Chapter Sixteen

The magic Emily wrought on my hair and dress was wasted on this party. For all that it was supposedly the annual Week of Love, not a single man caught my eye. Seated at Lady Dunlop’s side with Mary for my dinner partner again, I had plenty of time to survey the prospects.

A title meant not a whit to me. It was the man inside I cared for. A romantic, charming man who loved me with a fierceness I matched. Not a hulking barbarian who didn’t believe in love.

And who didn’t stop staring at me throughout the entire meal. With the chatter Mary kept up, I tried to ignore him, but every time I glanced down the table, his face was turned toward me. With the shadows and the distance, his expression was indecipherable. I breathed a sigh of relief when the dinner concluded and Lady Dunlop led us down the corridor—this time, to a different sitting room.

We crammed into the room, decorated with so many flowers it resembled Francine’s greenhouse. The room didn’t offer enough places for the gentlemen and ladies to sit, so we stood in clusters while the chaperones claimed the seats of honor. Mary, Francine, Daisy, and Arthur stood in a close knot to my right.

Waiting to one side of the room for the mumblings to settle, Lady Dunlop drank in the attention of her guests. She fluffed her hair and let the silence drag on. Finally, she announced, “Our next game will be Magic Music, but there will be a twist.”

“Of course there will be,” Warren muttered under his breath.

I jumped. He stood at my elbow. When had he managed to insinuate himself there?

Although he spoke too low for Lady Dunlop to decipher his words, she pinpointed his grumble. She grinned at him. “Thank you for volunteering, Lord Hartfell.”

Several other gentlemen sniggered. I covered my mouth with a hand to hide my smile. He had brought that one on himself.

Lady Dunlop sat at the pianoforte. Finally, the switch of sitting rooms made sense. She needed music to play the game. She stretched her fingers and caressed the keys.

“Instead of finding or moving an object,” Lady Dunlop announced, “Lord Hartfell will move around the room searching for the young lady he will kiss.”

Her gaze lingered on me. Oh no. Did she hold it against me that Warren and I hadn’t finished the scavenger hunt?

In a cheerful voice, the hostess explained, “The same rules of Magic Music apply here. When the music is loud, you are nowhere near your target. When it is soft, you grow close. When I stop playing, you have found her. Are we clear?”

Her eyes snapped, daring anyone to argue with the propriety of the game. At least she didn’t specify where the kiss would be. The hand or the cheek would do nicely.

Beaufort, a reprobate, chuckled. “Can I volunteer for the next round?”

“Of course.”

His smile slipped. I giggled. No doubt he’d expected a denial. He resumed his debonair air of carelessness. For the first time, I wondered if it was an act.

“Move to the door please, Lord Hartfell,” Lady Dunlop requested. “As soon as you do, we will begin.”

The moment Warren separated from my side, I shifted closer to Francine and Mary. Mary wore a glower on her face, daring Lady Dunlop to choose her as the culprit for the kiss. I almost wished she would. It would make for some exhilarating entertainment. Especially if Warren were the man destined to try to kiss her. Mary might try to punch the poor man in the mouth.

If he were shorter, she would do more than try. She would succeed.

Francine nibbled on her lower lip. Her dimples winked into existence. “Is this quite proper?” she asked me. “I don’t have any frame of reference. I mean, we’re chaperoned.”

Indeed, no one’s virtue would be compromised from this one kiss, though there might be exaggerated rumors. If I knew Lady Dunlop, she would quell those by continuing until every gentleman had kissed every lady.

“It’s fine,” I told her. “If he stops in front of you, offer your hand. It’s the ladylike thing to do.”

Mary snorted. “Ladylike, indeed. I’d like to see her stop him in front of one of the gentlemen.”

I nearly burst into giggles at the thought. My, that would be an image. I could just imagine the face Beaufort, for instance, would make. But no, Lady Dunlop had specified that Warren would kiss a lady, and I had a sinking suspicion of who that lady would be.

I eyed Lady Dunlop as she poised her hands over the keys. She appeared the very image of innocence, but she’d been forcing Warren and me together at every opportunity. What had started at his cousin’s prodding had been taken up by Lady Dunlop when she’d seen some spec of an inclination on his part. Never mind that I loathed the man. Lady Dunlop was too busy envisioning marriages sprouting where none would flourish. And Warren was too egotistical to see that I dreaded his company.

As he stopped by the door to the sitting room, Lady Dunlop pounded on the keys. The loud, discordant notes formed only the smallest semblance of music. I cringed. My hands rose to cover my ears before I forced them by my side. I couldn’t possibly be so rude.

However, moving to the opposite side of the sitting room, that I did posthaste.

Warren strode into the throng with quick strides, his face mottled with the pain of the music. The music softened. Everyone in the room gave a collective sigh.

I glanced over my shoulder. My stomach curled into a knot at his approach. A tingle plagued the tips of my fingers, as if every nerve in my body sang at the expectation of his kiss. Not a real kiss, I promised myself. If it would bring an end to the hideous music, I’d bear a chaste kiss with grace. The music grew ever softer. It halted as he reached me. I stretched out my hand.

Warren looked from me, to the spinster with the sour face who happened to be standing beside me. He took a step toward her, but Lady Dunlop struck the piano keys once more. He hurriedly stepped in front of me once more.

The spinster sidled away, her chin high in the air. I hoped she wasn’t offended at Lady Dunlop’s matchmaking. I hoped Lady Dunlop wouldn’t see her left out; for all that she was a chaperone.

Warren took my hand in his. He used it to anchor me in place as he stepped even closer, chest to chest with me. His lips descended. My breath caught. Surely he wouldn’t kiss me on the mouth in the middle of this crowded room!

I turned my face to the side at the last moment. His lips brushed the corner of my mouth. I gasped at the sensation. Warren raised his free hand to bracket my face as he turned me, kissing me full on the mouth.

He held my head steady as he tried to deepen the kiss.

“No.” I thrust him away. I stumbled back so quickly I tripped over the settee. I staggered, my cheeks burning. We relived our stolen moment in the pastel sitting room—but this time, we had an audience.

I caught Warren’s gaze, held it. I didn’t dare speak a word out loud. My voice lodged in my throat. Kissing me in private was dastardly in itself. But kissing me in public?

Unforgiveable.

I brushed past him and dashed out of the room.

His heavy sigh overpowered the murmurs of the group. “Miss Wellesley…”

I didn’t want to hear it. I barreled down the hall toward the back, and the freedom that beckoned outside. So what if the rain poured out of the sky in buckets, the storm whipping drops of it into the glass panes of the door? At least he wouldn’t follow me.

“Rose—”

As he brushed my arm, I stumbled. His grip firmed. It kept me upright but anchored me close as he spun me to face him. I fought him off and backed up a pace, desperate to put some space between our bodies.

“How could you?” I clenched and unclenched my fists. I refused to touch him, even to do violence. I held my ground.

He raised his eyebrows. The glimmer of a lantern, burning low with oil, washed across his face in a yellow glow. One half of his mouth rose in a smile, as if he hoped I’d join him.

He was sorely mistaken.

“It’s perfectly all right. Expected, even.”

My mouth dropped open. “What’s expected?”

“For you to kiss your fiancé.”

My head spun before I recalled that silly proposal he’d given me two nights ago. Pretend we are engaged.

I think not. I stepped closer. I dug my finger into his chest. “I am not your fiancée.”

“No?” He raised his eyebrows. “You feel like you are when we kiss.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

This close, the heat of his body beckoned to me. It would be so easy to lean into him and forget for a moment that I was angry with him.

“Kiss me and find out.”

I almost did. My head was tipped back to meet his and when I raised myself on tiptoe, his breath teased my lips. My mouth tingled with expectation. Then I recalled that he was Lord Warren Hartfell, the perpetual thorn in my side. I stepped back.

“No.”

His eyes slid shut. He gave a strangled groan. “Rose, please.”

“We aren’t married, Warren. We aren’t engaged.”

He met my gaze, his blue eyes glimmering in the light from the nearest lamp. “Would you have me if I asked?”

“No.” The word slipped out on instinct. My mind reeled. Was he proposing to me? We grated on each other’s last nerves. It would be a horrible union.

He grimaced. “Then why bring it up unless you’re fishing for a proposal?”

My back stiffened as I drew myself up. “I do not need to fish for proposals. I receive plenty. Men beg me to accept their hands.”

Something hot and urgent crossed his face. For a moment, I mistook it for anger. When he stalked toward me, it wasn’t the gait of an outraged man. It was the prowl of a predator as it cornered its prey. I gritted my teeth and held my ground. He couldn’t scare me.

He stopped inches away from me. “I’m begging you now. Kiss me.”

Not again. When I kissed him, I forgot about propriety.

“I dream about you every night.”

My lips parted at his hoarse confession. Did I affect him as strongly as he affected me?

“I wake up aching for you, Rose.”

The breath gushed from my lungs. No man had ever admitted anything so scandalous to me. I should be embarrassed or offended. Instead, a throb gripped me. My mouth, my breasts, between my legs. I craved the feel of his body against mine.

“Kiss me, please.”

I rose onto my tiptoes, tangling my fingers in his hair as I pressed my mouth to his. He guided his hands over my shoulders to the small of my back, using his touch to urge me nearer. He kissed me back fiercely, passionately, as if he couldn’t get enough. His hands splayed over my back, holding me tight.

This. This was what I yearned for. The hot crush of his body to mine, the silky feel of his hair beneath my hands, the masterful thrust of his tongue.

I gasped as I came up for air. “You never take what you want. You always wait for me to initiate…this.”

“I’m not in this for a fleeting moment. I want you to choose me. No one else.” He moved his mouth to my neck, nibbling. Waves of tingles washed over my body. I couldn’t think.

A man cleared his throat.

Warren and I jumped apart. I squinted into the shadows, but the lamp left me half blind.

The man said, “Lady Dunlop requests your presence in the sitting room once more. But, uh, I suspect she’ll be happy if you decide to stay out a few moments more…”

Beaufort. My heart skipped a beat as I recognized his voice. He spun on his heel, striding with purpose to the sitting room. I clapped my hand to my mouth, staring after him in abject horror.

He’ll tell. And then what? Horrifying scenarios presented themselves in succession, dizzying spirals leading to Warren and I on the altar—or him married to the fiancée I didn’t believe he had, and me destined never to find love.

I had to stop Beaufort from telling. I’d bribe him, if I had to. Though with what, I didn’t know. He was as rich as Croesus.

I brushed past Warren. He tried to curtail my movements with a hand on my arm. Even that simple touch ignited me, but I pushed those confusing emotions aside. I retreated from him.

“We have to go back,” I said. “We have to salvage the situation before Beaufort tells the whole world.”

Warren chuckled. His long, loping footsteps vibrated through me as I trotted toward the sitting room. My heart lodged in my throat. Why wasn’t he panicked?

“We’re in the country. Who will he tell?”

“Anyone.” My voice was shrill. I pressed a hand to my fluttering heart, trying to calm it. “The post comes to the country, too. One letter is all it will take.”

Silence stretched on between us. Eventually, Warren said curtly, “I’ll speak to him. Convince him to keep silent.”

Relief weakened my knees. “Thank you.”

I passed my hands over my face, trying to compose myself.

For all that I had kissed men before, I made doubly and triply sure never to be caught doing it. It was a cardinal sin in the eyes of the ton. Never mind that half the young ladies did the same thing with their suitors.

But Warren wasn’t a suitor. He was only an annoyance. How could I have let him goad me into something that reckless? And out in the hall, for anyone to see.

With a hand on my shoulder, Warren guided me into the sitting room. He stepped in behind me.

Lady Dunlop stopped the music. “Ah, Miss Wellesley, Lord Hartfell. Kind of you to join us again. We’ve made a change to the rules. The gentlemen must now kiss their partners on the cheek or the hand, to prevent the offense of the ladies. I do hope you’ll forgive me for not introducing the rule sooner.”

My cheeks heated like a furnace as every eye swerved toward me. Thrusting up my chin, I stepped farther into the room, away from Warren.

Beaufort cleared his throat. He stood in front of a pair of gentlemen. He indicated them with a hand. “I do hope this is not an indication of whom I must kiss?”

“Oh, dear me, no.” Lady Dunlop clasped her hand to her bodice as she laughed. She set her fingers to the keys again, pounding out a punishing tune.

But there was a gleam in her eyes as she rested her gaze upon me once more. I feared her matchmaking attempts were far from over.