Major Westhaven's Unwilling Ward

‘It seems you can carry on a conversation. With or without a partner, it would seem.’

She frowned, disarmed and ruffled. ‘Now suddenly you wish to agree with me?’

‘It seems so.’ Was that amusement in his eyes? Was he laughing at her, again?

‘Well—how terribly convenient!’ She glared up at him, eyes blazing. ‘What about my mindless chatter, sir? Does it not grate on your nerves how I can speak of nothing but dancing, and cannot comment on foreign policy in the Colonies, the role of the British Army or the state of the economy? Do you not wish there was a fishwife somewhere to divert your attention with her witty banter? Or perhaps you find my banality soothing, as you yourself are so very—’

Her tirade turned abruptly into a startled squeak as, taking her chin none too gently in an iron grip, he stepped forward and covered her mouth with his.

His kiss was almost fierce in its intensity, his lips warm and firm against hers. It was a sensation quite unlike anything she had ever experienced.

Lily, jolted out of her temper by the oddest feeling of awakening, felt with wonder the way her mouth moulded to his, the way her body was filled with an unexplained and tingly longing that started in her belly and spread rapidly outwards. Her lips were tender beneath his, and she felt her eyes closing, unspoken reservations swept away on a tide of arousal.

As if feeling her response, he pulled her closer, his kiss hard, insistent, leaving her in no doubt as to the passion that lay just beneath the surface of his cool manner. She found herself pressed against him, surrendering to the depths of his mouth, allowing his long fingers to brush the rain from her face.

She clung to his lapels, his arm around her back the only thing keeping her upright. Her mouth actively sought his now—and she felt no shame, only an odd sense of completeness, as though their quarrel had in some way been leading to this point all along.

At last he broke away, still holding her to him, eyes smoky with suppressed desire. He was very close, rain glistening on his skin, and Lily, too shocked to speak, could not take her eyes from his mouth. Her knees were threatening to deposit her on the ground at any moment, yet all her brain could focus on was the woody scent of cigar smoke that clung to him.

Then he released her and, abruptly, she came to her senses.

She wished to scream at him, but she could not quite catch her breath. So instead she drew back her arm to slap him as hard as he could.

He stopped it inches from his face, pulled her hard up against him and looked down into her face.

‘Try that a second time,’ he said silkily, ‘and I will show you what it is like to be really kissed.’

‘Let me go,’ she ground out between her teeth, almost sobbing with frustration, humiliation and desire. For she knew, pressed against him, that if he was to keep his promise and kiss her again her body would respond just as ardently. She was disgusted with herself.

He let her go.

Dropping her eyes, she stepped away from him, trembling now not only from the chill rain that still poured upon them, her anger dissolved. Her teeth were beginning to chatter as, utterly wretched, she wrapped her arms about herself for warmth.

‘Is that what I can expect if I am to live under your roof, sir?’

A frown creased Major Westhaven’s smooth features. ‘No,’ he said gruffly. ‘No, of course not.’

‘Then why—?’

‘Come.’ He took her arm firmly. ‘The carriage is here.’

Too overcome to protest much, and puzzled by the expression he now wore—a kind of fierce, guilty regret—Lily allowed herself to be led back to the house, where the carriage had just drawn up.

‘Lily!’ It was Kitty, hurrying down the steps, an expression of bewildered terror on her pale face. ‘Where were you?’

Lily took one look at her and, absurdly, tears came to her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Kitty. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I am fine, truly.’

Speechless, Kitty could only shake her head in confusion.

‘If you will allow me, Lady Stanton.’ Major Westhaven held out a hand, for all the world as though he was not dripping wet, and helped her solemnly into the carriage.

Then, turning to Lily, he took her cold fingers in his, even as she attempted to evade him. Heat flooded her at his touch, and—just for a moment—she was lost once more in his gaze, oddly fascinated by the way the raindrops clung to his eyelashes. He supported her as she climbed into the welcome dryness of the carriage, her skirts clinging to her. Then, coming to herself, she snatched her hand away.

‘I will call tomorrow to discuss arrangements,’ he said.

Brushing aside the hair plastered to her face, Lily made a valiant attempt to pull herself together. ‘Do not trouble yourself, sir. I will not be moving under your roof.’