by Diana Quincy
Staring at the package now, her first instinct was to throw it out since she couldn’t send it back but—drat it all—curiosity finally got the better of her. She untied the string binding it and something fluttered to the floor. Another note. She stooped to pick it up. The words were written with a heavy hand in sharp, decisive strokes—not unlike the man who’d wielded the pen.
Forgive the tactics but my apology is most sincere.
Sincere. She knew a thing or two about men and their sincerity. Her father had professed his devotion to her mother but that hadn’t kept him from straying. And hadn’t Augustus pledged his undying regard for her? Her attention returned to the package. She could still throw it out. If only she wasn’t so curious to learn what it contained.
She tore away the paper to reveal some sort of wooden box. Her breath caught as the most exquisite tea caddy she’d ever seen came into full view. The rich scent of dark wood and something faintly exotic drifted into the air. She stared at the intricate swirls of design which was inlaid with both brass and smooth ivory. It was perhaps the most beautiful object she’d ever seen.
Admiring the molded edges, she released the clasp to lift the finely crafted, stepped lid. Inside, the triple caddy contained two glass jars and a bowl. Her eyes widened. The glass jars were filled with tea, but nothing she recognized. Opening one of them, she inhaled a singular musky spiciness that sent her senses swirling. What was it? Closing her eyes, she took in the deep, rich, earthy fragrance again. This tea would be sweet, perhaps malty. Was it from India? She had to taste it. Ringing for Smythe, she asked for tea to be sent up right away.
While she waited, she ran her fingers along the cool dark wood of the tea caddy and her thoughts returned to Hartwell. She smiled, reluctantly admiring his clever gift. He barely knew her, yet this gift suggested otherwise, for he’d selected the one thing in this world she could never bring herself to return. But it didn’t mean she’d forgiven him. And she certainly didn’t trust his intentions any more today than she had yesterday.
…
The following afternoon, Willa set out for the coffee house with her latest blend tucked under one arm. She was in a hurry because the last package she’d sent over had been misplaced. Pamela’s footman swore he’d delivered it, but the women at the shop could not seem to place it.
The timing couldn’t have been worse. Lady Rawdon, the lovely widow who had an eye for Hartwell, had scheduled a gathering at the coffee house today. The anticipated profits would pay the establishment’s expenses, including the workers’ wages, for a month.
Too impatient to wait in the front hall for the carriage to be brought around, she stepped out onto the sidewalk and her heart sank when an opulent coach-and-four bearing the Bellingham insignia pulled up.
A Bellingham footman jumped down from his place at the back of the horse-drawn carriage to open the door. Augustus’ chiseled profile leaned into view. “The lovely Lady Wilhelmina.” He eyed her package. “Are you going somewhere? Allow me to convey you there.”
She looked around. Where was her carriage? Time was running short. Lady Rawdon’s event would commence at any moment. She had to get the tea there in time. “Very well. It will be just a moment for my abigail.”
Augustus extended a hand to help her up into the coach. “No need for that.” A cool smile. “After all, we are practically family.”
She stood her ground well away from the coach. As if she would ever place herself in a position of vulnerability with him again. “I go nowhere without Clara.”
A footman hurried inside to call for Willa’s maid. Only when she finally rushed out, pulling on her bonnet, did Willa allow the earl to hand her up into his coach. Clara slipped in beside her. Augustus took the seat opposite them, his back to the driver. He tapped on the roof, signaling the coachman to drive on.
“I am going to the coffee house on Bond Street,” Willa said. “Do you know it?”
His brow arched. “I do indeed. Although I have to say it is distasteful the way unchaperoned innocents have taken to congregating there.”
Glancing out the window, she wished the coachman would move faster. “It is a perfectly respectable establishment.”
“I should like to announce our betrothal immediately.”
She swung her head from the window to him. “I am not marrying you. I’ve made myself quite clear in that regard.”
“I should think your reputation would not allow you to be so choosy.”
“Whose fault is it that my reputation is not as pristine as it once was?” she retorted while Clara shifted uncomfortably beside her.
“Exactly.” He regarded her over the bridge of his well-formed nose. “I am most willing to rectify it.”
She shook her head, thoroughly exasperated. “I do not wish to marry. Not you nor anyone else.” The carriage lurched to a halt. “Why have we stopped?”
“London traffic is atrocious.” His austere expression chilled. “Perhaps you await your duke.”
“He is not my duke. I don’t know what this feud between you and Hartwell is about, but I want nothing to do with it.”
“Impossible. You are the prize we both intend to claim.”
“Please. Hartwell has no serious interest in me.” She almost laughed at the irony. For years, there had been no suitors save a bevy of fortune hunters. And now both a duke and an earl vied for her attention? “I’m quite the tainted prize, wouldn’t you say?”
His expression firmed. “I don’t intend to lose to that man.”
The carriage inched forward. She regarded Augustus with open curiosity, taking in the sun-shot curls and high-cut cheekbones. Without a doubt, he was pleasingly formed, probably the most handsome man of her acquaintance, yet his presence now left her completely unmoved.
“Why did Hartwell pummel you at university?” she asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?” If her question surprised him, he gave no sign of it. “I was the heir and he a second son with few prospects. I was deep in my cups which gave him quite an advantage during that unfortunate encounter.”
The carriage stopped again. Willa glanced out of the window. She would be late to the coffee house if they didn’t start moving again soon. She turned her attention back to Augustus. “But that was long ago and now he is a duke. Why would the animus linger?”
“Hartwell has always wanted what I have.” His lips twisted into an ironic smile. “Claiming you would be his ultimate revenge. The entire metropolis knows I intend to have you. Hartwell was aware of it even at university.”
“Beg pardon? That was years ago.”
“As your cousin’s particular friend, it was well known to him I planned to return home to pledge my troth to you.”
Disappointment contracted her stomach. Now it all made sense—the flowers, the ride in the park, the incredible tea caddy—all calculated to win her so Hartwell might claim his final triumph over Augustus. None of it had been done out of a real desire to court her.
The carriage jerked to a stop again. Feeling stifled, Willa had to get away. She unlatched the door and jumped out into the crowded street.
Bellingham’s brows rose. “Get back inside here,” he demanded from the window. “You cannot walk on a London street alone. Have you taken leave of your senses?”
When Clara moved to follow Willa, Augustus fixed a glare on her. “Be still,” he snapped. “Your mistress is not going anywhere.”
His high-handed manner grated Willa’s nerves. “Oh, yes I am. Clara, come.”
The earl placed his arm across the coach’s open door, blocking the maid’s exit. “I command you to stay seated.”
Clearly cowed, Clara cast a desperate look at Willa. “Please, my lady.”
Furious at his intimidation of her maid, Willa turned away. “Do not worry, Clara. I’m sure his lordship will drop you at home. I’m late. Walking will be faster.” She tucked the tea package under her arm and started in the direction of Bond Street. “Good day. I shall see myself to the coffee hou
se.”
“Come back here.” His voice growing angrier, he alighted to follow her. “You cannot walk unaccompanied.”
Irritated, but also well aware that he had the right of it, Willa slowed to allow the earl to catch up. It was folly to walk alone on the street. His footman followed at a discreet distance.
“You have never had any sense when it comes to guarding your virtue,” he said as he approached.
Anger burned in her stomach. “Yes, one never knows when a cad will take liberties with an innocent girl.” High handed lummox. She had to escape his company. Weaving through the mass of people, she hurried along, anxious to lose her determined escort.
“Willa,” he called, gaining on her.
She rushed to beat a costermonger who slowly pushed his cart along. Augustus got trapped behind the man. She made her way through the masses, sidestepping the throng of people to avoid being jostled. Her heart thumping, she ignored Augustus’ calls and forced herself not to look back. She didn’t slow her gait even after she lost the earl somewhere far back behind her.
She had never walked alone in Town. If Mother learned of this, she’d never hear the end of it. But she was as good as ruined and never intended to marry anyway, so she may as well enjoy experiencing the world on her own terms. Exhaling, she slowed to take in the scene around her. Fruit sellers called out, advertising their wares. The carts and drays jostled for a lane. People hurried along with their purchases.
A small boy stepped in front of Willa, startling her. “Flowers, my lady?” He pushed a bouquet up to her. Smiling and without breaking her stride, Willa reached into her reticule and tossed him a coin. A huge grin lit the unwashed boy’s face as she moved on, leaving him with both the blunt and his flowers. Turning away from the child, she halted when a dray with a heavy load stopped in front of her. She stepped around it just as the cart lurched forward.
Willa’s pulse hammered at the thought of being out alone among this human traffic. Yet it felt freeing, exhilarating even, to be on her own in this way, seizing control of this small sliver of her life. Even the malodorous smell of sewage, unwashed people, and rotting fruit did little to hamper her quiet joy.
Forcing herself to breathe evenly, Willa ducked into an alley which provided a shortcut to the backside of the coffee house so she would not be seen entering alone. Hugging the tea to her chest, she maintained a determined stride. Just a little ways more and she would be there.
Something rustled behind her. Willa’s breath hitched and she quickened her pace. It was probably just a rat. Another swish sounded even closer behind her. Trying to convince herself it must be a very large rodent, Willa did not turn around. She had the rear of the coffee house in her sights now. A few more steps and she would be there. Footsteps pounded close behind, gaining on her. It was no rat. At least not the four-legged kind. Willa sprinted toward the coffee house.
Someone grabbed her arm. She screamed and tried to snatch it away. Her assailant’s grasp firmed as he slammed her front-first up against the rough wall of the building next to the coffee house, knocking the breath out of her. Heart pumping, she struggled in vain as his unyielding body pressed hers firmly against the wall. He made a sound of appreciation and something much more primal. Fear clawed her insides. He wrenched her wrists high above her head while his other hand reached around to fondle her breast before ripping her bodice, tearing away the delicate fabric of her chemise.
She choked out a cry when he jerked her wrists higher over her head, the jolting pain tearing at her armpits. She struggled against his superior strength, desperate to wrest her arms loose, her panic growing when she registered his arousal firming against the small of her back.
Her mind working furiously, she forced a sob and deliberately went limp against him. Throwing him off guard was her only hope of escape. “Please don’t.”
“You’re wanting it,” he panted against her neck, speaking in a voice that sounded surprisingly polished for a common footpad. He smelled of masculine exertion, but otherwise did not carry the unwashed odor of the streets. “I plan to give it to you until you’re screaming for more. You’re a fine piece.”
But he relaxed his hold a bit, clearly believing she’d given in. She had to act now. Girding herself, she jerked her head forward and slammed it back with as much force as she could muster, the movement followed by the sickening crack of his nose.
“Arg!” He jerked away. “You bitch!”
Her arms free, she spun away without giving him another look and raced blindly toward the coffee house. The sound of footsteps pounded behind her, gaining ground. A firm hand closed around her arm. She spun around with flailing arms, panicked, but also angry and defiant, determined to fight him off. “Get away from me, you lout!”
Strong gentle hands grasped her wrists, stopping them from pummeling him. “Willa, it is me. Hartwell. Look at me.”
The second her mind registered the words, Willa’s knees gave way and she sank into the warm safety of his body. His steady arms lifted her against his hard chest. She clasped his neck, burrowing her face in his shoulder, soaking up the scent of soap and cheroots, the comforting fragrance that was uniquely him.
“What is that commotion?” a voice said from the vicinity of the coffee house.
“Damnation.” Hart cursed under his breath and ducked into the back door of the building.
“Who was it?” she managed to croak.
“Joanna Rawdon. The lady has a tongue that won’t stop flapping.”
Willa groaned. To be seen now was to assure her complete and total ruination. Forever. They entered the kitchen. The workers paused to gape at the duke with the disheveled woman in his arms.
“Is there a place of privacy?” Hart asked in a commanding tone. It must have been his duke voice, stern and unrelenting. She had never heard it before now.
A young girl showed them into a storeroom with a pallet for a bed in the corner. Three chairs were gathered around a small table. Crates of stores were stacked up against every wall. Hart kicked the door shut behind them. He put her down, but kept a firm grasp of her elbows to give her strength to stand.
Concern pooled in his deep blue eyes. “Are you well? Should I send for Camryn?” His gaze slipped to her torn bodice. “Or a physician?” he asked in a soft voice.
She sank against his chest. “No, no. He didn’t truly harm me. I’m shaken up more than anything.”
His arms closed around her in a warm cocoon. “I feared the worst when I saw you, with your gown torn and your hair—” A gentle hand tilted her chin upward until she looked into the midnight blue of his eyes. Profound tenderness marked his face, gentling the sharpness of his features. “Are you certain he didn’t…abuse you?”
“No, of course not.” She felt a pang of emotion at the caring protectiveness in his voice. “I managed to fight him off. He is probably more injured than I.”
He chuckled softly. “Why does that not surprise me?”
“How did you come to be here?”
“Cam and I met here to take tea. I slipped out to have a cheroot since I could not partake in the presence of ladies. There seems to be some event taking place.”
She’d forgotten. “Lady Rawdon’s tea.” The widow must have arrived early to ensure that everything had been properly arranged. “Thank you for coming to my rescue.” Without thinking, she instinctively leaned further into the warmth of his arms. She knew it was inappropriate, but she didn’t care. He made her feel protected and at the moment, there was nothing she needed more than this safe harbor. She closed her arms around his waist, pressing her body closer to his, buoyed by his heated strength.
He hesitated at first, but then seemed to understand. His arms tightened around her, the full length of her body snuggled against the hard curves of his, the clean scent of him embracing her. Hart dropped a soft kiss next to her ear and then just held her as she needed to be held. She closed her eyes, trying to regain a sense of security in the sanctuary of his arms.
&nbs
p; After a few moments, she forced herself to pull slightly away to look into his eyes. Instinctively, she reached up to kiss his cheek. At the same moment, he turned his head as though to release her and their mouths collided.
His entire body stiffened, his shock obvious. But his lips caught and kept hers. Soft and gentle, he gave her the lightest of kisses, as though she were fragile and could shatter at any moment. Warmth and tenderness swelled in her chest and her sense of balance wobbled, her legs feeling like glowing masses of air.
Somewhere far away a commotion sounded, loud voices followed by the door to the storeroom being flung open. Willa almost protested when Hart’s lips pulled away, leaving her dazed and swaying on her feet.
“You sodding bastard.” Cam stood on the threshold with his legs braced apart, hands fisted at his sides, the look of astonishment on his face mutating into a feral snarl when he took in their embrace and her ravaged gown. “I’ll kill you for this.”
Chapter Seven
Hart barely registered Cam’s words on account of the pounding in his ears. Realizing he still held Willa’s soft sumptuousness in his arms, he gently disengaged from her, guiding her to sink into one of the hard chairs at the small wooden table.
Turning to face his friend, he said, “I can explain.”
“Stubble it, you white livered son of a bitch.” Cam’s voice shook with fury. “You will explain it to my saber while I’m running you through.”
Willa’s murmur of protest distracted Cam. He moved to kneel before her, wrapping his hands over hers. “Willa? Did he harm you?”
She held the fabric of her torn gown together over her chest to cover herself. “No, of course not.”
