by Gill, Tamara
“You look so handsome,” Evie said, “a perfect lover for me.”
Willow took in her friend’s red, silk gown with a bodice that was so low that her breasts threatened to spill from her gown. Her little black hat and netting overlay disguised her face enough that no one should be able to recognize her. The blonde wig also helped, covering her dark locks.
As for Willow, her hair was braided under a man’s wig. Her maid had been able to fashion it out of one of her aunt’s old wigs. With a little makeup, they had attempted to make her skin about her jaw represent a shadow as if she were unshaven. Her breasts were wrapped tight behind a linen bandage. It was probably the most uncomfortable thing about her disguise. Her breasts weren’t small, and to be so tightly wound wasn’t natural.
“Are we going to gamble? I brought some pin money just in case.”
“I think we must if we’re not to look suspicious. Feel free to drape yourself over me during any games we partake. We must act the part.”
Evie sighed. “I’ve always wanted to act. Of course, it’s not open for women such as us, but even so, I do love the stage. We should spend a night at the theater. I know it’s not a scandalous pastime, but we do not attend often enough.”
“We will, I promise. Maybe later this week?” Willow offered, wanting to give her friends anything that they asked, especially after Evie was so kind as to come with her tonight and put her reputation on the line.
The carriage rocked to a halt, and the door opened. A man dressed in black breeches and a superfine coat reached into the carriage to assist them. Evie took the man’s hand, and Willow reminded herself that he’d not slighted her by letting her alight herself. With her dressed as a man, the servant would not be expected to help her down. She took Evie’s arm, slipping it around hers, and started toward the doors to Lord Ryley’s club.
The muffled sound of music sounded from behind the wooden door, and another servant opened it, bowing to them as they passed.
Willow swallowed her gasp at the sight of the club. It was situated in what looked to be an old warehouse, industrial and cold. Yet, the chandeliers, the yards of colored silk drapes that hung from the ceiling across the room, giving secretive nooks that those who wanted privacy could slip away into made the room decadent and wicked.
A gray smoke haze floated near the roof, the deep timbre of men’s conversation, and the tinkling sound of the women’s laughter met Willow’s ears. She stepped forward, giving Evie’s hand a comforting pat as her friend stiffened at her side.
“Men are looking at me.”
Willow narrowed her eyes, taking in those who would gawp at her lady friend. Many men were salivating at the sight of Evie. A shiver of unease slipped down her spine that perhaps this was a bad idea.
“Don’t show any reaction to them. Lift your chin and stare them down. They’ll soon realize you’re not interested.”
Willow spotted a staircase that led up to a second level. Glancing up, she spied a row of doors. Rooms perhaps where couples could become entirely familiarized with each other. They walked farther into the room, and Willow spotted a table free for vingt-et-un. She sat down, pulling out some notes from her pocket and bid the dealer to commence. Others joined in on the game, and twice she won a round against the dealer before losing all she’d accumulated by breaking over twenty-one.
Evie leaned over her shoulder. “Lord Ryley is watching us.”
Willow stilled, her stomach roiling as if she were on a runaway horse. She glanced up and locked eyes with the very man that vexed her to no end. He was glaring at her, and a muscle in his jaw flexed as he continued to watch them.
She placed another bet on the table, ignoring the fact that her skin burned with his notice. “Do not look at him. He’ll think we’re hiding something.”
Out of her peripheral sight, she noticed he moved farther into the room, and she chanced a glance and couldn’t see him anymore. Willow sighed in relief, having thought he’d recognized her.
“Sir, I do not believe we’ve been introduced.”
The deep, gravelly voice sounded behind her, and Evie gasped, standing upright. “Oh, hello, my lord. Ye do look very handsome tonight, I must say.”
Willow glanced at Evie as her voice took on the familiar twang of an East London whore. She pushed down her fear and remembered to lower her tone. “We have not.” She turned back to the game, gesturing for the dealer to start another round, ignoring Lord Ryley. Her mind raced for a name to come up with and…nothing. Nothing would come to mind.
Blast it all to hell.
Silence ensued, before his tall, muscular form slumped into a chair beside her. He laid money on the table. “You’re new in town. Your name was?”
He frowned at her, waiting for a reply, and she swallowed. Why hadn’t she thought of a blasted surname? “Frank Marsh at your service, my lord. Simply visiting town and wanting to enjoy a night out with my girl.”
Evie tittered beside her, but Willow could feel Lord Ryley’s inspection of her like a caress, slipping over her skin and leaving her breathless in its wake.
Lord Ryley nodded, a contemplative look on his face, before he leaned in close, catching her eye. “You will finish this game, Miss Perry, and then you will come to my office. It’s the last door on your left when you make the second-floor landing. Your whore,” he said, his gaze flicking to Evie. “Can wait with mine.” He gestured toward a woman who stood to the side of the room, her black gown transparent and showing all her assets to anyone who looked. Heat bloomed on Willow’s cheeks, and she fought not to gasp. “Evie will be safe with Lottie while we complete our little chat.”
He pushed back his chair, leaving her gaping at his retreating back. Her gaze slid down his spine to land on his breeches. A perfectly shaped derriere that one could ogle to their heart’s content.
“He’s going to kill us,” Evie squeaked, gasping as Lottie came over to them, smiling at Evie. Willow was taken aback by the woman’s beauty, and a pang of jealousy spiked through her that this woman shared Lord Ryley’s bed. Knew him intimately. Had his delectable, sinful lips on hers.
“This way, if you please. We have a retiring room you may use, miss.”
Willow pushed back her chair and waited to ensure Evie was safe with Lottie before she turned and started in the direction Lord Ryley had gone. The gambling hell was full now. People jostled as she walked toward the staircase, women groaned and laughed as men made use of their assets.
Willow kept her eyes forward, her face a mask of indifference. The thought that she looked feminine and had been why Lord Ryley had recognized her would not abate. Did everyone who cast glances upon her and Evie recognize them? His lordship certainly had.
She stepped onto the bottom step of the staircase, pausing. What did his lordship want to say to her? Was he going to scold her, scream and shout? She’d not put up with such treatment if he did. This club did allow women, and she was in disguise, even if not the most foolproof one it would seem. Even so, he could throw them out on their ears.
Willow glanced about, torn over her decision to run like the devil himself was after her, or confront him. Either one was not a welcoming thought.
Abe paced in his office, stopping now and then to take a calming breath. Damn Miss Willow Perry to Hades and back. He’d not thought to see her again after his coddling of her at the masquerade ball the other evening. He’d made a conscious decision that he would not attend any more events with Miss Perry present. He could financially ruin her without having to see the chit. It was easy enough to have someone infiltrate whoever looked after her money, place it into high-risk investments that never had a hope of earning a profit.
He’d placed his man of business on doing that very thing only yesterday, so to see her today, bright-eyed and delectably dressed in breeches of all things was not what he’d wanted to see. Coward, perhaps he was, but to take a woman down was easier to do when one did not have to look her in the eye.
He checked his pocket watc
h. She’d been longer than five minutes. Where was she?
He wrenched his office door open, stepping out onto the balcony hallway and watched as Miss Perry and her friend all but ran toward the door. For a moment, he allowed himself to watch the perfect sway of her ass as she hightailed it out of the club. The idea of not having a private audience with her irked, and he leaned on the railing, contemplating going after her or chasing her down at the next social event she would attend.
She needed to know that to come here, she risked her reputation. After he was finished with her, there would be little to recommend her to any gentleman searching for a wife. She ought to take more care with her behavior.
His manservant and guard at the door opened it for the parting guests, and at the very last minute, Miss Perry turned and looked directly at him. His gut clenched at the challenging, haughty look she bestowed on him, and he smirked.
Taking down Miss Willow Perry would be a victory worth savoring. What a pity that he couldn’t savor his victory between her legs.
Chapter 5
Their night out was a disaster. Willow stared at her reflection before her dressing table mirror, her eyes wide and bright, her male wig a little crooked, wisps of long, blonde locks slipped across her brow. Her cheeks were as pink as Evie’s gown, and she couldn’t have looked more feminine if she tried. She cringed. Any wonder Lord Ryley had recognized her. Studying herself now, she wondered how she had ever thought she could pull off this farce in the first place—an absurd notion.
Which begged the question, who else spied her and knew who she was? Some would call her foolish for partaking in such a venture, and they would be right.
Willow pulled the wig from her head, running her fingers over her scalp before she started to undo the braids. The feel of being free from the wig’s restraint was delightful, and she sighed as she massaged her hair loose. She undressed quickly, slipping on a silk chemise, one of her indulgences since her aunt’s passing, before climbing into bed.
Willow stared up at the darkened roof, the crackle of the fire the only sound in the room. Her body felt tight and fidgety, and she rolled onto her side, attempting to find a comfortable position. The image of Lord Ryley glancing at her, his dark, hooded eyes that followed her every move would not leave her. Worse was the fact that somewhere deep inside, she liked having him watch her.
At the masquerade ball, his words that he was present to keep her safe from harm had sent a frisson of desire to shoot to her core. He was a handsome man, powerful and well-connected, and as sinful as the devil himself.
He certainly looked like the dark lord when he leaned over the railing at his club when she fled, his lips twisting into an amused grin.
Willow sighed, rolling onto her back, thumping the bedding at her side. If only she had a husband, she’d not be so fixated on a man whom she’d promised herself to dismiss as a likely candidate as a husband. There was little doubt he thought highly of himself and very little of others whom he deemed unsuitable as friends. That he thought women should be protected, swaddled in cotton, was not a becoming trait for a man. Not for a woman like Willow in any case. She enjoyed her independence and had learned long ago how to look after herself. Losing her parents young had achieved that and then being sent away to school in France.
Even so, the idea of Lord Ryley crawling up over the bed to lay atop her, bestowing kiss after delicious kiss on her exposed skin, sent an exquisite bolt of need to her core. He was a tall man, broad shoulders, and with muscular thighs. No doubt his many years owning a bawdy club had ensured he was athletic and fit. His height would typically suit her, being a tall meg herself. What a pity he was determined to remain scandalous and nothing else.
Willow slid her hand over her stomach, closing her eyes as her fingers speared through the thatch of curls at the apex of her thighs. She rubbed her fingers against her skin, having read that for a woman to find pleasure, this is where they should touch.
As always, she found the caress to be pointless. It did hint of something more, made her feel tingly and relaxed, but never anything exploding or mind-numbing happened as she’d heard women whisper throughout her many Seasons.
Tonight was no different. Willow bit her lip, thinking of Lord Ryley’s large hands, imagining them over her breasts, squeezing her nipples. She rolled her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers, gasping as the action shot a bolt of pleasure to her core.
Her interest piqued. Now, that was different. She’d never reacted to her touch in such a way before. The thought of Lord Ryley touching her, teasing and kissing her made her body hum with need.
And yet, after a time, nothing happened that was overly exciting. What was she doing wrong?
Willow groaned, rolling over once more, pulling the blankets up beneath her neck. There was no use. She would have to wait until she had a husband to find out what all the fuss was about. The image of Lord Ryley flashed through her mind, and she squeezed her legs together, wondering what a night with him would be like. A night in his arms so he could show her all that could be between a husband and wife.
“It would be delicious,” she said to herself, knowing she’d never said a more accurate statement. The Spanish Scoundrel would be as wicked in a bed as he was in person. That she had little doubt.
Two days later, after a summons from the Duchess of Whitstone, Willow was seated into a highly sprung carriage, luggage piled atop the vehicle, headed into the country. Evie and Molly sat across from her, chatting about their little sojourn to Hampton.
“Ava seemed very excited about the new estate. Do you know much about it?” Evie asked, looking out the window and taking in the passing streets of London.
“Only that the duke purchased it for her so they could be closer to London and also have the ability to train horses during the Season. You know how much Ava loves her horses.”
“And so this is a house party? Or is it a small group of friends only that will be there?” Molly asked.
“I believe the duke will have some guests, but I understand it’s only us that Ava has invited, and Hallie, of course.”
Willow glanced down at her folded hands in her lap, refusing to give way to the hope that one particular friend of the duke’s would be present. A silly notion. The man was busy, what with his infamous club, and no doubt numerous lovers to keep satisfied, so she doubted Lord Ryley would be present.
Still, her nights continued with images of him, of his dark, hooded gaze sliding over her, dipping to her lips whenever he spoke. Did he imagine kissing her as she imagined kissing him? Willow bit her lip, knowing she’d thought of little else but what it would feel like to be in his arms. A consummate lover who knew how to play a woman as well as any musician playing his instrument.
In under two hours, they were pulling up before the “cottage” as Ava had described her new home. Willow stepped out of the carriage, untying her bonnet as she took in the magnificent estate. The front door opened, and Ava stepped outside, waving.
“You’re here. I’m so glad you could come.” Their friend greeted them, hugging each in turn before ushering them into the house. “Come inside. We’re about to have luncheon.”
Willow couldn’t believe the size of the house. It was as big as the duchess’s main estate in Berkshire. “Ava, this is not a cottage.” They entered the foyer, a large, marble staircase leading upstairs. Two footmen came to take their hats and gloves, and Willow handed them off, unable to take her observation off the home.
“It’s lovely, isn’t it? My darling husband spoils me.”
“What does your darling husband do?” the duke asked, coming to stand beside Ava and wrapping his arm about her waist.
Evie chuckled at the duke’s and duchess’s public display of affection. Willow smiled at the genuine love that radiated off them.
“Only what is expected of him, my dear,” Ava said, a teasing glint in her eye.
The sound of footsteps behind the duke caught Willow’s attention, and she glanced over his
shoulder. Her heart jumped into her throat at the sight of who strolled casually toward them. Lord Ryley took each of them in before his wicked gaze landed on her and stilled.
He bowed, all proper manners. Willow remembered to dip into a curtsy.
“Ladies, it’s lovely to see you again,” Lord Ryley said, watching Willow.
She raised her chin. He would not intimidate her, nor would she allow him to chastise her over being caught at his club. It wasn’t a private locale. She could attend if she wished. No one other than his lordship knew she’d seen his gambling den in any case, so what did it matter?
Willow heard Molly and Evie mumble a reply, but she did not. Instead, she turned back to the duke and duchess. “After lunch, will you take us on a tour of the home and grounds? I understand you have horses here already.”
“We do,” Ava said, clearly excited to have some of her hairy children so close. “Would you care for a ride this afternoon?”
“I would love one,” Willow said without thought. She loved to ride, and although she wasn’t as good as Ava, she was the only other friend in their set who could keep up with the duchess. With Hallie expecting with Viscount Duncannon, she would not join in, and Evie and Molly rarely rode at all.
“Come,” the duke said, turning toward a room off to the side of the foyer. “We were about to have lunch and would like you to join us, unless you would prefer to freshen up first.”
“Lunch will be welcome,” Willow replied, looking to Evie and Molly for their approval. They nodded, and so they started toward the dining room. Lord Ryley hung back, allowed the duke and duchess to pass, along with their friends, but stepped in front of Willow when she went to follow.
“Hello, Miss Perry. Or should I ask you what particular name you’ll be using this week while here in Hampton?”
“Willow will do well enough, my lord.” She slipped past him, and he came into step beside her. “Did you enjoy your evening out the other night?”
