Lord Will & Her Grace (8 page)

"If that is the case in this mock seduction
then you must fan your face quickly, indicating your passion for
me," he said slyly, coming around more fully to face her. He
stilled her fan with his hand and closed it. "And now, if you wish
to encourage an honorable gentleman's intentions, you would tap the
handle on his lips." William reversed the fan's ends and returned
it to her hands.

Gently, ever so gently, Sophie held her
breath and brushed the handle on Will's full, bronzed lips.

He arched one brow and glanced at her
mouth.

Sophie licked her dry lips and couldn't
breathe.

"Ah. So we proceed to the next
lesson—kissing," he whispered.

Sophie dropped her gaze. "I thought it
was…uh… bodices."

"Bosoms,
ma chérie
. Yes, kissing and
the other go nicely together, indeed." He led her over to the
relative seclusion of a rock ledge.

"I really don't think I need any lessons in
either, my lord." She was unable to meet his gaze.

"Ah, but you do, my dear. I guarantee the
ladies
and gentlemen
of London have refined techniques. And
since you cannot return to London and reassume the hunt for a
husband using the innocent virgin method"—and here he batted his
eyelashes and tittered behind his fan—"you must become thoroughly
practiced in the arts of a flirtatious coquette."

She wasn't at all sure she had the nerve to
actually kiss him. He was far too handsome, far too uninterested in
her. She loathed the idea of making a fool of herself.

"Then," he continued, "you'll drive the
gentlemen all wild with longing and you'll have your choice of all
the hopefuls. And who better to show you than me? For I'm perfectly
harmless, by your own words, am I not?" William lifted her chin
with his large hand. "And perhaps," he said, rolling his eyes,
"you'll tempt me to throw off the shackles of my
unnatural
nature
."

"All right," she said quietly, unexpectedly.
It wasn't what she'd meant to say. It was just that the picture
he'd presented, that of all the Lord Codfishes of London on their
knees and begging for her hand with true desire in their eyes,
tantalized her.

Her hand slowly moved the handle of the fan
over the dark flesh of his lips.

She looked up at him with huge trusting
eyes.

He almost felt a twinge of guilt. Almost. He
shook himself. This was ridiculous. It was not as if she was a
virgin. The London papers had been most explicit in her fallen
status. He hardened his resolve when her lips glistened invitingly
in the sunshine.

He lowered his face to hers and paused for
just the slightest moment. Pausing before a kiss heightened desire
and gave the illusion he cared enough to give her a last chance to
cry off. For some confounded reason he found it difficult to
proceed.

The lightest touch of cool fingertips swept
across his cheek, like an innocent dove fluttering against him. He
shuddered and closed his eyes.

All at once, her tender lips brushed a kiss
on his cheek.

He angled his mouth toward hers and returned
the kiss, barely resting on the softness he found nestled there. He
resisted the urge to part his lips and crush her to him. William
breathed deeply and pushed slightly away.

"Ah yes, the innocent kiss.
Ma chérie
,
I think you've mastered that one quite well," William whispered,
looking down at the dazed sweetness of her face.

He tried to reassemble his thoughts and his
campaign. "Let's proceed to the flirtatious kiss, then, shall we?
One you must master if you intend to slay the heart of a suitable
gentleman."

"I don't know if this is really necces—"

He lowered his head and captured her lips
once again, swallowing the rest of her words all at once. For long
moments he teased the seam of her lips with his tongue, urging her
to open to him. Her light breath on his cheek aroused him and it
took every ounce of self-control not to gather her up in his arms.
Instead, he cupped her face with his hands and teased the tendrils
of hair that had come loose in the slight breeze.

He longed to touch her breasts. Her shape
fascinated him. He'd seen her tiny waist silhouetted in the
sunlight. And her tall carriage supported the most impressive
display of femininity he'd ever beheld, despite the rigid armor she
sported.

With a slowness meant to torment him, he
moved his hands to her waist and gently slid his hands up the sides
of her body. He inhaled deeply her rose scent and placed his hands
on the sensitive area below her breasts.

A sheet of hardened metal—or something like
hardened metal—greeted his hand. This was no simple corset. He'd
never felt anything like it before.

Reluctantly, he broke off the kiss and rested
his forehead against hers. "My dear, this…this article you're
wearing is impossible. How can you even breathe?"

Before she could answer him, he nudged the
edge of the silk bodice and found the strings of a bow holding an
exceptionally wide tooled whalebone busk in place. He deftly
untied the laces and pulled out the tortuous device in a fluid
movement before she could stop him.

"My lord!" she exclaimed. "That was very
wrong of you. Give it back!"

She had the most beautiful eyes. So easy to
read and openly honest.

"No, I think not. We should send it off to
London—where they're always looking for new forms of torture to
coerce confessions."

His gamble worked. She couldn't hide the
merriment in her expression.

"I sense it not only hampers your breathing,
chérie
, but will dampen the spirits of your most ardent
admirers. You must never use this again, unless you have need of a
chastity device," he added dryly.

"My aunt says I must wear it lest I appear
too common. And I'm so tired of males looking at me with knowing
glances. It's always been the case, even at twelve years old."

He shook his head. "
Chérie
, there are
ladies who would gladly give their teeth to have your physique. You
must stop covering yourself, and start taking pride in your, mmmm,
assets."

"Well, I'll admit it's difficult to breathe
with it. I know I should be mortified, but I feel ever so much
better." Miss Somerset smiled timidly.

"No, no. You have exquisite teeth. You must
smile more fully and raise your head to look down the end of your
nose at us, the less fortunate members of the
ton
. That's
it. Now we must practice the kiss again, and you must open your
mouth this time."

"What?" She looked flustered. "Oh, this is
ridiculous."

"Come, come, you almost had me thinking of
petticoats and stockings instead of, of waistcoats and watch fobs.
Let's try again." He stifled his smile and kissed her again. God
help him if she obeyed his instructions.

She did.

The lapping of waves drummed out of his head
as the heat of the blood in his veins pounded his temples. She was
utterly delicious, all sweet femininity and boundless honest charm.
Unconsciously, his hands moved to her luscious breasts and
reverently stroked the tips through her modest gown. For the life
of him he couldn't remember why he'd ever preferred petite,
small-breasted women. Miss Somerset was like a Viking goddess,
tall, strong, yet every inch a female. He could feel her quick
intake of breath in response and prayed she would not pull
away.

She did not.

Oh Lord, she didn't move save for the
slightest trembling around her mouth. And then, very slowly, she
wrapped her lovely long arms about his neck and he feared he
wouldn't be able to hold on to the edges of this charade. Since
when had he not been able to control the minutest of his actions in
a seduction? He was dazed and slightly out of control. If she knew
anything about the nature of a man's arousal, his goose was
cooked.

But clearly she did not.

And then truth dawned. She was quite possibly
not the fallen spinster everyone assumed. She was using none of the
techniques a more seasoned lady performed naturally. She was all
hesitant touches and shy maiden despite her ripe curves.

And, he was showing a lamentable lack of
finesse. He was seconds away from placing her on the sand, lifting
her skirts and committing the most contemptible act of his life.
Worse yet, an uncomfortable, heretofore unknown sensation stirred
near the cold recesses of his heart.

William had only enough wits about him to
gather her up in his arms, walk knee-deep into the sea and abruptly
end the lesson by dropping them both into the icy water. He didn't
once question why he'd refrained from continuing the seduction, the
answer to all his problems.

Sophie was mortified. She sat listening to
the ranting of her maid who peeled off her drenched and nearly
ruined sandy garments. Sophie never felt closer to tears than at
that moment.

She'd humiliated herself to a degree of new
heights. Lord William had been so disgusted by her forward behavior
that he'd had to cool her ardor by dunking her in the sea. And
while her head had been swirling with unleashed emotions, he'd
voiced worries about the effects of salt water on boots.

He'd felt nothing when they'd kissed, while
she'd been lost in a torrent of sensations. He'd only laughed and
said salt water was good for the joints at least and then he'd
abruptly halted the lesson.

Yet he'd refused to accept her plea to end
the lessons altogether. He'd said they'd both made remarkable
progress, and that it was only fair she give him his lesson at the
earliest possible convenience.

Sophie shook her head. At least he'd granted
her privacy by turning his head when she'd left the water to
negotiate the climb back to Villa Belza. And at least he'd given
her enough backbone to refuse to allow the medieval corset to ever
grace her body again. But she'd lost much in the bargain… her
sanity.

When she left London she'd thought her
humiliation absolute. Sophie closed her eyes. That wasn't so.
Complete mortification required falling in love with a gentleman
who could never ever return a measure of her affection.

She knew why he affected her thusly. He
possessed more charm than a snake, more beauty than any gentleman
or lady had a right to and the most potent ingredient of all—the
ability to make her laugh, something no one had accomplished in a
long time.

"I must offer you some advice," Karine said,
shaking her head, "for you've proved you've not a clue of how to go
on."

Sophie roused herself from her reverie.
Karine's advice was usually good once the barbs were removed.
"Whatever do you mean?"

"You must beware of that gentleman."

"What gentleman?"

The maid made a sound of disgust. "The one
you're thinking of right now. The one every female within a hundred
miles dreams of. Lord William"— she cackled—"was described in
France as something of a—well, something wild and exciting."

"I don't know what you are talking about,
Karine."

"
Baf, alors
," she replied, shrugging
her shoulders. "You can't fool me, you know. And really there's no
need. You have my loyalty." Her maid smiled and resumed her task of
wringing the wet garments in the basin. "Why, I've even lied for
you. I told the under-footman to bring you a bath because you'd
tripped and fallen into the edges of the water. The imbecile
believed every word."

"What was he known as in France?"

Karine arched a brow. "
Le loup
—the
wolf. And his elder brother, Viscount Gaston, was
le
renard
the fox. Some said it was because of their questionable
loyalties to Napoleon, others said it was for their amorous
conquests." Karine sighed and a dreamy look infused her face. "I
can vouch for the appeal of the elder. I had personal experience
with that divine gentleman when I was under the employ of a very
stupid—uh—a Lady Susan. And my guess is Lord Will is equally
devastating in private, if not more so." The petite maid licked her
lips and looked at the ceiling, lost in apparent wicked
thoughts.