The rogue to forever, p.23
The Rogue to Forever, page 23
Too curious to remain silent, she asked, “What’s the plan here?” But even asking it, she knew what his reply would be. She’d known him too long to expect anything else.
“The plan?” he shrugged. “The plan is to get you out of here. Then we’ll figure out the rest.”
“But what about this?” She pulled the sides of her skirt outward, as if showing off a new dress to her mother for approval.
“It’s…nice.”
“No. Isn’t it…obvious?”
“We’ll be discreet, Novelina.”
She coughed at the ludicrous nickname. “Everyone will know…”
“Everyone will know that you left. That’s all. No one knows I’m here.”
“Not even Leland?”
“Especially not your brother,” he snapped. “You think I want my head cut off. Nah. I’m quite attached to all my body parts.”
And she couldn’t help it, she dragged her eyes down the very body he referred to. It was—and always had been—quite the specimen. Probably from all his travels. Hoisting sails. Lifting barrels. Paddling. Whatever it was that hardworking travelers did aboard a giant ship crossing oceans. Well…probably not too much paddling then. But his muscles always had a way of intimidating the fabric he wore into wrapping itself tightly around them. Stretching. Coiling. About to tear open. But somehow restrained just enough.
“We should sit down and come up with a plan so that—”
“Etta.” He took one step toward her, effectively closing any and all space between them, including any and all air she needed to breathe. “You leave now with me or you stay.” He tilted his head toward the door. “You know what that means.”
And it shouldn’t have been such a hard choice. She wanted to leave. Despite all the protests and warnings in her head blaring at her as if she were about to make the biggest mistake of her life.
And worst of all, she wanted to leave precisely with him. Even though she should really leave with anyone other than him. Their history. The family tension. There were no points in his favor…except…he was here.
A knock sounded on the door.
“Oh my stars!” Etta gasped. “Hide!”
Wilhem tossed his chin up and crossed his arms. “Where exactly would you like me to hide, Readerkins? Under your skirts?”
“Etta?” A female voice called gently from the other side of the door. “Are you ready?”
Heat flared in her cheeks as if someone held up a torch to either side. “Just…” she looked desperately at Wilhem, “don’t say anything.” A noncommittal shrug was his only reply before a woman snuck into the room.
“Oh—”
“Mary, this is an old friend of m–my brother’s. The Duke of Frompton. Wilhem, this is Mary, Duchess of Wellingford.”
Mary’s glance was more curious than anything, while Wilhem saved all his attention for Etta.
“What’s it going to be, Belletrist?” Wilhem teased with another moniker.
“I-I—”
In a gentle tone, her friend asked, “You’re not coming, are you, Etta?” Etta’s eyes tracked Mary’s who followed Wilhelm, who—incidentally—was still staring at Etta.
“I..”
“I wouldn’t either, if I were you.” Mary nodded to Wilhem. “And he was him.”
The furious blush that had stolen into her cheeks was now heading south. Way far south.
“I found a good duke for myself, Etta. I know it’s worth whatever the cost. Don’t settle for less.”
Wilhem just smirked at Etta while her friend gave completely irrelevant advice. Her and Wilhem? No. Never. That would not ever happen. Not in a million years.
“You heard the wise duchess.” Wilhem extended his hand. “What’s your choice?”
And though she should have thought it through even just a little bit longer, and she probably should have made some pros and cons lists, she didn’t do either of those things.
She simply put her hand in his and ran away from her own wedding.
Two
WILHEM
“This has got to be the worst plan I’ve ever heard of,” Etta grumbled none too quietly while sitting primly next to him in the hackney that they’d been driving around in for quite some time now.
“That’s absurd. There is no plan.”
“Exactly my point, Wilhem.” She shifted in her seat and her unique scent weaved its way through his nostrils, much to his dismay. Damn brain was far too bribable. Always had been with her. And she in her wedding dress, still fiddling with the damn lace on her bodice was enough to drive him to drink. Or back to France. Far away from her. His best-friend-turned-nemesis’ sister. Damn it was complicated. More complicated due to the wedding dress. He never expected to see her in one. Alone. In this close proximity for this long.
“What are you planning to do here? Drive around in this carriage all day?”
Averting his eyes from her heaving bosom, he huffed, “God, no.” He’d hardly last an hour alone with her before something truly scandalous would happen. And there was little doubt in his mind that he’d be the cause of it. “We’ll drive around until just enough time has passed for your groom to be too embarrassed to take you back, but not enough time has passed to ruin you. Then I’ll return you home.”
“To my fuming brother?”
“Better you than me.” Truer words, and all that.
“Can we at least drive out in the country rather than stalling every few feet in the bustling streets of London?” She asked, back to fiddling with the lacey strips on her bodice. It looked as if tugging them at just the right angle may undo a lot of what was doing its job of covering her breasts. He refocused on the topic at hand.
“And risk something happening? I think not.”
“Please, Wilhem.” He could feel her peering over at him. Don’t look up. Do not look up. Whatever you do, do not meet her eyes.
He looked up. Hell and damnation.
Her honey brown eyes instantly melted his resolve. It was a damn good thing that she had no clue the power she had over him else she could take him for a whole lot more than a ride in the country.
“Fine,” he mumbled just before calling out new instructions to the driver. “Are you happy now?”
In response, she crossed her arms and pouted her kissable lips. Forbidden lips. Lips he’d been warned off of long ago. Lips that still met him in his dreams, wrapped around his—
“Converation,” he blurted out. “Let’s converse.” Noise of any kind had to be better than his silent depraved thoughts. “Why on God’s green earth did Leland think you and Ralph would suit?”
She turned her pushed out lips to face him and it took a hell of a lot of willpower to refrain from devouring her. He should have never given in to Tilly’s request—plea, threat—that he rescue her best friend from an unwanted marriage. Especially since that opened Tilly up to possible scandal while remaining in France without him. God only knew what kind of trouble she would get up to on her own, but she had insisted.
“If you must know,” Etta pushed a stray strand of hair from her face, “Leland felt that Ralph was the most stable, reliable, and safe option for his little sister.”
Each word catapulted into his chest. Yes. Stable. Reliable. Safe. Everything that he wasn’t. Of course Leland would choose Ralph as protection for his little sister, despite Etta being braver and stronger than her brother thought.
“He would choose a man like Ralph for you,” he muttered to himself.
“What kind of man?”
The opposite of me. He wanted to shout. But of course he didn’t. In everything else in life, he could be whoever and do whatever he wanted. Around her, he had to hold his cards close. He’d already caused enough tension for a lifetime when he’d made the mistake of asking Leland for permission to court his sister. His best friend (at the time) had laughed his ass off until he realized that Wilhem was serious. At that point, he’d nearly called Wilhem out; instead, he swore off their friendship and kept an incessantly weary eye on him. And the cherry on top? He’d reminded Wilhem of Etta’s desire to settle down. Build a permanent home. Plant roots. Again, everything that he wasn’t planning to do.
“A boring man. That’s what kind of man,” Wilhem responded finally, needing out of his own thoughts.
“Just because he doesn’t impulsively travel the continent and generally live his life on a whim doesn’t make him boring.” See. She thought him impulsive and reckless. Leland had been right. They weren’t meant for each other. Still, that couldn’t stop his desire.
“Does to me,” he argued, feeling like his hands and lips were tied from doing what he really wanted.
“By that logic, I must be boring as well.”
Anything but, he wanted to reply. He only shrugged.
For some time, the carriage rolled on in silence, edging them further into the countryside, bumping along—each jolt of a rock or from a divet renewing within him a sense of guilt.
“I just think—”
CRACK!
The carriage lurched to the side, throwing Etta into his lap. His arms flew around her, pulling her close, tucking her blonde head under his chin. It was a miserable thought, but she fit perfectly in his lap.
“What’s going on?” Her warm breath tickled his neck, and he made a great effort not to move. Especially since he could feel her hands twiddling against his chest. She was probably fidgeting again with those damn tempting lacey bits on the bodice of her dress.
“Sounded like the carriage wheel snapped.”
“That cannot be a good thing.”
“It’s not,” he murmured, refusing to look down at her, knowing she was so vulnerably settled in his lap. Knowing that one glance in the downward vicinity would give him an ample view of her creamy white mounds nestled in her bodice. The vision would give him far too many sleepless and dissatisfied nights of attempted self-gratification. Instead, he needled her. “But you wanted a ride in the country.”
Her body stiffened slightly, which was exactly what he needed. He needed her to be appalled with him so he could respect her brother’s boundaries.
“Well, if you had devised a better plan—”
“I had a plan—”
“Aha! So it was a plan—”
“Are you arguing with me over whether or not I had a plan?” Incensed, he growled. But he also made the irreparable mistake of looking down as he said it. God. He panted. The tops of her breasts were right there. Lickable. Desperately, wild eyes tore away from the vision, only to land on a more powerful view.
Inches.
Inches from his face.
She was mere inches from his lips.
Double damn and blast it all to hell. She released a soft—though maybe angry—puff of air right against his chin.
It was his undoing, and it unraveled his resolve.
Three
ETTA
Oh my God he was leaning in to kiss her. She gripped the lacey parts of her dress hard and fast. This was it. Her grip tightened.
And then a few whooshes of air—and chaos—ensued.
The first whoosh of air came from the bodice piece of her dress falling away from her breasts, exposing far too much. But it all happened so fast that she didn’t even cover up.
The next whoosh of air was a direct result of Wilhem’s gaze skidding to a stop on her bosom. His eyes snapped onto her twin mounds, and she couldn’t help breathing more deeply as he licked his bottom lip.
Another whoosh. A heavy exhale from him that reverberated through her shoulder—which was now pressed into his chest—skirting all the way down through her stomach and out through her toes.
But then an altogether undesirable whoosh came about. The door to the carriage flung open just as Wilhem hid her with his coat.
“Wheel’s busted,” the driver explained, chomping on a piece of straw. “Gotta head into town. Only a mile away. Looks like rain is coming. Might wanna make your way there.” With that, he took off without a backward glance, leaving the two frightfully alone.
“Oh my God.” Etta scrambled off the protective lap she’d been huddled on, reached for the door, and yelled, “Wait!”
And it was at precisely the same instant that Wilhem’s grip on her tightened and he growled, “Wait,” in her ear.
The shockingly possessive tone throttled her, but she couldn’t pay it any mind. Her hand was on the door, tugging it open.
“Etta, stop!” His hands grabbed her waist, yanking her back.
Oomph! They tumbled to the floor, him on the bottom. Her legs tangled with his. Her hair askew. Her breasts mashed against his hard chest. This was not good. Her palms searched for solid ground.
Drat. That was his chest. Her palms were planted firmly on the solid ground of his chest. It would do. Straightening her elbows, she pushed up and flicked her head to get the hair out of her face.
“Good God in Heaven,” Wilhem murmured, eyes roving her face, her lips, and down her bodice. Her body instantly heated with her gaze locked on his lips. His tongue wet his bottom lip, and she couldn’t help it. She let out the softest moan.
This contact with him. It was all she had ever craved. To be close to him. It was an unattainable dream, considering his elusiveness. The man was like the wind. Here one second, gone the next. And though she had once thought her feelings fleeting, they had never done what she expected. That is, to flee. No. No fleeing. Giddy, hot feelings had taken up residence like an undesirable relative outstaying their welcome. They had permanently moved in. What kind of relative did that without asking? God, she was sick of feeling this way toward him. It was the one reason she had agreed to marry Ralph. Perhaps a new husband, a new place, a new future would tear her away from Wilhem.
But, no. Here she was. Lying on top of him. Close to him. Closer to him than she’d ever been.
“Wilhem…” she breathed his name more than she vocalized it. Lost for sound.
“Etta…”
And she wanted to kiss him. Hadn’t he been about to kiss her earlier? And why not? Why shouldn’t she take this small risk? No one would know. She’d be home soon. No one would be the wiser. Wilhem certainly wasn’t going to go around parading the news. In fact, she’d be lucky enough if he drove by her house, opened the carriage door, and shoved her out to roll up to her front door. There was no way he was taking the chance of anyone seeing him with her. His neck was on the line. She knew that much. Though she didn’t know why.
Why was such a useless word sometimes. Sometimes it wasn’t about why. It was about now. And want. No, need.
She dug her knees into the carriage floor and leaned forward.
“Etta,” his tone had changed the second time he said her name. “Wait.”
She leaned back, which in hindsight was a remarkable feat considering how her heart had split in two and leapt out of her chest with his words.
Well…that was that. Rejection. Clear as day. What a fool she’d been. What had she been thinking? Had she even drunk any water today? Her head must not be screwed on tightly. Who was she to think Wilhem, the handsome adventurer, would ever be interested in her, a boring bookworm?
“Why did you pull me back in here, Wilhem?” She snapped at him. “I was trying to stop the driver so we could actually make a plan. Don’t you—”
“Your dress.”
“I don’t care if he knows I’m a bride. It’s not like he was going to tell anyone.”
When her eyes met his, they anchored her. His eyes were dark. Intense. Flush with emotions she hadn’t seen before. His grip on her hips tightened, and a jolt like lightning flew through her body. “It’s not that—”
“Then what is it?” She pressed her palms into his chest. Rubbed deeply. Angrily. “What. Is. It?” She pressed deeper into his chest with each word. “What is it, Wilhem? I could have stopped him—”
“I couldn’t let him see you like that.” His eyes dipped down and traced a path she could feel along her chest, then bounced back up to her face. “I couldn’t let him see…your nipples.”
“What?” she croaked out.
“Your bodice is translucent.”
“Oh.” She’d forgotten about all the whooshes—some might say the most important whooshes—before the final whoosh of the carriage door opening.
An immeasurable flood of fire akin to lava snaked up her legs, and pooled at the juncture between her thighs. And she should have lifted her hands to cover herself. That was the only thing that made any sense. But her hands were so comfortably—rightly—placed on his solid chest where muscles flexed under her grip. So she did the second best thing, which was not even remotely close to a good thing.
She looked down. Dark hair framed a rugged face. Dark eyes that always drew her in far too deep and far too fast. Then, in an idiotic attempt to provide herself some coverage, she squeezed her upper arms into her sides, effectively pushing her breasts closer together.
“Don’t,” Wilhem’s strained voice rasped out, “move.”
Four
WILHEM
“I have to get up.” Perhaps speaking the words into existence would motivate him to follow through on them.
“Yes. Of course,” she mumbled, her voice fading into a wisp. Just as her voice diminished in volume, so too did the pressure of her palms against his chest. The sudden loss of contact would have floored him had he not already been lying there. Prone. Completely vulnerable to her every movement.
He was a cad. A bastard. A blackguard. Damned for all his carnal thoughts of her. But then even more damned for rejecting her. It took courage to take the initiative.
He couldn’t even look her in the eye, knowing the sting of rejection in her eyes would cause his heart to shatter. But he couldn’t have her, and he certainly couldn’t let her have him. If he budged—even an inch—there’d be no turning back.
He pushed himself upright, watching her sink with defeat into the squabs.
