“Congratulations,” she said, smiling at him. “You are the first gentleman on the marriage market this year to see the true Lavinia.”
“Who would want to?” he snarled. “I pity the man who marries that termagant. He’ll find out on the wedding night, no doubt. Poor sod.”
Eliza Kennet had entered the room and was trotting toward them, her face alight with excitement. Having no wish to see her gush over Alaric, Willa decided to surrender the field. “Please excuse me, gentlemen,” she said. “I’ll follow my favorite termagant.”
“I don’t want to discuss him,” Lavinia snapped, as Willa joined her. “The man is outrageous … offensive. I can’t imagine why anyone thinks it appropriate to have him in the house. He’s not domesticated.”
“Worse than Sweetpea?”
“Far worse. Sweetpea is learning. That man is a cur, one who’s been given his own way far too many times.”
“It’s probably that air of command he has,” Willa said. “Like an admiral.”
“Like a spoiled boy who has been coddled,” Lavinia retorted.
“Somehow I don’t think Mr. Sterling has been coddled,” Willa said. “But let’s join Diana, shall we? I want to know what she bought from Mr. Calico this afternoon.”
The answer was unexpected.
Diana drew them down on a sofa to sit on either side of her. “I saw nothing I wanted for myself, but I bought presents for both of you. I’m so grateful to you for coming to my betrothal party.”
Opening her knotting bag, Diana gave them each a gold locket, oval in shape and embellished with seed pearls and scrolled designs.
“This is exquisite,” Willa said, opening it and inspecting the compartment, which could handily carry a needle and thread.
“You shouldn’t have,” Lavinia cried, “but I absolutely love it, Diana. Thank you!”
“My mother prefers French jewelry,” she answered uncertainly.
“Your mother has excellent taste,” Lavinia said.
Diana nodded. “I would have chosen them for you, because I like you so, so much. But …” In truth, the pieces were too costly for a gift between friends, and Diana knew it.
She stopped helplessly.
“I adore this locket,” Willa said. “It’s useful as well as beautiful, and in my estimation, that’s high praise for a person or a locket.”
“I shall pass my Wilde locket to another admirer, and wear this instead!” Lavinia cried.
“Everyone is talking about you and Lord Alaric,” Diana said to Willa, lowering her voice. “He’s never shown such marked attention to a lady.” She turned to Lavinia. “They’re also talking about you and Mr. Sterling.”
Lavinia snorted. “I would ignore him, but it’s like ignoring an enormous, surly dog that snarls at you from the corner.”
“Is Lord Alaric a snarling dog as well?” Diana inquired.
“No,” Willa said. “He’s decided I’m a challenge.”
“Why does it matter if he thinks of you as a challenge?” Lavinia asked.
“He’s a man who would climb a mountain simply because it’s there,” Willa explained. “He doesn’t see me as a person.”
“He’s monstrously wealthy, well-born, and handsome,” Diana said, dismissing the question of identity.
“His face is stuck on bedchamber walls all over England,” Willa said flatly.
“That is a drawback,” Lavinia conceded. “I spent an entire year kissing the print in which he’s wrestling a polar bear every time I left for French class. And I had French five days a week.”
Diana’s brows drew together.
“For good luck,” Lavinia explained.
“I don’t want to be ‘conquered’ by someone who thinks of me as a polar bear he’s wrestling to the ground,” Willa said. “Nor do I want my husband to be a good-luck token for schoolgirls.”
“Kissing a print is not the same as kissing the actual man,” Diana pointed out. But she sounded uncertain.
“I’m curious about what will happen to the prints Mr. Sterling bought,” Lavinia said. “If he wasn’t so rude, I’d give him mine to add to the pile.”
The duke and duchess were slowly making their way toward the drawing room door, which signaled it was time to go upstairs to dine.
Willa didn’t have to glance around to know that North was headed toward Diana, and Alaric toward her. She stood up, overwhelmed all of a sudden. “I believe I will take dinner in my chamber. I have a headache.”
“Are you ill?” a deep voice asked, as a hand settled on the middle of her back.
Lavinia and Diana rose. “Good evening, Lord Alaric,” Diana said.
Lavinia echoed the greeting, adding, “Did you learn to walk so silently in the jungle?”
“Please don’t tell me you own the print depicting me swinging from a vine?” Alaric groaned.
“I do indeed!” Lavinia said, grinning.
Having outgrown her infatuation, Lavinia seemed to have decided that she liked Alaric. That wasn’t her polite smile; it was the one she reserved for friends.
“Please excuse me,” Willa murmured, feeling an even stronger desire to get out of Alaric’s presence. He was pursuing her with every weapon in his arsenal. But to what end? He was an adventurer, a man who would wander away. Right now, she was the challenge—the mountain that simply happened to be there—but if she gave in, he might turn his attention elsewhere.
At that idea she felt a surge of emotion stronger than she’d felt in years. It made her lightheaded.
Without another word, she bobbed a curtsy and headed for the door.
Chapter Fourteen
Alaric watched Willa leave with a rising sense of disbelief.
She didn’t have a headache. She was avoiding him.
He poked at the idea the way one’s tongue pokes at a sore tooth. He was surrounded by women longing to spend time with him, so it shouldn’t matter that one young lady didn’t feel the same.
Willa was extraordinarily beautiful, but the world was full of lovely women.
His brooding was interrupted a second later as Eliza Kennet attached herself to his arm. Trying politely to shake her free, he realized again that his retinue—as it were—was a genuine problem. He could hardly carry Sweetpea around in a basket to ward them off.
The only thing he wanted to do was follow Willa. Scoop up that tantalizingly curved bottom and throw it over his shoulder.
Go to bed.
Go to bed and never climb out. Not for at least a week, until he had memorized the contours of her body. And the colors. He was fascinated by the darkness of her eyebrows against her pearly skin. Thick, dark-tipped eyelashes. Not a freckle to be seen.
Perhaps she had hair like a raven’s wing, hair that would swirl over a man’s chest when she sat on top of him, taking her pleasure, riding to her heart’s content.
Or perhaps it was a deep mahogany, the color of tree trunks at twilight.
Bloody hell.
He really was losing his mind.
THERE WAS NO sign of Willa the following morning at breakfast. Nor did she appear at luncheon.
Aunt Knowe caught him after the second meal and informed him that his presence was required at archery, to even the numbers. Teams of two would advance to the archery range and take their turns with bows and arrows.
“It’s Diana’s favorite sport,” she explained. “North has had a set of arrows with brass filigree made for her.”
They silently acknowledged between them that lavish gifts would not win North his fiancée’s heart. In fact, it crossed Alaric’s mind that Diana might accidentally shoot his brother, but he pushed it away.
There were better ways to avoid marriage than manslaughter.
Willa’s arms were slim but taut. Perhaps she was an archeress as well. She couldn’t hide in her room forever. “I’d be happy to,” he told his aunt.
She snorted, shrewd eyes on his face, but said nothing, for which he was grateful.
The duke had erected a tent on the lawn, where guests could take refreshment and seek shelter from both wayward arrows and the midsummer sun. The moment he appeared, Lady Biddle curled her fingers around his arm and claimed him as her partner. Willa was still to be seen, so he followed Helena from the tent to the archery field.
She took the first turn, squealing as her arrow missed the target. After the third such failed attempt, she demanded he stand behind her and show her how to hold the bow. When he complied, she promptly nestled her arse against him.
“What’s that I feel?” she giggled, rubbing against him like a cat in heat.
“Nothing,” he stated, which was the truth. He glanced at the tent, where everyone was enjoying lemonade. Some were watching, but they were out of earshot.
He turned her around and caught her eyes. “I’m going to be very blunt, Helena. I am not interested in having an affaire with you.”
Her face reddened. “It’s that girl, isn’t it? Willa Ffynche. You think to marry her. The marriage won’t succeed.”
“Oh?” He picked up his bow, took careful aim, and released the string. The arrow whipped forward with the sound of slashed wind, and slammed into the center of the target. He lowered his bow. “I cede this match.”
“You’ll have to cede your hope of that particular marriage,” Lady Biddle said, her voice sharp. “May I point out that your image is spread all over England—precisely so that ladies can drool over it in the privacy of their bedchambers?”