Map of a Lady’s Heart

by Caroline Linden

  Winterton nodded. He still sat on her bed, far too big and masculine for her widow’s room. Viola was trying without much success to stifle the wicked thoughts drifting through her mind like snow, a veritable blizzard of sinful images threatening to swamp her composure. She shouldn’t have drunk that port; it had shot her good sense to flinders.

  “Then you won’t be sacked,” said the earl.

  Viola cleared her throat. She hadn’t even been thinking of that. “I feel less anxious on that score.”

  He smiled again, that roguish grin that made her heart skip beats and her mind go blank. “And vastly relieved you shan’t have to address what I said earlier.”

  She was too distracted by the sight of him sitting on her bed, his large, lovely hands clasped between his knees and his coal black hair rumpled as if he’d just woken . . . in her bed . . . “Yes, of course.”

  He got to his feet and came toward her. It only took two steps but they seemed very momentous and significant steps to Viola, still gripping the doorknob. “I’m relieved as well. I think you misunderstood what I meant. It wasn’t an improper offer.”

  “No, of course not,” she said. Do not disagree with the earl, she told herself. It would be rude. Or silly. Or . . . something, she wasn’t precisely sure what, but she didn’t want to argue with him now. Not when he was close enough that she could see the faint shadow of whiskers on his jaw and the pulse in his neck and the three different shades of blue in his eyes.

  “If I had caused you to lose your position, it would have been my duty to see that you had another,” he explained. Almost idly he reached out and took her hand. “But I don’t really want to employ you.”

  “No,” she agreed. As if she would get anything done if she saw him every day.

  “Do you know why?” His voice was growing softer with each word. His thumb stroked over her knuckles. Viola’s knees were softening, and her heart was booming against her ribs.

  “I think . . .” She had to wet her lips. “I suspect so.”

  “Would it be unwelcome to you?”

  No. She wanted him to kiss her more than ever, even after she’d just scolded Alexandra for letting a man kiss her, even though she’d been racked with anxiety at the thought of losing her position. Or perhaps that was why she wanted him to kiss her, because she’d thought she was on the brink of disaster and had been saved. Because she’d felt on the brink of disaster for most of the house party, and didn’t have the will to resist the temptation that was him any longer.

  For answer she lifted her face to his and leaned forward. Winterton met her halfway, his lips brushing hers like the softest feather. “Winterton,” she whispered. “Please—”

  “Viola.” His hands cupped her jaw. “My name is Wesley. Wes, really.”

  She smiled in surprise. “Wes?”

  “It rhymes with yes,” he whispered, a laugh lurking in his tone, and then he was kissing her again, not so lightly this time, nor so briefly. Viola moaned when he teased her lips apart and his tongue swept into her mouth. His fingers curled into her hair, loosening the pins until it fell down her back. She arched against him, shivering when her breasts met his chest.

  The earl—Wes—made an inarticulate sound of pleasure and gathered her closer. Viola realized she was on her toes, straining against him, clinging to his jacket. She felt drunk with desire, reveling in every shuddering breath he drew, every touch of his hands on her face, her shoulders, her back, her waist. No more was she a mere secretary and he a wealthy earl. In this moment they were simply man and woman, mad for each other.

  “Viola.” He broke the kiss, his chest heaving. “Viola.” He pressed one more hard kiss on her mouth. “God above, I should go.”

  “I know.” She burrowed into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist. He was so male and strong and he smelled so good, she had to swallow back an invitation to stay the night here with her. She hoped it was the port making her reckless, but she feared deep down it was far more than that.

  “Can I see you again?” His thumb rolled over her lower lip, followed by his own lips in a lingering kiss.

  “Every day, my lord,” she said breathlessly. “Until you leave.”

  He went very still. “Can I see you again like this—Viola and Wes, not Winterton and Mrs. Cavendish.”

  Until you leave, she thought again. “Yes.”

  A wolfish grin flashed across his face and he kissed her once more, his lips lingering. “God,” he moaned. “God help me, I want to stay but I am going.”

  “Good night,” she whispered.

  His eyes seemed to glow. “Good night, love.”

  * * *

  Wes returned to his own room with jaunty steps. What a bloody brilliant idea it had been to come to Kingstag Castle. Thank God Wessex had been away, and was still away. At the moment he didn’t even care if the Desnos atlas were here, either. He’d kissed Viola Cavendish, and she had kissed him back. He couldn’t wait to do it again.

  He tried to check his racing pulse and remind himself to keep his wits about him. She was no society matron, looking for a fleeting affair to amuse herself. She was also not his equal, socially, and she would be cruelly hurt if their attraction to each other caused trouble. The last thing on earth he wanted to do was hurt Viola.

  A slight frown crossed his face. How was he to manage this? What would his mother do if a female servant at Winterbury were discovered in an affair with a guest? Of course, Viola was not really a servant, and even servants had some rights to personal relationships. She was the duchess’s personal secretary, a position of some importance, independence, and status. What’s more, she was a Cavendish cousin, and he . . .

  Wes’s steps slowed to a halt. She was a respectable woman—not quite a lady but not so far beneath him. He needn’t be ashamed of his attraction to her. Why, who knew—in time, he might even—

  “What happened?”

  The tense question gave him a violent start of surprise. “Good lord, Justin,” he snapped. “What do you mean shouting at me?”

  His nephew blinked at him in astonishment. He was peering through his barely-opened door. “I didn’t shout. You were standing in the corridor staring at nothing. Am I in terrible trouble?”

  Right. Justin had been kissing Lady Alexandra. Wes’s heart settled into a more normal, if rapid, rhythm. He glanced over his shoulder and motioned for his nephew to let him in. “We’ll discuss this privately.”

  “Well, what happened?” Justin demanded again once Wes was inside and the door was safely closed. “Shall I apologize to the duke? Lady Bridget told me he’s not but ten miles away. I could manage it, with a sturdy horse.”

  “Calm yourself.” Wes waved one hand at the chair, but Justin stayed stubbornly on his feet, his hands in fists. Wes shrugged and dropped into the seat himself. “Lady Alexandra has spoken to her mother, who agrees it would be idiocy to make a scandal out of this. I believe Wessex is very protective of his sisters, but with the dowager duchess’s support, I don’t think you need to fear being called out or marched to the altar.”

  Justin’s face broke with relief. “Thank you, Uncle.”

  Wes gave him a hard look. “Don’t for one moment believe you won’t suffer any consequences. Even if Wessex doesn’t care a fig for what you did, I care, and so will your mother.”

  “Mother!” the boy exclaimed. “Why would you tell her?”

  “Because this is twice now you’ve been kissing females without honorable intent.” Justin’s mouth fell open, and Wes nodded. “I didn’t say you had wicked intent, but you know perfectly well that if you go around kissing young ladies, you’ll find yourself married to one of them before long. Is that what you want?”

  “Well—no, not precisely . . .”

  Wes rubbed his hands over his face at Justin’s cagey tone. “If you think the solution is to kiss maids and tavern wenches, be assured I shall punish you for that. A gentleman doesn’t trifle with women, be they noble or ordinary.”

 
His nephew scoffed. “Some women—”

  “Those are whores,” he said bluntly. “Whores are willing because you pay them, not because of your charm and grace, but at least a whore expects nothing but payment from you. Seducing a girl like Lady Alexandra . . .” Wes shook his head. “I couldn’t save you from Wessex’s wrath in that case—in fact, I’d step up to whip you after he did. You’d do the honorable thing by her, and then spend the rest of your life being a decent husband to her.”

  Now Justin was offended. “Of course I would! That is, I didn’t seduce her—it was only a little kiss—but I am a gentleman and I know my duty—”

  Wes rose. “And your desire is to be married before you’re twenty-two, before you’ve had a chance to go to London and meet dozens of pretty girls? Before you’ve got a chance to travel and see something of the world? Marriage is for the rest of your life, and you’ve been telling me for days and days that you were so bored in Hampshire you might run mad from it. Now you’re ready to become head of the family, bring home a bride, and settle down?”

  Justin had flushed progressively redder as Wes spoke. Now he squirmed. “No—not yet, not all that.”

  “Then mind your behavior. And if you can’t, I’ll thrash you until you can. Gentlemen have far more freedom than ladies, and therefore greater responsibility to exercise it wisely. Being young and stupid does not excuse you from the consequences of your actions.”

  Justin scowled, but wiped it away as Wes raised one brow in warning. “Yes, Uncle.”

  Wes put one hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “We’ve all been young and stupid, every man one of us,” he said in a kinder tone. “It’s one thing if you fancy the girl and can see yourself married to her. If you can’t . . . you shouldn’t be kissing her. Even if you don’t get caught by her outraged papa, you give her cruel and misleading ideas about your intentions. You’re a cheat and a rogue if you let a girl fall in love with you just so you can steal a few kisses and embraces.”

  Now thoroughly sobered, Justin nodded. “I understand. I never thought of it that way, but . . . yes, I see.”

  “Good man.” Wes clapped his shoulder. “I don’t think you’d like a lady to lead you on, only to refuse you once you were wild for her.”

  “Not at all.” Justin appeared appalled by the thought.

  “Then don’t do it yourself.” Wes let himself out and returned to his own room. Thank God Kingstag was large enough that he and Justin didn’t need to share rooms. He needed some peace to think.

  The first realization he came to was that he would need to take his own advice, regarding Viola. He did not want her to draw any wrong conclusions from his actions. The second realization, following close on the first, was that he did fancy her, more than usual. He liked talking to her. She was sensible and clever and beautiful, and she made him laugh. Wes had no time for idiots or people who were frivolous, and he couldn’t recall the last woman he’d looked forward to seeing the way he did Viola.

  So what were his intentions?

  He pondered the matter as he prepared for bed, and hadn’t reached any definite answer by the time he fell asleep. The only thing he knew for certain was that his interest in her was neither shallow nor fleeting. And he yearned to kiss her again.

  Chapter 9

  The next day Viola decided to carry on as if nothing had happened and hope for the best. She’d lain awake until late at night, wondering if she would be called into the dowager’s rooms to explain herself, but a summons never came.

  Alexandra seemed to have decided the same thing. Every time Viola caught sight of her, she was behaving as she should—well away from Lord Newton. The young viscount, for his part, seemed cowed and quiet as well, and spent most of his time with the other gentlemen.

  “Good morning, ma’am.” Lord Winterton appeared before her. “May I join you?”

  “Good morning, sir. Of course.” She had covered a table with evergreen branches and was plaiting them into garlands, an activity that would allow her to monitor the play rehearsal and everyone in it.

  Lord Winterton pulled up a chair opposite her. It gave her a splendid view of him, and his lovely mouth that had kissed her so tenderly and magnificently last night. Had that really happened? Covertly she studied him as he poked at the mountain of evergreens on her table. She’d had enough brought in to make a garland that would stretch from here to London and back.

  Then he looked up and caught her watching him, and a faint smile touched his lips. Viola flushed warm all over her body. Oh yes, it had really happened. The Earl of Winterton had held her close and kissed her until she could hardly breathe.

  He leaned forward. “Viola,” he whispered.

  Blushing, she also leaned forward. “Yes?”

  “I missed you at breakfast,” he said, almost inaudibly. “I never realized how much I looked forward to seeing you every morning until you weren’t there.”

  She couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “I had work to do.” She motioned at the greenery.

  “And then? Will you be free to walk out with me and see the sky again? I believe the snow is finally ending.”

  Viola glanced at the tall windows. The sky was brighter today, but snow still fell. “Perhaps, but I must keep an eye on rehearsal.”

  “Of course.” He picked up a branch and twirled it. “How does one make a garland?”

  Her eyes widened in astonishment. “You want to make garlands?”

  “I want to sit with you,” he said with a searing look. “And I am willing to make garlands to do so.”

  Oh my. There was a tiny burst of joy in her chest, and her fingers shook as she showed him how to pull apart the branches and twine them around each other to form a long rope. The drawing room was full of people by now, leaving little chance of conversation without being overheard, so they worked in companionable silence. At one point Wes stretched out his legs beneath the table, and Viola lightly rested her slipper on top of his boot. His blue gaze shot to hers, and she almost melted at the hunger in them.

  The day flew by. Viola was called away several times to supervise some aspect of costuming, for the play was to be in a few days. Wes had to go perform his scenes, which sent Viola into gales of silent laughter. A large tea was served midday, and the entire company gathered around the table to consume every crumb of it. Her heart swelled with happiness to see Alexandra laughing and whispering with her friend Kate Lacy, and she felt a rush of relief that Lord Newton seemed more interested in discussing horses with Lord Gosling than in flirting with anyone. All of the guests were in good spirits, and it felt like a sign from above that the party was a success after all.

  By the time everyone retired to dress for dinner, Viola had woven a mile or more of garland. She looked at Wes, who was frowning over his much shorter garland, and grinned. “Well done, my lord.”

  “I haven’t done anything worthy of that compliment today, ma’am.” He put his hands on the table and half rose from his chair. “Come here.”

  Viola glanced nervously at the door, but everyone had left. She leaned toward Wes. He closed the distance and brushed his lips against hers. “That’s better,” he breathed. “Although I might not have done it well enough . . . Let me try again . . .” He kissed her once more, lightly and tenderly, and something inside Viola sang with joy.

  Wes sat back, looking pleased with himself. “Much better. I’ve been waiting all day for that.”

  Blushing and beaming, she laughed. “Ought you go prepare for dinner?”

  He surveyed the greenery piled between them. “I am utterly worn out from all this garland making.”

  “I hear there is to be dancing after dinner,” Viola remarked. “Miss Penworth has agreed to play.”

  “Dancing!” His face lit. “I feel energized already. Will you dance with me, love?”

  Her heart leapt for one wild moment before her brain reminded her to be cautious. “Perhaps. I must speak to the dowager.” He blinked, and she quickly explained. “To let her know how
the party is proceeding.”

  “Is her health improving?”

  Viola nodded. “I hope she’ll be able to join the guests soon.” And take her place as hostess, which would be a vast relief.

  He grinned. “I hope so as well. But . . .” He reached for her hand. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  About dancing with him. She hesitated, but the temptation was too great. “Yes.”

  This time his smile was sensuous and intimate. “That’s all I care to know.”

  They went their separate ways. Viola spoke to the housekeeper about arranging the garland in the hall, then braced herself and went to the dowager’s apartment.

  It went much better than expected. The dowager was vastly improved, even sitting in a chair by the fire today with a hot brick under her feet. “I have promised Bridget I will attend the play,” she told Viola. “Thank heaven I shall be able to.”

  “I’m very pleased to hear it, ma’am,” said Viola fervently.

  The dowager smiled. “Has Alexandra kept her word to behave today?”

  “Perfectly, Your Grace.” She hesitated. “And so has Lord Newton. I believe his uncle spoke to him very strongly about what occurred.”

  “Very good. Tell me about Lord Winterton.”

  Caught off guard, Viola jumped. “What?”

  “Bridget tells me he fancies you.” The dowager’s gaze was sharp. “Alexandra says you and the earl discovered her with young Newton, and that she didn’t believe that discovery happened because you were searching for her.”

  Viola could only sit with her mouth open in shock.

  The older woman leaned forward. “He’s a very eligible catch, and Sophronia tells me he’s not one of those society fribbles. Is he an honest fellow?”

  “Y-yes,” she stammered.

  “Do you, in my daughter’s words, ‘fancy him’?” Viola couldn’t speak. Her answer must have shown on her face, for the dowager sat back. “Remember you are a Cavendish, Viola. Demand that he treat you as such, or Wessex will have his head.”