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Compromising Willa
by Diana Quincy

Copyright © 2013 by Diana Quincy. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
 

As if his thoughts had summoned her, Hart felt a light tap on his arm and turned to find Willa smiling up at him, a little flush high on her cheeks. Was she actually batting her eyelashes at him?

“Your Grace. I find I am a little overheated. Would you be so kind as to accompany me outside?” She offered him her hand.

The cool princess actively seeking his company? Up until this moment, Willa had treated him with what could best be described as friendly contempt. How much wine had she had at supper? Perhaps there was hope for the frosty female after all.

“Of course, it would be my pleasure.” Offering his arm, he sketched a quick bow to Magee and Lady Rawdon, and ignored the petulant look the widow threw him. They strolled outside where Willa took a seat on the ledge of the modest fountain that dominated much of the small garden.

Taking a spot beside her, Hart smiled. “Dare I hope your feelings toward me have warmed?”

“Beg pardon?” She seemed distracted. Her eyes darted toward the salon’s open doors. “Did you enjoy the meal?”

The small ray of warmth he’d glimpsed just a moment ago vanished again, her veiled façade firmly back in place. “Yes, though I assume it is your mother, and perhaps Camryn, I should thank for my invitation.”

She didn’t say anything to that. Hart let his eyes rest on her for a moment, taking in the way the moonlight danced over the defined slopes of her perfect face, down the elegant turn of neck. Desire curled through him.

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.