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“No,” she gasped as he withdrew from her, pulling her chemisette down. “Why did you stop?”
“With you, I have no control. I will not make love with you for the first time here. I will have you in my bed where I can worship your body as you deserve,” he said, almost reverently.
A sensual smile curved her lips, and she lifted her face to his. “Kiss me,” she invited.
“What the blasted hell is going on?”
The snarl of rage had her freezing in shock. Alasdair rolled from her in one smooth motion.
Willow trembled. Who was it?
“Easy,” Alasdair murmured when she scrambled to her feet. “He saw nothing.”
“Unhand my sister, Westcliffe.” The voice was stiff with anger.
She felt Alasdair’s heat retreating.
It was Quinton. Why was he here? He should be in London with Grayson and her father. Her knees wobbled. She was compromised. She would not wed Alasdair under these circumstances, under any circumstance. How could she have been so reckless? While she knew the lake was exposed, no one visited at this time of the day.
The cool breeze that wafted over her skin had a shiver skating over her body.
A scent of tobacco and oak moss drifted close, and then rough hands started to dry her hair.
“Do not make the error of bruising her skin because you are angry,” Alasdair warned. The cold rebuke in his voice was startling. The command in it had her brother stiffening, but he halted his rough actions.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
She had always been closer to Quinton than Grayson, and she could only imagine the anger Quinton must be feeling at the thought she had been taken advantage of. He had been the one to punch Lord Trenton for his behavior. He had been the one to encourage her the most to be brave and fight to be independent of their family’s overprotectiveness.
“He did not take advantage of me, Quinton. It was I who was bold and inappropriate.”
“Be quiet Willow, I will speak with Quinton.”
She ignored Alasdair’s command. “I will not have my brothers and father force you to do what they believe is honorable. If he had remained in London, there would be no ruckus.”
“Devil take it, Willow, this is serious business,” Quinton snapped.
A blanket was draped over her, and she clutched it close.
“It is only dire if you make it out to be. I ask you to keep our confidence, Quinton. I would not want father to know what you witnessed.”
Virulent curses slipped from his lips. “I will take you home.”
“Quinton—” Alasdair began.
“No, Westcliffe, I know your position, and I am aware of what you are seeking. She is my goddamn sister, and you knew you were not up to scratch.”
She stiffened. The rage in her brother’s tone had apprehension skittering up her spine. What did he know about Alasdair?
“Do you believe you could ride on my horse?” Quinton asked her.
Her head swam. “No,” she managed to push the words past her lips. He knew she had never been able to seat herself on a horse since her accident. “Take the curricle,” Alasdair offered quietly. “I will walk back.”
She felt the tension that snapped between the men and regretted it. They had been the closest of friends as long as she could remember. She would need to speak with Quinton, so he understood this was her decision, and she had not been coerced. For a sense of doom had been twisting inside of her since his appearance. He would try to force her to do the right thing, the honorable thing. But he and her family would never understand that is exactly what she would be doing when she rejected the offer of marriage that was sure to come.
Chapter 7
“What the hell were you thinking?” Quinton snarled hours later as he strode into Alasdair’s library.
