Accidental Peers 03 - Compromising Willa (9 page)

The lady seemed aware of the change in him because a luminous smile lit up her face. She focused her full attention on him, leaning toward him, putting her hand on his arm in a daring fashion. She tilted her face upward almost as though inviting a kiss.

His rod leapt to attention. What the devil? She pursed those full inviting lips of hers. Her luscious pale bosom—almost bursting out of her gown—actually heaved in his direction. Good lord, the woman was a glistening bundle of temptation. Hot lust unfurled deep in his belly. He leaned in, intent on feeling those delectable lips under his own.

And then she spoke.

“Oh, Your Grace,” she simmered. Hart frowned. It was not at all her usual tone. And she appeared a little too breathless for a woman as sensible as he knew her to be. Her eyes darted toward the salon again where someone rustled in the doorway. Hart turned just in time to make out Bellingham retreating from the threshold.

Irritation rifled through him, even as disappointment hollowed his belly. Had the lady staged this little show of false affection for Bellingham’s benefit? To what end?

She pulled back the minute Bellingham disappeared inside, relief etched in the lovely lines of her face. But the game wasn’t quite over yet. She’d practically asked for a kiss and he would make sure she got one.

He leaned in, slipping his hand around Willa’s waist to ease her toward him. He’d never kissed a gently born innocent before. Assuming, of course, she was still a maiden. Normally, his instinct would be to give her a quick brush on the lips. Instead, he covered her lips with his in a kiss that was both gentle and insistent, intent on giving her a true taste of passion. She gasped against his mouth and his blood boiled at the feel of her hands coming flat against his chest as though she meant to push him away.

To his satisfaction, she gave up the fight immediately and her body softened into his. Supple, pillowed lips pressed back against his, inviting him to take more. The lavish curves of her body nestled against the hard lines of his, their plush softness enveloping him, the smell of roses searing his man’s flesh. She became even more pliant in his arms, and triumph surged through him when Willa parted her mouth to take him in. As soon as he felt her sensual acquiescence, he forced himself to release her, lest he take her right here in the garden.

Willa’s eyes flew open. She looked stunned and then immediately disappointed, her body still trembling from his kiss. A baser part of him took dark pleasure in seeing how his touch affected her.

She blinked. “What was that?”

He struggled to regulate his harsh breaths. “Such fire you have, beneath that ice.”

“You kissed me,” she said blankly.

He couldn’t abide the idea of her going to Bellingham. “I thought you should have a real taste of passion before attaching yourself to that cold fish.”

She frowned. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Bellingham.” He struggled to keep his tone even, despite the uproar kissing her had incited within his body. “You did stage this little show for his benefit, did you not? Perhaps you hope to inspire jealousy.”

She recoiled. “How dare you?”

Heat and lust pounded through his heart deep down into his gut. “You so clearly wanted to be kissed. I merely obliged.”

Shaking, she jumped to her feet, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “To take such advances and then to act like a…like a cad! To treat me like a common—”

Forcing his gaze away from her swollen lips, Hart pushed to his feet. “Like a common what?” His words dripped with sarcasm. “I merely gave the lady what she desired. Was it not to your liking? Perhaps you would care to make another attempt. Or maybe not, since we don’t have an audience.”

She gasped at the realization he’d seen Augustus in the doorway. “You pressed your advances on me even though you knew I was not serious? You took grievous advantage of me, sir!”

“I took advantage of you?” He moved his face near to hers, his soft tone laced with contempt. “Do you know what one calls a lady who seeks advances from a man in front of an appreciative audience?” He didn’t wait for her answer. Jealousy dimmed his vision and the angry words careened off his tongue. “I can tell you such women are not usually found in Mayfair and, I assure you, we do not call them ‘ladies.’”

Her hand lashed out to slap him, but he caught her by the wrist, his eyes never leaving her face. Their bodies almost touching, she radiated heat, and her breath rasped out in short, quick pants. Her eyes gleamed with outrage and something else so blatantly sensual, it was all he could do not to toss her to the ground and take her right there.

Struggling for control, he said, “In the future, do not play games that you are unwilling to see to completion.”

She yanked her wrist out of his grip and smoothed any emotion out of her face. “I suspect you play an altogether different game, one that began at Cambridge.” Each wintry word scraped against his heated skin like an icy shard. “Your animus toward the earl is well known and I have no intention of being a weapon in your battle with him.”

The magnificent ice queen was returned. He uttered a contemptuous laugh. “Strange. I thought I was the pawn this evening. And you the puppet master.”

“If only.” She drew back her shoulders, straightened her spine, and glided back into the drawing room.

Two weeks later, Hart met with the merchant whose property he hoped to purchase for his London headquarters. They conducted their meeting at the three-story building on Bond Street, which housed a coffee house on the street level.

Simple in design, the coffee house was a comfortable and welcoming place, furnished mostly with tables and chairs although a few larger, more comfortable seats were clustered around the hearth. A young boy of perhaps eleven cleared the tables, but Hart noted that most of the employees were women.

“Who manages this establishment?” he asked Mr. Webb, the building’s current owner.

“A Mr. Gordon, Your Grace. Although I have never had the pleasure of making the gentleman’s acquaintance.” Webb led the way up the stairs. “He lives abroad and the rent arrives regularly from a solicitor here in Town.”

“I see mostly females work here.”

“Yes, he’s a bit of a radical, our Mr. Gordon. He employs widows who have fallen into dire straits.” Leaning closer to Hart, he lowered his voice. “Although I do suspect some of these wenches have never had a husband, if you take my meaning. I’ve increased the rent twice to encourage their decampment, but to no avail.”

After a tour of the upstairs space, Hart determined it would be adequate for his needs and told Webb to expect further correspondence from his man of business. Once the meeting concluded, he spotted Cam arriving at the coffee house with David Selwyn, their old friend from Cambridge.

“Hart, it is good to find you here,” the marquess said amiably. “Won’t you join us?” He’d seen Cam several times over the course of the last couple of weeks, their friendship picking up where it had left off before Hart went to India. They’d met up at the gaming tables, or at Brooks, and had taken in a boxing match.

There was no mention of Willa, even though she’d taken up permanent residence inside Hart’s mind; both that toe-curling kiss and his own regrettable behavior afterward. His words had been reprehensible. Cruel even. He’d not intended to allude to her already-damaged reputation, but his temper had gotten the better of him. It struck him that he was driven by jealousy. Provoked by an oaf like Bellingham, of all people, thanks to an infuriating, incomparable chit with intelligent eyes, a tart tongue, and endless curves.

He’d immediately tried to apologize to the lady for his base behavior, yet the flowers he’d sent the following morning had been returned, as was the contrite note that followed. All refused in a manner which provoked reluctant admiration in him. Few females rejected the persistent attentions of a duke.

Agreeing to join his friends, Hart asked, “Do you frequent this establishment?” He wondered if they would miss the coffee house should he force its closure, which seemed likely. He needed the space for his clerks.

“It is my first visit, but Willa has recently discovered it and can’t stop talking about the tea.” Cam gestured toward a table by the window. “The ladies are already seated. We were to meet them here once they’d completed their shopping.”

The mention of Willa prickled his insides. He followed Cam’s gaze to find the lady in question sitting with her sister and a slender girl with outlandishly red hair. “Look who we’ve run into,” Cam said as the men joined the ladies. He turned to Willa. “You missed Bellingham again. He came to call as I departed to join you here.”

The sister perked up. “Was Race with him?”

Cam chucked her playfully on the chin. “No, you little hoyden. However, I understand he is joining us this evening for supper.” Hart barely heard the interaction. So Bellingham had taken to calling upon Willa with some regularity. Irritation flicked his chest.

“It is to our great fortune to join you ladies,” said Selwyn.

Willa favored Selwyn with a soft smile, and those luminous eyes glistened. “Are you always so gallant, Mr. Selwyn?” Selwyn flushed, almost imperceptibly, but he was clearly not immune to the attentions of a beautiful lady. What male wouldn’t react to her?

“What is good here?” Hart asked almost gruffly. “I understand you favor this establishment, Lady Wilhelmina.”

Cool chocolate eyes moved to him with obvious reluctance, all warmth gone from them. She looked unbelievably alluring in a soft lavender robe with delicate golden embroidery that also trimmed her matching turban. “The tea blends here are quite excellent.”

“Coffee for me.” Cam winked at his cousin. “All tea is bland next to Willa’s.”

She smiled at the flattery, an honest reaction, radiant and unencumbered, buoyed by her obvious affection for Camryn. The redhead who’d been introduced as Lady Florinda gave an impish smile. “Perhaps you should try it, my lord. The tea here is without equal—with the exception of Willa’s, of course.”

Willa fixed the girl with a quelling look. “Let Cam have his coffee, Flor.”

What was that about? Perhaps the lady worried her blends would pale in comparison to the establishment’s tea. Having sampled Willa’s exceptional tea, he doubted that could happen. “I should like some tea,” he said.

“This is not the usual coffee house,” Hart commented once they had all placed their orders.

“Mostly women work here, Your Grace,” the redhead answered with a vivacious smile. “Women do have a right to support their families.” Her tone almost dared him to disagree. Hart bit back a smile. Red would be a handful for any future husband.

“That is most commendable,” said Selwyn. “Who is the proprietor?”

“He is said to live abroad,” Hart said, giving Willa a sidelong glance. Those plush lips were pushed together in a mutinous line. Lord, but she was a beauty, one who seemed determined to engage him as little as possible. “Do you have any knowledge of the owner, Lady Wilhelmina?”

She gave a slow, deliberate blink as though it pained her to respond. “You appear to be acquainted with him. Was that not the owner of the building we saw you with just now?”

“Mr. Webb. Yes, I have business with him, but he does not own the coffee house enterprise.”

“I only know it is a respectable establishment where a lady might meet with her acquaintances without fear of censure.”

He looked at the books on the table. “You read here as well?”

“Our Ladies Reading Society meets here from time to time,” said Red.

“That is most unusual. Meeting in a public place.”

Willa smiled insincerely, as cool and polite as ever. “Perhaps you are not accustomed to ladies who read.”

He ignored the provocation. “May I ask what you are reading?”

She cut him a defiant glance. “
A Vindication of the Rights of Woman
.”

“Ah, Mary Wollstonecraft then.”

Her eyes widened. “You are familiar with her?”

“Perhaps not as much as you, but I am aware of some of her…ah…themes.”

The sister, who had appeared quite bored, straightened up. “A vindication of what? I thought you were reading one of those Maria Edgeworth novels.”

“Mary Wollstonecraft’s
A Vindication of the Rights of Woman
. It’s a treatise on the rights of women,” she said to her sister before returning Hart’s unwavering gaze. “Frankly, I’m surprised the Duke of Hartwell would read such a forward-thinking document.”

“I do pick up a book on occasion. I hear it exercises the mind.”

Ignoring his sarcasm, Willa perched her chin on her hand, regarding him with renewed interest. “And what do you think?”

“Well, in the defense of my gender, I hardly think it is the fault of men that women are regarded as objects of allure. They are objects of allure. Pure and simple.” He tried not to stare at her pink lips or to become too entranced by the luxurious chocolate of her enormous eyes. “It is the way of nature. Men and women are supposed to attract each other. That attraction is vital…er…to the perpetuation of the human race.”

Willa leaned forward and the smell of roses slinked around him, making it difficult to think. “But you are purposely focusing your attention on only one side of Miss Wollstonecraft’s argument,” she said. “Gentlemen are allowed to enjoy and even act upon that attraction to women of all sorts. But you are also free to pursue many other interests. As a woman, I am not. I am to keep to home and hearth.”