He raised a brow. “One of your sisters, you mean.”
She stiffened. “Of course not.”
A most unwanted thought occurred to him. “A gentleman friend?”
Her chin tipped up. “What if it is?”
Rand would tear the bastard limb from limb.
He gritted his teeth against a possessive surge he had no right to feel for a lady who had not yet agreed to become his feigned betrothed. “What is his name?”
“That is none of your concern, Lord Aylesford. Now please do go before someone finds us here alone together, and I am obliged to become your betrothed in truth.”
She was maddening. Irksome. The most vexing bit of baggage with whom he had ever crossed paths. He wanted her lips beneath his.
Which was base foolishness, of course.
He needed to secure the estate, he reminded himself. He needed a betrothed to wave in Grandmother’s face. The dowager duchess had been firm and stern in her demand. He needed Grace Winter. Some part of him was confusing his need of her assistance with his want of her. He had to make it stop. Surely there was another woman in attendance at this cursed country house party who could accommodate his desires.
When had he ever lusted after innocents? Never, he was quite sure.
Still, there was something within him, a hunger which could not be quelled.
“I should think it may concern your brother to discover one of the gentlemen in attendance loaned you such an ill-suited piece of literature,” he said.
The threat was beneath him. But he did not like to think of one of his fellow guests wooing her.
“There is nothing improper about this book,” she told him, holding it to her as if it were a shield.
She was bluffing.
He reached for the book. Slowly, deliberately. Giving her time to retreat once more. She held her ground as he predicted she would, too proud to flee. He was already beginning to understand Grace Winter, he thought, and this would aid him in his quest to get what he wanted. Her cooperation.
And mayhap her lips.
Definitely her lips.
“If there is nothing improper about the book, you will not mind allowing me to see it,” he reasoned smoothly. “Let go of your hold upon it, Grace darling.”
“I am not your darling,” she growled at him in her husky voice.
And damn him, but he could not help but to imagine hearing that dulcet tone say wicked things to him. Naughty, sinful words an innocent lady should never speak.
He tugged. “The book, Grace.”
“You are insufferable,” she said, sounding suddenly breathless.
Breathless, he could work with.
Excellent.
He was finally piercing her armor.
One more tug, and the book was his. A glance at the cover confirmed his suspicions.
“The Tale of Love,” he read aloud, before flicking his glance back to Grace. “Just as I thought.”
Her color heightened. He wondered how far that delectable flush extended. But then he forced that thought from his mind. His prick was already hard enough. His breeches too tight. No thoughts of peeling her from her gown.
He needed her acquiescence.
And not, alas, in the bedchamber.
“Are you satisfied now?” she asked. “You were right. Now please do give me my book back.”
“No,” he said thoughtfully, a new plan forming. “I do not think I will. This is not fit reading material for an innocent lady. I am honor-bound to deliver the book to your brother and inform him one of his house guests dared to gift you with it.”
Her lips compressed. “Do not do that, Lord Aylesford. Please.”
“Call me Rand, Grace.” He could not deny the appeal of hearing his given name on her sweet pink lips.
“No.” She frowned.
Even her frown made him want to kiss her. Blast it all. He could not recall when he had last been so attracted to a woman.
“If you want this book, you truly ought to be more biddable,” he told her smugly.
This was his revenge for the minx telling him to eat pie.
And he was enjoying it. Quite thoroughly.
“Biddable,” she repeated, her lip curled. “Such a word has not, nor will it ever, be used to describe me, my lord.”
“Rand,” he persisted.
She moved suddenly, attempting to snatch the book from him. But he was quick, and he held it aloft, over her head. His formidable height had always stood him in good stead. Even rising to her toes, she could not reach it.
But fortunately, rising to her toes meant her body was pressed against his. Her breasts crushed into his chest. The scent of a summer garden hit him. He could not resist finding the small of her back with his free hand and holding her there. His cock was rigid, pressing into her belly.
A gentleman would have made an effort to hide his reaction to her.
Fortunately, he had never been a gentleman.
Her lips parted, her eyes going wide as they met his gaze. Understanding dawned in her eyes. “My lord…”
“Rand,” he said again.
Curse it, there was nothing he wanted more than to take her mouth. Kiss her senseless.
“Give me back my book, Lord Aylesford,” she said, her tone growing firm once more.
Willful chit.
He released her and stepped back lest his inner beast gave in to the need to taste her. “I will give it back to you on one condition: you agree to become my feigned betrothed.”
“You scoundrel!” she accused.
And she was not wrong.
He grinned and bowed. “You have until tomorrow morning to consider my proposal, Grace. If you deny me, I am afraid I will have no choice but to surrender this book to Mr. Winter.”
With that gauntlet dropped, he took his leave.
Chapter Three
“That miserable cur!” Pru said later that evening as the sisters gathered to prepare their toilette together before dinner.
Her tone of shocked indignation echoed through the chamber.
“He’s an unabashed thief,” Grace agreed.
Their lady’s maids were not yet in attendance, and it was the perfect opportunity for sharing confidences amongst her sisters.
Namely, that Lord Aylesford had stolen the book.
“We must get it back from him,” Christabella said. “If he gives it to Dev…”
All four Winter sisters shuddered at once. None of them wanted to even contemplate the notion of their beloved, overprotective brother discovering they were in possession of the notoriously wicked volumes of bawdy literature.
“Allowing him to go to Dev with it is an impossibility,” Eugie said.
“Dev would have all our hides,” Bea, the youngest of the Winter sisters, added.
Though Bea was already betrothed, and Eugie was perhaps on her way to becoming betrothed to the Earl of Hertford—in spite of Eugie’s claims to the contrary—Dev would not allow any of them to escape punishment for such a daring violation of his edicts.
He aspired for them all to marry above their stations. And marrying above their stations meant they were required to act in strict accordance with societal mores. Innocent ladies were not permitted access to such forbidden words and pictures.
“Why did he take it?” Christabella asked then.
“Is that not clear?” Grace frowned, thinking of the ease with which the scoundrel had wrested the book from her grasp. “So that he could force me into doing what he wants.”
“What is it that he wants?” Eugie chimed in, her tone suspicious. “He is not a fortune hunter is he, do you think? Revelstoke is rumored to be quite wealthy.”
Aylesford’s father, the Duke of Revelstoke, was indeed rumored to be flush in funds. As his father’s heir, Viscount Aylesford should not be terribly in want of coin. Besides, he would hardly desire a betrothal he had every intention of breaking if that were the case.
“He does not wish me to marry him in truth,” she told her sister, who
was suspicious of all noblemen after an odious baron had spread lies about her to damage her reputation. “You know that, Eugie. He would hardly want to break the betrothal if he were a fortune hunter.”
She and Eugie had discussed Aylesford’s madcap plan at length, and while Grace had initially been considering the viscount’s proposal—er, feigned proposal—she had quickly realized how dangerous engaging in such a farce could be for her.
Because he was more handsome than the devil, and he had more charm in his pinky finger than most gentlemen had in their entire bodies, and because she wanted very much to kiss him. In spite of all her common sense and excellent skills for rationalizing.
“More importantly,” Pru interjected next, “why did you take the book from your bedchamber? You knew the rules of the book, Grace.”
Yes, she knew the rules.
And she had ignored them.
Her cheeks went hot. “I wanted to read it, and I could not seem to find a comfortable position in my bedchamber. The writing room has the loveliest desk and chair, and the way the afternoon sun pours in through the windows is so charming…”
“I have yet to hear sufficient reasoning,” Pru pointed out.
As the eldest of the Winter sisters, she fancied herself their leader.
Grace could not argue with Pru in this matter, however. “I concede the point. I ought not to have taken such a risk by removing the book from my chamber. But I had no idea I would be interrupted by the viscount. And nor did I anticipate him wrestling it away from me and then using it as bribery. The man is more Machiavellian than I supposed.”
“Or determined of what he wants,” Christabella said on a sigh. “Which seems to be you, my dear. How thrilling! Aylesford is a notorious rake.”
She fanned herself with her hand.
Grace scowled at her. “What is the matter with you? Rakes make abysmal husbands. All they do is chase after women until they make their conquest, and then they begin the process all over again.”
“Rakes are silver-tongued devils,” Pru agreed with more force than necessary. “Not to be trusted.”
Grace eyed her elder sister speculatively. “Lord Ashley has been paying you a great deal of attention lately, Pru.”
Pru’s cheeks colored. “Lord who?”
“Lord Ashley Rawdon,” Christabella answered before Grace could, issuing another sigh. “Yet another delightful rake in our midst. I do wonder at our brother’s decision in allowing them entrée to this country house party.”
“The reasoning is simple,” Grace said, unable to keep a note of bitterness from her voice. “Our brother desires for us all to marry dukes.”
“He is too late where I am concerned,” Bea offered softly, smiling.
The youngest of the Winter siblings, Bea had fallen in love with a commoner like themselves, who also happened to be their brother’s best friend and right-hand man. But Dev had made an exception because of the relationship he had with Mr. Merrick Hart and because of the undeniable bond Bea and Mr. Hart shared.
“You are sickeningly in love,” Grace told her sister.
The twinge she felt was not jealousy, she reassured herself. Not at all. She had no intention of marrying. Since she was already assured of her portion of the Winter fortune, and since marrying a man would only put her at his mercy, Grace was merely riding out the storm of her brother’s good intentions.
At least, she had been, until Viscount Aylesford had come along.
Until Rand had come along.
But no, she would not think of him in such intimate terms. If she must think of him at all, it would be as the varlet who had commandeered the book. The handsome devil who thought he could coerce her into doing his bidding. Never mind that she had been rather intrigued by the book she had previously disparaged. She needed it back in her possession if she and her sisters did not want to face impending ruin in the eyes of their brother.
“There is nothing sickening about love at all,” Bea was saying. “It is actually the most wondrous feeling. The most frightening, as well. I was not initially certain I was what Merrick wanted. All along, however, I knew he was what I wanted.”
“How could you be so certain?” Eugie asked.
Bea gave them all a secretive smile. “I cannot adequately describe it. But when you know, it resonates in your heart. You simply know, the same way you know you must take your next breath. It is inescapable.”
“It sounds like the plague,” Grace muttered. “Or a raging house fire.”
“Fatalistic,” Pru suggested.
“Romantic,” Christabella said.
“Frightening,” Eugie added.
“Incredible is what it is,” Bea countered, still smiling that secretive cat’s smile of hers.
As if she knew all the answers to the mysteries in the universe. Which was utterly silly, considering she was the youngest of them all. What could Bea possibly know that the rest of them did not?
True love, said a taunting voice inside herself.
She told the voice to go to the devil. For there was no such thing as true love. She did not believe it. There was only the incessant need to convince one’s self of a deeper purpose, she was sure.
She had no such need.
Her purpose was already true: she was going to collect her funds and live the rest of her life as…
Well, she had not decided that part yet. But she would decide it. She would find what made her happy, and she would do more of that. She would stay far, far away from dashing rakehells with black, wavy hair and sky-blue eyes. Rakehells who made her heart race with their mere presence. Who made her weak. Who stole her book.
The conniving bandit.
“Our lady’s maids will be here at any moment,” Pru said, interrupting Grace’s wildly veering thoughts. “All this talk of love aside, something must be done.”
“About the book,” Christabella added. “It is so delightfully wicked. That volume, in particular, is a favorite of mine.”
“It is a favorite of everyone’s,” Eugie agreed. “The pictures…”
“Oh, my yes,” Bea chimed in on a sigh of her own. “Is that the volume that contains the story about the gardener and the lady?”
“It is,” Grace confirmed, for she had been similarly mesmerized by the tale.
“I shall never think about a rose in the same fashion after reading that story,” Christabella said. “What he did with the rose petals…”
“Was indecent,” Grace interrupted sternly.
In truth, she had not found the subject matter of the book nearly as objectionable upon further examination. Indeed, she had caught herself envisioning similar scenes to those depicted. Scenes containing herself and none other than Viscount Aylesford.
“I was going to say it was intriguing,” Christabella corrected, frowning at her. “Tell me you did not find it fascinating, Grace.”
Of course she had.
Her ears went hot.
But she was not about to admit it aloud. Not to any of them, and certainly not to all her sisters at once.
“That is neither here nor there,” Grace dismissed. “What matters is that the book is forbidden to us. It should not be in our possession, and if our brother knew it was, he would not stop until he discovered how we had managed to procure ourselves copies.”
“Watson ought not to be punished,” Christabella said, referring to her lady’s maid. “She is delightfully enterprising, and she managed to gather the copies for us at great risk to herself.”
“Watson cannot suffer for your carelessness, Grace,” Pru said, pinning her with a distinctly unimpressed look. “If you had listened to me and kept it in your chamber, you would not be currently finding yourself in such a predicament.”
“None of you shall suffer for my actions,” she assured them, for she knew precisely what she had to do. She had to get The Tale of Love back from one thieving viscount. This very night. “I will make certain that nothing goes awry. I will have the book in my possession once more
by tomorrow morning.”
Eugie’s brows snapped together. “Just what do you intend to do?”
Sneak into his chamber and steal the book back.
But she did not say that aloud, for she was no fool.
Instead, she gave all her sisters a reassuring smile. “I will convince him of the necessity of behaving as a gentleman. I will remind him he is our guest. Make him feel guilty in whatever sense I must.”
“You are going to accept his plan to become his feigned betrothed,” Christabella predicted with an air of firm conviction.
Why, oh why, did the mere suggestion make her pulse quicken and heat slide to her core? Why did the suggestion make her want him in a way she had never yearned for another man? Blast him. Was it his looks? His knowing air? Whatever it was, it could be ignored and dismissed. It had to be ignored, else she would become far too embroiled within it.
“I will do no such thing,” she vowed. “It may have seemed appealing once, but I see the viscount for who and what he is. I shall have no part of his plans, and he will return our book to us if forcing him to do so proves to be the last action I take.”
The subtle knock of their lady’s maids at the door heralded the conclusion of the conversation. But Grace’s determination was renewed. She would get her hands on that book tonight. Whilst he was occupied with whatever it was that kept the gentlemen of the house party up all night, she would simply creep into his chamber, find the volume she was searching for, and leave.
Yes, she thought to herself, feeling quite pleased, this would be the proper way to regain control of the situation. All she had to do was hope nothing went wrong.
There was a female on her knees alongside his bed, her rump raised in the air. And, Lord help him, but he recognized those ivory satin skirts and that mouthwatering rump. He would recognize them anywhere.
Fortune’s fickle wheel had finally given Rand a good turn.
That was the sole explanation for the presence of Grace Winter in his bedchamber this evening. She was still dressed in the luscious gown that had set off her figure to perfection at dinner. He supposed he could not argue with that, but he would not lie. Finding her naked, awaiting him in his bed, would have been an even greater treat.
Willful in Winter Page 3
