Page 14 of A Viscount’s Reluctant Passion

What he suggested was somewhat outside the bounds of propriety, yet… It was true that she would find it easier to discuss his wish to court her in such a place. She did not want the gossips to overhear whatever was said. And if she was to marry him, then what did it matter that she might be alone with him now? Still, she felt somewhat chilled at the thought. She could not imagine him kissing her, as Lord Challoner had – and what would she do if Lord Walter wanted to kiss her? The dance turned them about, and Bea’s thoughts were as complex and tangled as the steps. But she had made a decision that evening, and she would stick to it.

“I will, Lord Walter.”

There, it was done.

His smile widened, and she felt, in that moment, rather as she thought a mouse in the stable must feel, when discovered by a cat. For the smile was almost predatory. She gave her head a little shake – she was imagining things again, foolishly.

They said nothing more, for the rest of the set, and when the dance ended, he escorted her to Honour, as was expected, then bowed and went across the room. She watched as he disappeared through a door into the hallway which led, she assumed, further into the house. She waited a short while, then told Honour that she needed the ladies retiring room, and set off towards that door.

She was not prone to lying, and her heart was pounding as she stepped into the hallway. Determined, she proceeded, passing a few incurious servants as she went past the door to what was obviously the card room, and further from the ballroom. Finally, through a part open door, she saw the tall shelves of books.

She slipped through the door, and let it fall to almost closed behind her. A low fire burned in the grate, and candlesticks had been set on the mantlepiece, and on low tables close to a couch before the fire. The rest of the room was in near darkness, but for the sliver of moonlight that came through a crack in the drapes over doors which led to a terrace.

A man sat on the couch, and she knew by the glint of light on his pale hair that it was Lord Walter. She went forward, and sat beside him on the couch, a little disturbed that he had not risen when she entered. He turned towards her, and she felt, again, like that mouse. He reached out a hand, and stroked a finger down her cheek, then lower, down her neck, and across her shoulder towards her breasts.

No heat followed it – rather an icy chill settled onto her skin. This was not what she had expected, but she realised that she was a fool indeed to have thought he would only wish conversation. She had been taken in by his charm it seemed.

“Lord Walter… what…?”

“Do you welcome my suit, Miss Wormsley? Have I been charming enough to capture your affections?” There was an edge to his voice which she did not like, although the words were unexceptionable. When she said nothing, he continued, “Do you not have an answer for me? Perhaps a kiss might persuade you.”

He gave her no time to reply, but simply took hold of her with both hands and pulled her to him, his mouth coming down upon hers, hard. For a second, she was frozen, revolted by the sensation, then instinct took over, and she fought, trying to push him away, to turn her head away.

She knew, with utter certainty at that point, that she could never marry this man. When she struggled, he simply lifted one hand and forced her face back to his, holding her as still as possible with the other arm.

She was trapped, and horror filled her – what if someone discovered them?

~~~~~

She had played right into his hands – literally.

Her request for privacy had saved him the trouble of concocting a reason to get her alone in the library, and the timing was perfect. Perhaps he should have been gentler, but he had wasted weeks already, attempting the soft approach, and now, seeing her rather delectable body so close, with no one to stop him, he had simply allowed himself to take what he wanted.

There was time for him to enjoy himself, and make her ruination complete, and completely obvious, before Lady Caterton and Lady Elhough appeared – as he knew they would, at the appointed time, for they were amongst the most insatiable gossips of the ton. The anonymous note he had sent them was guaranteed to cause them to do as he wished, and rush in to ‘discover’ him in a compromising position with Miss Wormsley.

He would happily weather the scandal of having compromised her, for the sake of marriage and her dowry. And she should not care – after all, scandalous gossip already attached to her, with respect to her parentage.

Now, with her squirming in his grasp, he felt a delicious rush of lust – he was hard, and so very ready to enjoy the delights of her pleasantly curved body. He almost laughed at the pathetic nature of her resistance – he was far stronger, and that resistance only fuelled his desire more. He deepened the kiss, and slipped a hand to her breast.

~~~~~

Nash had arrived in London later than planned, on the very day of the Belmonton Ball. After a few hours’ sleep, a bath, and good food, he felt more ready to face the dreaded social whirl. Whilst he was worried about the situation at Harringdon Park, he knew that nothing more would happen there for two weeks or longer.

So tonight, he would permit himself the pleasure of seeing Miss Wormsley again, perhaps even of dancing with her, although that was not really wise, no matter how much he craved it. Chase had grinned at him, and nodded, in an annoyingly superior way.

“So little brother, you have actually come back to London, just for a Ball. The attractions of Miss Wormsley must be great indeed, to cause you to overcome your hatred of social occasions.”

Nash had not dignified it with an answer. Now, as they rattled across the cobbles towards Belmonton Hall, he was filled with impatience – to see her again. They were later than he had hoped, but there was no moving Chase any faster than he wanted to go – and the Marquess of Travers was renowned for arriving ‘fashionably late’.

When they entered the ballroom, his eyes searched every corner. He did not find her. He looked again, slower. Her sister and Blackwood stood off to one side, chatting with friends. Perhaps she was dancing? He studied the couples who moved on the floor. She was not among them.

Disappointment settled into him, like a ball of lead in his stomach. Perhaps she was not at the Ball at all. When, a few minutes later, Travers had fallen into conversation with a group of his cronies, Nash decided that he needed to escape. He did not wish to stand there, looking forlorn, alone. Perhaps there was a library, where he could hide himself, and come to terms with the lowering fact that he had come back to London just to see a specific young lady, and she, even knowing that he had hoped to be at this Ball, was not present.

He asked a footman for the direction of the library, and, following his instructions, went down the corridor past the card room, from which loud conversation could be heard.