinner.”

Addie’s left brow rose up into a devilish arch. “Just imagine what the ton will say about those ill-raised Stanhope girls.”

Willa slipped her arm through Addie’s to guide her toward the door. “Now, let us go enjoy ourselves. This is your betrothal celebration. You must not concern yourself with my feelings a moment longer.”

Addie smiled, seeming convinced for the moment that Willa meant what she said. “Well, then, by all means, let us join our guests. They must have arrived by now.”

Trying to calm the uneasy feeling that lingered in the pit of her stomach, Willa followed her sister out the door. It dawned on her that the nerves had nothing at all to do with Augustus Manning and everything to do with the perplexing and strangely compelling Duke of Hartwell.

Hart noticed the moment Willa and her sister entered the room. The man he assumed to be Horace Manning did as well. Bellingham’s younger brother lit up at the sight of his betrothed, immediately leaving his brother’s side to go to her and offer his arm. They seemed an unlikely couple. The girl’s petite, refined looks stood in sharp contrast to her betrothed’s thick muscled body and rough-hewn features.

He barely noticed the golden-haired sister even though her fragile features and delicate frame were the
ton
’s ideal of female loveliness. She paled in comparison to the full lushness of Willa’s earthy appeal—a mere nymph in the shadow of a robust goddess.

Hart’s gaze flitted back to Bellingham, who stood by the fireplace chatting with Cam, one elbow propped on the mantle, a glass of sherry in his hand. It had been years since he’d laid eyes on the man. Gus took a long drink and his silvery eyes locked on Willa as she glided across the room to join a group of ladies on the sofa.

She carried herself magnificently, shoulders drawn back, chin lifted, spine erect. Her blush pink gown enhanced the pale rosiness of her perfect complexion and the high-waisted style of the gown, with a satin bow tied just under her breasts, showcased an impossibly perfect bosom. His chest burned at the way Bellingham’s gaze lingered over her curvaceous form. A familiar, intense jolt of dislike for the man hit him anew. He couldn’t help wondering if there was any truth to the insinuation the earl had bedded the icy beauty. He couldn’t envision it. The bounder wouldn’t be present, in the company of Willa’s family, if such an outrageous allegation were true. Cam, standing next to Bellingham, caught his eye and waved him over.

“Do join us,” he said when Hart neared. “Bellingham, you remember Grey Preston?”

Something hard flickered in Bellingham’s eyes when he turned to Hart—likely the memory of the incident during those last days at Cambridge. “Preston,” he said in a most droll tone. “How unexpected.”

Hart swallowed his distaste. “Bellingham.”

Cam’s careful gaze shifted between the two. Even he had no idea what had triggered the beating. “Old Grey here has come into the title. He’s His Grace now, Duke of Hartwell.”

Those steel gray eyes remained carefully empty of expression. “My felicitations.”

“Which means Hartwell outranks us all now,” Cam continued. If Hart didn’t know better, he’d think Cam was needling the earl on purpose. “Quite a switch from the old days, wouldn’t you say, Bellingham?”

“Indeed.”

Amused, Hart downed his drink. “Cam had little hope for a title and I had no expectation of one of at all.” Despite his ambivalence about carrying his brother’s title, he could appreciate the irony of their reversed statures. Gus had lorded his high rank over all of them back then. But now, even Cam as a marquess outranked Bellingham.

It seemed to take great effort for Gus to twist his lips into something resembling a smile. “And now you have the greatest of expectations.”

After Cam excused himself to greet the newest arrivals, Hart turned to Bellingham. “So Gus, you’ve finally come into the title that you’ve coveted for so long.”

“Yes.” Bellingham’s focus shifted back to Willa. “My father’s death was a great loss.”

“I’m sure you felt it keenly.” His eyes followed the same path as Bellingham’s. “She’s a little out of your depth, wouldn’t you say?”

Bellingham’s stony gaze returned to Hart. “Beg pardon?”

“Lady Wilhelmina. You aim high.”

Bellingham’s left brow inched up. He studied Hart with renewed focus, as one might assess a formidable adversary. “You’re acquainted with the lady?” The man’s tone still suggested disinterest, only now deliberately so.

“She’s exceptionally lovely. But considering what I know of your true tastes, I wouldn’t think her to be your type.”

For an instant, undisguised loathing glowered in Bellingham’s eyes. “You know nothing of my tastes.” His tone turned easy. “Really, Hartwell, bucks will be bucks. If you’re referring to that matter with Erskine, it was a passing amusement and nothing else.”

“I doubt Erskine would agree.”

“He was weak.” Bellingham made a dismissive motion with his hand. “What are you doing here, Hartwell? You are not often out in society.”

“Perhaps I am in search of a duchess.” Noting the way Bellingham’s fingers whitened around his glass, he gave a lazy smile and cast a slow, deliberate look in Willa’s direction. “It is well past time I set up a nursery.”

Bellingham followed his gaze. “Have a care where you tread, Hartwell. Things are not always as they appear.”

“Your continued acceptance in polite society is certainly proof of that.”

Bellingham’s jaw twitched. “Have you declared yourself to her or made your intentions known to Camryn?”

Hart studied the amber liquid in his glass. “Perhaps I intend to.” He took a slow drink. “I can scarcely believe my good fortune that such a rare diamond remains on the marriage mart.”

Bright circles of color appeared on each of the earl’s cheeks. “Are you certain of that?” Bellingham ground out. “I gather you are not in town much.”

“No, I am recently returned from India.”

A cold smile. “Of course, I had heard you went to India to find your fortune. Was it to your liking?”

“Enormously so.”

“Why am I not surprised a life of trade among savages would suit you.”

“If anyone would know about savagery, it would be you.” Hart was not ashamed of his business concerns. His considerable fortune was something he’d earned, unlike the dukedom. In many ways, he still thought of his dead brother as the true Duke of Hartwell. Michael had only been gone for a year and he often still felt like an interloper inhabiting someone else’s birthright.

Camryn’s butler appeared in the doorway to announce dinner.

“Duty calls. I must escort our hostess in to dinner,” Hart said, happy to deliver a tacit reminder that Bellingham ranked well beneath him now. As the highest titled gentleman in the room, it was the duke’s duty to escort the dowager marchioness into dinner.

Bellingham bared his teeth in the approximation of a smile. “Of course.”

At supper, Hart found himself seated to the marchioness’ right with Willa on his other side. Bellingham sat at the opposite end, next to Cam and far from the object of his desire.

Willa did not appear surprised to find herself sitting next to Hartwell. Nor did she seem to mind.

“I find I have the best seat at the table,” he said as they took their places.

“Are you certain the air won’t be too brisk for you?”

He grinned. “Why Lady Wilhelmina, in your own Arctic way, I do believe you are flirting with me.”

“You are our guest,” she answered in smooth tones. “Pray don’t mistake polite discourse for something that it is not.”

“Ouch.” He touched his heart in dramatic fashion. Sitting next to her, he’d have no need of dessert. She was like a Gunter’s lemon ice—tangy, tart, and delectably frosty.

She curved those pillowed lips into a smile, a reluctant one, but he still counted that a victory. “Surely you are not so easily wounded, Your Grace.”

“Actually, as a second son, I have heard far worse. One is not as popular when he is not in line to inherit a dukedom, or at least a vast fortune. As fate would have it, I am now in possession of both.”

“Clearly modesty is not something you are in possession of.”

Hart gave a mischievous smile. “Usually a title and deep pockets are sufficient to attract the attention of a lovely creature such as yourself.” He sipped his wine. “Otherwise, I shall have to win you over with my equally deep reservoirs of charm and good looks.”

Her closed mouth wobbled with laughter until she managed to wrangle it into submission. “I should like to know when you decide to begin employing those qualities.”

Hart shot her a surprised look. She was teasing him again. Promising. He softened his tone. “Oh, believe me, my lady, I intend to make you well aware of my charms.”