Lady Willa’s Divinely Wicked Vicar: Four Weddings and a Frolic, Book 4

by DeLand, Cerise

Yet wherever she was that day—with friends at cards again or in the village for the beginning of the May Day frolics—she sought him out with a glance, a far off secret smile, a little tip of her head. She had not been bored with his own company. He’d felt in his bones her warm regard, bathed in it, used it as justification for his quest to court her himself.

  That evening at the Courtlands’ annual May Day Ball, he entered the gilded ballroom with one purpose. To find the woman whose question had him pondering his own acceptance of his profession and the direction of his life.

  Dressed to the gills in his formal attire like the peacock he neither was nor would ever have the right to be, he was determined to ask her to dance, to speak, to touch her, to experience once more that shot of fire when she laughed or locked him in her intimate gaze.

  Now to find her attired in her own jade silk finery like a frilly bird of paradise fogged his mind of purpose. Her bodice was low, her breasts perfectly rounded beauties, rising and falling above the thin fabric that made his mind frizzle like bubbles in champagne. She was laughing, a trilling sound that warmed his heart…and hardened his cock. Joy upon her lips, her head thrown back, she made him itch to take her mouth and make mad love to her. In a bed. Sans that sensational gown.

  He grinned. She caught him at it too and gave an unladylike snort. The man who stood before her did not seem to take it as any indication of his boring demeanor, but leaned closer to her and tried to whisper intimately in her ear. The bounder.

  Charlie scowled. A gentleman—who at the moment seemed to be less than that—was forcing her backward one step at a time toward the far wall. Her lovely expressive mouth curving downward, Lady Willa fended off the creature with firm refusals and a feral look in her eye of an animal cornered.

  What is a good vicar to do when finding a fellow human in peril, but to perform a rescue?

  “Good evening, Lady Willa.” He bowed before her. “Hello, Jerman. Good to see you.”

  Lord Jerman, a former captain in the Fusiliers, was known for his stubbornness, his lies—and his penury.

  “Compton.” The man inclined his head. He was a viscount without land and income and he had searched for years for a suitably rich bride to buy him out of his innumerable debts. No such lady or papa had been so gullible as to do so and Jerman counted on his fabricated war record to commend him to any and all. “Dressed to dance? I didn’t think men of the cloth did that.”

  “I do, Jerman. I say, Lady Willa, may I have the honor of the next set?”

  She opened her mouth to answer.

  But Jerman did it for her. “I am her partner for this.”

  “The one after that, then.” Charlie met her gaze, noting relief and delight there. Marvelous.

  When Jerman took her hand and led her to the chalked floor, Charlie remained where he stood. He hadn’t trusted Jerman out of his sight in France. He wouldn’t do it here with her.

  When at last Jerman brought her back to him, Charlie said his thanks and turned away from him. “A glass of rattafia?” he asked her.

  She offered a pained brow. “Must I?”

  “Wine, then.” He chuckled and found the attention of the nearest footman with a tray. As he handed a glass over to her, her fingers brushed his and the flames in his blood fanned to a blaze.

  “I have news for you,” he told her, steadying his nerves, as her dreamy eyes remained focused on his.

  “You’ve spoken, have you,” —she rolled her eyes toward the ceiling— “with Him?”

  “Indeed.”

  “News?”

  “You cannot doubt my connection.”

  “Never!” She pressed a hand to her flawless, generous, appealing bosom and he wished he might put his hand there, too. He could caress…

  He cleared his throat. No, he couldn’t. “Drink up! We will dance. There is the introductory music to form the set.”

  She winked at him. Then she up-ended her wine, set down her glass to a table, grinned and put her hand in his. “Are we dancing first so that you can break the news to me gently?”

  They stood much too close as the others in their set took up their positions. He could have leaned over a few inches sunk one hand into the curls around her ear, drawn her near and kissed her pretty pink lips. Instead he wrestled his desire to a standoff and said, “We are dancing to be polite.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  He did lean closer. “And because I want to be with you for much longer than the time it takes for me to reveal what is in your future.”

  The frankness of her gaze stilled him as surely as the onslaught of French cannonball once had. “Why would you?”

  “I find your quest intriguing.” And you compelling. “Did you avoid me earlier by playing cards with your friends?”

  She stared boldly into his eyes. “Yes. And by going to the May Day festival in the village afterward. And you know why.” She glanced away but when she returned to possess his attention, she said, “So do not ask me to explain.”

  His heart gave a leap. Did he know? He hoped to hell he did. “Tell me things I cannot devine.”

  But the orchestra on the dais began the music of a lively contre dance and conversation consisted of those bits of sentences one could manage when two bodies met in the middle of the floor.

  “You and I,” Willa began.

  “Are friends,” he finished.

  “New acquaintances,” she said when next they met and he put his arm around her waist to lead her in a circle toward the next man down the line.

  “But fond,” he insisted at the turn.

  She latched on to his gaze with her own stern one. “We must not be.”

  “Too late,” he said and shook his head without remorse.

  When she faced him again, she shook her head. “I do not wish to hurt you.”

  “You won’t.”

  “You cannot know that,” she said with vigor.

  “I do. I know it in my bones.”

  When next they faced each other, she said, “My own bones know a thing or two.”

  He grinned when next they came together and it was her turn to put her arm around his waist and lead him toward the next woman in the line. “What do they say?”

  “That I do not wish to hurt you.”

  He smiled. “I have it on good authority you won’t.”

  “He told you that?” She cast him a doubtful eye. “I don’t believe it.”

  As he watched her take her steps down the line and then return to him, he knew what the Good Lord intended for him to say. “I will prove it.”

  “Ha!” She didn’t believe him, eh?

  But when she returned to him, she leaned close to ask, “How?”

  “Meet me in the library after this set.”

  And when they approached each other, and she looked him in the eyes, she did not refuse him.

  Chapter 3

  Wills stood pretending to listen to her friend Fiona Chastain ramble on about a certain fellow across the ballroom. She would be wrong to meet the devilishly good-looking Reverend Compton anywhere. Weak to allow herself to be charmed by him. Guilty of hurting him if she met him in the library and by her presence showed that she cared for him.

  She should not lead him on. Had that not been her downfall before? Had she not been too carefree with her attentions and caused Lord Williams and Lord Dennybrook to pass away?

  Oh, but the imp in her was drawn to the good vicar. Quite wrong. It was the woman in her who wished to be courted and complimented by a man she deemed intriguing. Or, to be brutally honest, her romantic heart was captivated by his kindness and humor and his unwise persistence on this matter of hers.

  “Forgive me,” she apologized to Fiona, “I must find the ladies’ retiring room.”

  “Down the main hall and…oh, but you know where it is. You’ve been here as often as I!”

  Wills smiled. “I shall return and meanwhile…it appears that your gentleman makes his way over to keep you occupied.”

&nb
sp; To insure speed, she paused in the hall, one hand to one pillar, and removed her slippers. They pinched as she walked so running in them was like prancing on broken glass. Shoes in hand, she rushed along the halls toward the library, her bare feet hardly touching the floor in her haste. She’d never had any rendezvous with men. This one offered temptations of masculinity she’d not tasted before. Flavors of the sweetness of a clergyman’s optimism mixed with the zest of intellect and humor.

  She fumbled with her slippers as she turned the handles of the library doors and swirled inside. The moonlight through the far windows outlined his silhouette. His head was noble, his shoulders broad, his hips lean and legs long. A perfect model of a gentleman.

  She couldn’t help it that she giggled.

  “It’s good to hear you laugh.”

  His voice, that mellifluous baritone, washed over her like a warm bath. Her skin tingled and her nipples hardened. This is so deliciously risqué. And with a vicar, too.

  What would He think of her now? Seducing a man of the cloth!

  She should leave.

  But her knees wobbled. She squeezed her eyes shut, summoning strength to go. She found none.

  She didn’t have to open her eyes to know that he stepped near, in arm’s reach. That bergamot of his suffused her nostrils. Her belly heated. Her gaze met his. The sight of him, intent on her with those sultry lips, the height and breath of him a huge protective animal, seized her heart. She wanted more than his prayers or his advice. More of his humor. Hours of it. Yet she should build walls around her own impulses and save him…and her own soul, too.

  She smiled at him in a show of normality. “I’m here only to learn what my answer is.”

  He stepped so close, she swore her gown melted away in the heat of his nearness. “Are you?”

  She swallowed. “And you’re here to tell me what I might expect.”

  “Ah.” He reached out and with two fingers he wended his way down her cheek from the corner of her eye to that of her lips. “Expect a man who adores you.”

  “Soon?” Was that she, whispering?

  “Very.” The word sounded like a promise.

  “So I mustn’t…”

  “Agree to marry just anyone.” He lifted her chin. “No.”

  “Because?” She had no breath as he lowered his lips to hers. And she let him…oh, yes, she let him brush his mouth on hers. His lips were soft, his demand firm, his desire for her palpable and intoxicating.

  “That would be a sin.” He drew her against him, his body fitting hers from breast to ribs to hips to thighs.

  “Why?” She had to know. Did she beg?

  He threaded his fingers through her hair and tantalized her with his angel’s touch. She was flush to his magnificent body, warm, hot, seared, pressed to the door. She felt each inch of him, iron hard and ready to have her. “Because there are reasons to wait.”

  “Such as…?”

  “This,” he said and seized her mouth in a swoop of possession. On a groan, he crushed her against him, his lips the fiery brand she’d craved. He broke away, said something that sounded like a curse, and returned to take her mouth again. She slanted her head and he took her invitation. This time, his tongue invaded the cavern of her mouth and swept away all her morals. She dropped her slippers and clutched him closer, dearer still.

  He cupped her face and drew away to sear her with the silver flames of desire in his eyes.

  She was up on her toes. “Again. Again.”

  He growled and bent, catching her up into his arms. He strode with her, she with her lips on his cheek, wanting, yearning for him to take away the ache in her loins. Oh, this was such wild heaven.

  He put her to a chaise longue and followed her down. His long heavy body over her, he traced his fingers over her lips. “I want you.”

  Of a sudden, raucous laughter burst over them as two people, shrieking and chortling, broke into the library. The two pattered inside and slammed the heavy doors behind them.

  He put his lips to hers. “Do not move.”

  She complied.

  In the dim rays of light that pervaded this corner of the library, Wills could see the light in his eyes. Concerned. Careful. But he snaked his arm around her waist as the two of them stared at each other and listened to the couple who, by the sounds of it, were kissing and tickling each other.

  “Oh! You rascal,” the woman whooped, “you mustn’t do that, sir.”

  “But you want me and I want you,” the man replied in a rakish tone. “You’re lovely. And I must touch these…”

  The lady cooed and moaned.

  Wills arched her brows, as she envisioned what these might be.

  “Oh, yes,” the man continued in dark humor, “corsets are a nightmare and these are beautiful. Look at that! It points at me. Miss Miranda, I say! I must taste one.”

  A rustling of clothes had the lady squealing.

  Wills, flooded with wet desire, wiggled beneath her own gentleman. “He’s…”

  Her own swain put a finger across her lips and nodded. “Yes.”

  Wills arched up, her own breasts budding, rock hard.

  “Where are they?” came a woman’s frantic cry from outside the room in the hall. “Where? In here?”

  The doors banged open and bounced against the walls.

  “Miranda!” A woman cried.

  “Mama!”

  “Your…your gown, my girl! Arrange yourself!”

  “Yes, yes! Of course, Mama!”

  Much rustling and shuffling filled the room.

  “Stand up, child!”

  “Yes, I am. I am, Mama.”

  “Ralston, turn around, please. You, girl! To our rooms!”

  Ralston was the Courtlands’ family butler. Willa knew the servant would do his duty discreetly. Even if he discovered her with the vicar. She was paralyzed with fear of it.

  “But Mama—” Miranda appealed.

  “Take her up, Ralston.”

  “Aye, ma’am. Come, Miss Miranda.”

  “And you, Lord Jerman,” declared the Mama of Miranda, “will do as you must for my daughter. Tomorrow at nine. In the yellow drawing room. Be there.”

  “Of course, ma’am.”

  “Well,” said Wills, after the four of them had departed and closed the door behind them. “Miss Miranda Pendergast is about to be engaged.”

  “And Lord Jerman will have a bride. God help her.”

  “You know him?” Wills asked him.

  “I do. He’s not the sort of man to whom a young woman wants to be shackled.”

  “And not the way to go about the engagement, either.”

  Her words had him frowning. At once, he stood, straightened his formal frock coat, shot his cuffs and extended his hand to help her up. “Come. Stand. This is no way to go about any relationship. And I owe you a huge apology.”

  “Do not do that.” The moment she gained her feet, she dropped his hand. Her whole body—willful entity—ached to have his arms around her once more. “This is as much my fault.” I wanted this. Had no idea I could respond so irrationally.

  “I owe you that and more.” He watched her as she straightened her bodice and smoothed her skirts. “I must now do as Jerman and pro—”

  “No! Don’t say it! Don’t.” She put two fingers to his marvelous lips. “You will hex us. Certainly yourself. I couldn’t bear it. Reverend Compton, sir,” she said and drew away from him, finding her dignity again, “please do not say that word.”

  He winced and ran two hands through his hair. “We have kissed.”

  And enjoyed it.

  “We have caressed.”

  And loved it.

  “We have laid down together.”

  “And no one will ever know.”

  “Lady Willa—”

  Hating his sudden formality, she frowned. But she had to go on, didn’t she? She pulled herself up to her full commanding persona, the daughter of an earl, a woman of education and means—and she extended her hand to h
im. “We are friends.”

  “My lady, to me you are more—”

  “Wills. My friends call me Wills.” She put a palm to her aching heart. It was breaking that friends was all they’d ever be, she and the dashing, daring, darling Vicar of St. Andrews in the Fields.

  He clasped her hand and in a solemn voice she was certain he must use at funerals, he said, “Wills. This curse is a hoax. And I will prove it to you.”

  She did revere this charming man of God. But he could not disprove her belief and she had to maintain her distance so as not to hurt him. “Reverend Compton—”

  “Charlie. My friends call me Charlie. My father. My n’er do well brother. I am known even to…” He pointed to the ceiling. “Him as Charlie.”

  “My friend,” she said and wanted to cry. “Charlie, you must give up this idea. This was…a time out of mind. You will find another woman.”

  He took her in his arms and once more she felt the precision of how they fit together in body and perhaps, even, in soul. “No. I want you, Wills. Reckless, irrational as it sounds, I have never felt the need to be with any woman like I do with you. I need to laugh with you, sigh with you, love with you.”

  She pulled away to engrave upon her memory the dark handsome creature who had brought such light and gaiety into her dull, grey life. “These moments here must not color your thinking.”

  He lifted her chin with two fingers. “You must realize that I held you and kissed you and the world did not fall apart, Wills.”

  “That changes nothing, Charlie.”

  “Oh, but it does, my dear Wills. Hear me on this. I do not believe that God could be so cruel as to kill me for loving you and wanting you as my wife. Do you think He is so vengeful?”

  * * *

  “No, never!” She uttered the words quickly.

  In this small victory, he rejoiced. He cupped her cheeks and put his mouth to hers. His lips moved on hers in sensuous abandon. His tongue invaded her mouth to sweep away her remaining fears. His embrace told of the strength of his conviction. She answered with a sound of wild fervor. Her arms wrapping him close, her kiss grew hard and needy. She encouraged him with her passion even though he knew she didn’t wish to. Yet, she could not seem to stop. Her mouth, her hands in his hair, they were all rewards for his persistence to court her.