How to Play the Game of Love (Ladies of Passion)

by Harmony Williams

  The thought almost had me in stitches.

  Warren persisted in the conversation. “Fine. If not every woman wishes for a proposal, I know you certainly would. It’s been your aim throughout this party, hasn’t it? To be engaged.”

  I glared at him. He wore an innocent expression. He didn’t look at me, but appeared to be paying heed to the game. For one moment, his gaze swung to rest on me. Our eyes locked.

  I scowled. “Not any proposal will do,” I whispered, struggling to keep my voice soft. “I certainly don’t want one from a rascal like you. I want to be happy. I want to be in love.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “And how will you know when you’re in love with a man? According to rumor, no man can stir that passion in your breast.” He dipped his gaze to my bodice as he said the words.

  How dare he! If I colored now, it was most certainly from anger, not from false modesty. His lewd suggestion made it sound as though he had seen that part of my body stripped bare. I might have succumbed to the heat between us, but even I knew there was a line. I would never cross it, not with any man who wasn’t my husband.

  “I can feel passion,” I spat at him.

  His smile grew wolfish. “I know. But can you feel the tender kind?”

  I almost stomped on his foot once more. I faced forward, struggling to maintain a serene expression. Very low, I said, “I know what love is.”

  Warren didn’t answer. Perhaps he didn’t hear.

  Lady Dunlop applauded as she finished with the last couple and crossed to me once more. The others in the room joined in the applause with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

  “A lovely round,” the hostess announced. “Such great answers from the gentlemen. Now, sirs, it is time for you to be asked the questions.”

  She turned her beady gaze on Warren. With a brimming smile overflowing her face, she asked, “Lord Hartfell, what do you look for in a bride?”

  I shot him a wicked smile. Lady Dunlop couldn’t have given me a better question, if I’d concocted one myself.

  Loudly, I announced, “My ideal bride would be a balding, hunchbacked crone. I love warts; the more she has the better. And dancing? Please, let her have two left feet, so I can touch her at all times on the dance floor when she steps on me. But her looks are secondary to her personality. She must be an ice queen to all men, even me. And if she were pious, the kind of woman who spent more time at church than in my bed, all the better. I should hope she would get along horribly with my mother and eject her from my home. After all, I’m too weak-willed to do anything myself.”

  The longer I spoke, the tighter Warren’s countenance became. He glared at me like he entertained the thought of stomping on my foot, to bar me from speaking further. By the time I finished, he had narrowed his eyes to such a degree he’d almost shut them.

  Lady Dunlop laughed. “My, what standards you have, Lord Hartfell. Do you speak the truth?”

  With the muscle in his jaw pulsing from being clenched so hard, Warren jerkily nodded. The entire room burst into laughter.

  When Lady Dunlop danced away, Warren leaned forward and whispered, “I will retaliate.”

  I sent him a sweet smile. “You can try.”

  Apparently, I’d egged Warren on too much during the game of Partners, because for the rest of the afternoon, he applied himself wholeheartedly to requesting my hand in marriage. I cut him off each time, often with loud, hacking coughs. The entire manor must think I’d developed lung rot.

  Dinner was excruciating. My heel and elbow ached from the well-placed jabs I’d used to keep him quiet. Nevertheless, I emerged victorious once the meal was cleared away. He hadn’t proposed. All I had to do was last through the night’s game, and I’d be declared the winner.

  I couldn’t let Warren win, after all. He may have forfeited the scavenger hunt—for my benefit, if he spoke the truth—but I still hadn’t won. This game was a chance to triumph over him once and for all. An opportunity I refused to let pass, especially knowing how well he liked to win. He may think me a ninny led around by her heart, but I’d prove to him I could be every bit as clever as him.

  On Warren’s arm, I followed Lady Dunlop into the front parlor. When Warren opened his mouth, I laid my gloved hand over his lips. “Not a word,” I warned him. His mouth stretched into a smile beneath my hand, but he held his tongue. I retracted my hand and led him into the room.

  Lady Dunlop announced, “Our game this evening will be Pantomime.”

  I sighed in relief. I defied Warren to find a way to propose when he wouldn’t be allowed to speak.

  Lady Dunlop peered around the room. “Do we have a volunteer to start?”

  Daisy shot her arm into the air. “I will.”

  But Warren detached himself from my side and stepped forward. “Why don’t I, Lady Dunlop?”

  The woman pressed her hands to her bosom as she twittered, “A fine idea, Lord Hartfell. Daisy, you can be next.”

  Daisy’s face fell, but her partner, Arthur, whispered something into her ear that extracted a smile from her once more.

  Lady Dunlop shooed her guests to the perimeter of the room to make room for Hartfell to make his performance. She held a cap filled with slips of paper, prepared earlier. She thrust it beneath Warren’s nose.

  “Choose one,” she said. She shook the hat when he didn’t move fast enough. Her eyes were wild, almost greedy, as she tried to shove the entire artifact into his hands.

  Warren extracted the slip of paper from the very top. Lady Dunlop, satisfied, returned the hat to the table, and beamed at him. “Read it,” she urged. “You must act it out.”

  Warren’s air soured for a moment at her nagging. I chuckled behind the shield of my hand. No doubt he regretted asking to go first.

  As he perused the slip of paper, his eyes gleamed. His smile widened. “My lady, I could kiss you.” As he swooped toward the old woman, I almost feared he would. But he only clasped her by the shoulders and whispered something into her ear.

  She nodded, her jowls shaking with contained laughter, and slipped something into his hand. He strode to the center of the room with two strides and paused. He cleared his throat. Lady Dunlop clapped her hands.

  “Pay attention,” she said, even though most of those gathered were already rapt on the proceedings. “He is about to begin.”

  When everyone settled into an eerie quiet, Warren lifted his hand. He raised it to the sky, turning his face upward then clasped it to his chest. He lowered his gaze, alighting on me, with a sly smile.

  Crossing to me in one big stride, he went down on one knee and offered what Lady Dunlop had given him—a ring.

  “Oh,” Daisy exclaimed. “It’s a proposal.”

  With a smug smile, Warren rose from his stance. He handed the ring back to Lady Dunlop, who strutted forward as she announced, “And Lord Hartfell is the first gentleman to successfully propose. He is the winner of Proposals.” She wagged her finger around the room. “Don’t let that discourage you gentlemen from trying. You can still emerge victorious over your partners.”

  I clenched my fists. “That isn’t fair. He didn’t speak a word. It shouldn’t count.”

  “Yeah,” one of the gentlemen echoed. Pachycaul, from the voice, though I couldn’t pick out the culprit. “Any one of us could have chosen that slip of paper. It was dumb luck.”

  Lady Dunlop turned her eye on the crowd, searching for the man who defied her. Unable to find him, she turned her eye back on me. “I make the rules. And I deem him the winner.”

  She’d been so adamant when he’d chosen his slip of paper. Had she even been hinting for him to choose that slip? It was cheating. I wouldn’t stand for it.

  “Fine,” I said. “If you’re going to arbitrarily define the rules, I won’t play another of your games. Good night.”

  I strode from the room but not before I heard Lady Dunlop comment, “My, she is a temperamental one, isn’t she?”

  Warren chuckled in my wake, joined with a few others. His
low laugh stood out the most, shivering down my spine with awareness. “She is, at that. Let me see if I can catch—”

  I didn’t wait to hear more. I refused to speak with him. He’d cheated. I didn’t want to hear his proposal in the first place, but the least he could do was formulate words rather than thrusting the ring at me like a dimwit. I hiked up my skirts and sauntered up the stairs two at a time.

  “Rose.”

  I faltered at Warren’s voice but pushed onward. I reached the landing and turned to my room. His heavy steps shook the staircase.

  He stopped me by brushing his hand over my shoulder. “Rose. I didn’t mean to offend you. It was only a game.”

  “Only a game?” I whirled on him. “You’ve been on me from the very second the ‘game’ was announced. Whenever you get involved, you always turn it into some kind of war. The only way out is to forfeit or surrender to your manly championship.”

  He chuckled, a smile teasing at his lips. It only made me angrier.

  I jabbed him in the chest with my finger. “You cheated. Lady Dunlop may rule in your favor, but it doesn’t count. Without that stroke of luck with the pantomime, you never would have gotten out a word. In fact, you still didn’t.”

  I lifted my chin in triumph. I had successfully warded away all his proposal attempts, at least the ones with words. If he tried to bend down on one knee again, I would kick him. Someplace tender.

  He stepped closer, slipping his hand around my arm. His touch was gentle, but firm. His gloves were cool against the skin of my arm, left bare by my evening dress. “Lower your voice. They can hear us downstairs.”

  “Or what?” I said loudly.

  He scowled and tugged me with him down the hall, opposite where my room resided. At the first door to our left, he twisted the knob and hauled me inside. He shut the door.

  Darkness enveloped us. I blinked rapidly, but it didn’t help a whit. Not even a sliver of light emerged from under the door to the hall.

  Warren brushed past me. The darkness amplified his touch. His hand loosened from around my arm, almost caressing as it retracted. The lapels of his jacket scraped against my bodice, teasing at my nipples. They jumped to attention, throbbing. Blast, I hadn’t reacted so fiercely with any other man. Why couldn’t I find a less obstinate man to arouse such passion in me? It doesn’t matter. Passion came after marriage, not before.

  I cleared my throat. “Where are we?”

  Warren answered, “Isn’t it obvious? We’re in my room.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  A spark flared to life as Warren used the tinderbox to light a candle on the writing desk.

  I backed away, to the door. “Your room? I can’t be in here.” I turned, reaching for the latch.

  “Don’t go.”

  I hesitated too long. He crossed the beastly small room to ease his hand over mine on the latch. His warmth spread over my back where he bracketed me.

  “Why shouldn’t you be here?” he whispered, his breath tickling my ear.

  It chased a shiver down my spine. I prayed he didn’t notice.

  “We’re engaged, remember? It’s expected. Encouraged, even.”

  I turned, pressing my back to the wood of the door. I tilted my head back to meet his gaze. He stood so close, every inch of my body was aware of his. My body hummed with the desire to press against his. But he didn’t touch me. His presence surrounded me. I squirmed.

  The cool wood of the door was an anchor, granting some clarity to my spinning head.

  “We aren’t engaged.” My voice emerged as little more than a whisper. I dropped my gaze from his eyes—I couldn’t make out their expression, with his back to the candlelight—to his mouth. Long shadows stretched over his face, but I discerned the contours of his lips. “That proposal didn’t count. Even if it had, I didn’t accept.”

  “No?” he said. His lips shifted into a smile. “Maybe you should.”

  I lifted my hands to shove him away, but didn’t find the strength to push him. Instead, I rested my palms lightly against his chest. I traced the buttons of his waistcoat. “Maybe I would if I were given a proper proposal.” Heat crawled up my neck at the admission. What if he didn’t feel the same? This might only be a game to him.

  He raised his hand to toy with mine. His fingers caressed my wrist, the back of my hand. “Let’s get these off you, shall we?”

  His voice was low and rough. With care, he peeled the glove from my arm. He bared my skin inch by inch, starting at my elbow. By the time he reached my wrist, the silk glove shifted against my skin in such an evocative sensation it drove me mad. I panted for breath. He removed each finger from base to tip with a slow, sensuous pull of his finger.

  Then he set to work on the other glove.

  Every inch of my bared skin felt alive, awakened. The starched fabric of his jacket was rough against my palms. Deliciously so. His gaze never left mine as he stripped my hands bare. Would he show as much care to the rest of me?

  I shouldn’t find out. We were utterly alone, and if I let myself, I could take this too far again. With him, I always took things too far. I couldn’t help myself.

  “I don’t believe proposals involve undressing.”

  “No?” A smile teased his lips. “Forgive me. I’m not well-versed in the art of proposing to a woman.”

  When I opened my mouth to reply, he lifted my hand to his lips. My words fled. First, he pressed a kiss to the sensitive underside of my wrist. Then one on my palm. I gasped at the potent sensation. He kissed his way up the base of my index finger to the tip. There, he flicked the sensitive pad of my finger with his tongue. I reflexively tried to pull back at the overwhelming sensation, but he held me firm. He sucked the tip of my finger into his mouth, flicking it again with his tongue.

  My knees weakened. I leaned heavily against the door.

  Warren released my finger with a wicked glint in his eye. “Do you like that better?”

  “I don’t think proposals are supposed to involve…” What, kissing? He hadn’t even made his way to my lips yet and I trembled from the anticipation. “That.”

  Leaning closer, he nibbled his way over my jaw to my ear. “You’ve been proposed to before. I have to make this memorable.”

  I moaned as he flicked my earlobe with his tongue. “Try using your words.”

  Clearly that was the wrong thing to say. He lifted his head. I groaned, trying to tug his face back to mine, but he resisted.

  He snaked his arm around my waist, gathering me against him. He bent and slipped his other arm beneath my knees. My world shuddered sideways as he lifted me into his arms. I dug my fingers into his shoulders, holding myself steady. I reeled from his touch.

  “Set me down,” I whispered.

  “Why?” He turned and the light played over his rough-hewn jaw. The light glistened in his golden hair and sideburns. “I thought you wanted a proposal.”

  “I’ve never heard of any proposal being issued while the lady is in the air. Set me down.”

  He laughed and pressed his lips to mine in a swift, fierce kiss. “As you wish.”

  He let his arms fall limp.

  I shrieked as gravity clawed at me. For a heart-wrenching moment, I feared he’d let me fall. Then the bed took the brunt of my weight, shifting on its ropes as it caught me.

  I pushed myself up on my elbows. “You fiend!”

  “Quiet.” Warren followed me onto the bed, pressing me down into the mattress with his big, stiff body. My breath caught. His weight felt delicious and oh, so sinful. He pressed a kiss against my mouth, starting up that same, slow thrusting rhythm he’d introduced behind the barn.

  Against my mouth, he warned, “If you’re not quiet, someone will hear and come investigate.”

  The breath whooshed out of my lungs. What were we doing? I pushed against his big shoulders, for all the good it did. None at all.

  “What are you doing?” My voice caught on the last syllable as he used his tongue to pay exquisite attention to the ho
llow behind my ear.

  “I’m proposing,” he said.

  “I don’t think it’s done while the lady lies on her back, either.”

  He grinned wolfishly. “Well, you’re impossible to please.”

  Slipping his hand beneath my back to press me against him, he rolled until he reversed our positions. Now he lay prostrate beneath me, while I was in control. I smiled. I rather liked that, actually.

  “How is this?” he asked, spreading his arms wide.

  I shifted against him, feeling the hard evidence of his manhood against my hip. I squirmed up his body to capture his mouth.

  His hands framed the sides of my face. He nipped at my lower lip, soothing the sting with a sweep of his tongue. I nibbled him back. He groaned. The sound rumbled along his chest and over my belly. An ache grew between my legs.

  Warren shifted, sliding his thigh between the crux of my legs. I thrust against him like he’d done with me. It helped to appease the ache, at least a little.

  Gulping for air, I raised my head. “Where is my proposal?”

  “So demanding.” He tried to smile, but it was lost in a wash of lust as I rubbed my entire body against the length of his.

  He groaned. “Rose, you are spectacular.”

  I paused. “A good start.”

  He chuckled, but the noise was strained. He reached up to cup the side of my face. He tucked a strand of my hair away behind my ear, from where it had come free from its pins. More tumbled around my face and shoulders. He pulled the rest of my pins free, one by one, and let them fall to the bed. Then he ran his fingers reverently through my long hair. It cascaded to my waist.

  “You look breathtaking with your hair down. The kind of beautiful I want no other man to ever see.”

  I shivered at the earnestness in his words. He meant them. He wanted me for himself.

  Was that such a bad thing?

  I shifted forward, trying to recapture his mouth, but he dropped his hands to my waist. With quick flicks of his fingers, he eased up the material of my skirt until it bunched over my hips. He guided me to shift position until I straddled him.

  My skirt pooled around my waist. My stocking-clad legs kissed the open air, folded to either side of his body. Nothing he hadn’t seen before. I lowered myself, searching for that kiss, only to gasp as he ground his hips against me. His stiff manhood was now positioned directly beneath my core. The friction made me throb. It drove me mad.