Chapter 19
Willow wanted to be elsewhere. Say, beneath the sheets of her husband’s bed. Like she had been the entire night. And morning. And afternoon. At this particular moment, even the library seemed like a splendid idea for a change of location. The cloakroom would also do. Even the linen closet was not entirely off limits. In truth, anywhere in Ambrose’s arms would do.
Instead, they were attending a masked ball. Whose she had failed to notice. Her mind was all misty and fuzzy, and Willow had breezed past their host and hostess almost as if in a dream. An airy nod had been her response when Ambrose had excused himself to converse with Lord Avanley, leaving her with Poppy, who moments after accepted a dance from a masked gentleman.
Willow snatched a glass of champagne from a passing footman, aware a silly grin featured on her face. The bubbly texture and sweetness of the drink was just the thing to accompany her delighted mood. In fact, she hardly glanced at the tall young man who approached her, a wolfish smile planted on his mostly obscured face.
When she continued to feel the weight of his gaze on her, Willow looked up from her champagne flute, her gaze flicking over his silver mask. It covered everything from his hairline to his upper lip. He wore a black top hat over his hair. Did she know him?
“Can I help you, sir?”
“That depends.”
“On?”
“Are you the Duchess of St. Ives?”
The corners of her lips lifted. “That depends.”
His smile spread. “On?”
“What precisely do you want with the duchess?”
“To better our acquaintance, of course.”
His voice. It was familiar.
“You must not have met the duchess’s husband then,” Willow murmured. For then he would know Ambrose would not tolerate a gentleman bettering anything with his wife. Her eyes traveled back to where Poppy was dancing with a nameless lord.
“Oh, I’ve met the scurrilous beast.”
“Oh?” Willow turned to him, suspicion blossoming. “Then surely you would not be so wicked as to approach his wife without a proper introduction?”
He held a hand over his heart. “Ah, but we have been introduced, my lady.”
Recognition dawned.
“Lord Jonathan?”
He laughed. “Do you not just love masked balls? They are so fun.” He offered his arm. “Would you care to take a turn about the room?”
“Happily,” she replied, placing the tip of her fingers on his sleeve. Willow’s mind worked furiously. Now was the perfect time to bridge the subject of Holly and Lord Jonathan’s intentions towards Ambrose’s decree. If she could dissuade him from the marriage, it would be much easier to convince Ambrose to let the matter go.
“I must admit,” he began. “I am beyond pleased my brother married a woman equally as stubborn. I do believe you are good for him.”
A shiver shot down Willow’s spine.
“I’m thrilled you think so. I’m also quite amazed you’re not more concerned with your brother’s plans to auction you off. That does not bother you?”
“Ah, yes. Must say, never thought I’d be the victim of an arranged marriage.”
Willow scowled. “I cannot believe how blasé you are on the matter.”
Lord Jonathan cast a teasing grin her way. “Two women against my brother? If I am not concerned, my dear, it’s because I am certain you will change my brother’s cast-iron mind.”
“And you imagine that is wise?”
He winked at her. “I have lofty expectations.”
“Let us hope your expectations are not shot from the sky,” Willow said, her gaze searching for her husband in the crowd. “You know, if I fail to change his mind, there are other things I will stoop to.”
Lord Jonathan cast a curious look her way. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”
She smiled up at him, her eyes meeting his with unflinching regard. “You should be. So consider this warning: do not marry my sister.”
“Or?” His perfect smile never faltered.
She let her gaze travel down to his nether regions before returning to catch his eyes. “Or you will be limping for some time.”
He shuddered. “Christ, woman.”
She tilted her head to the side, and her lips curled sweetly. “Nevertheless, you ought to know that I will devote my life to torturing you, as will both of my sisters. As will others who care for Holly. Shall I list all the people you can expect to partake in adding to your misery?”
He shook his head with a grimace. “No need for all that.”
“Then we understand each other?”
“As clear as day,” he murmured down at her, a smile once again curving his mouth. “You have sass, my dear, but for the record, I never had any intention of wedding your sister, no matter how delightful she may be.”
“You cannot know how relieved I am to hear that.”
“I imagine you are.”
Willow nodded, recognizing the sharp underlining tone of his voice. A charming devil he may be, but Lord Jonathan was not a man stuffed with straw. When pushed into a corner, Willow could quite easily imagine him to fight like a dog.
They stopped at the refreshments table. “I’m afraid the cantankerous one has spotted us,” Lord Jonathan said.
Willow followed her brother-in-law’s gaze, and sure enough, her gaze collided with her husband’s dark eyes. The impact was so strong it punched the breath from her lips. They bore into hers, hot and knowing. A warm flush spread through her body. There was no stopping the color rising into her cheeks.
“Am I to surmise from your pretty blush that the two of you are getting along well?” Lord Jonathan’s tone was dry with humor.
Willow forced air into her lungs and tore her gaze away from Ambrose. “As well as can be expected.”
“I suspect better than both of you expected. Just look at him. He resembles a bull about to charge.”
Willow felt a smile tug at her lips. “Tell me, have you also received a set of rules from your brother on how to behave?”
Something queer passed in his gaze before he chuckled.
“Is something funny?” Willow demanded.
“Tell me he did not draw up an actual set of rules?”
Willow rolled her eyes. “Ah, so it appears that honor is exclusive to me.”
“Indeed. I am not much of a rule follower, in any case.”
“It is more fun breaking them,” Willow agreed.
“Unfortunately, the fun is almost over.” His smile turned rueful.
She looked at him quizzically.
“The bull is almost upon us,” he clarified. “And he has eyes only for you.”
He has eyes only for you.
Willow tried not to react to those words, but inside her pulse was leaping against her throat. Because she could not help but react to those words. Because she could not help but feel the same way.
She had eyes only for her husband, too.
Ambrose waded through the crowd toward his wife and brother, his eyes never straying from Willow’s face. Candlelight shimmered on her pale skin, her lips curled into a small smile. Jealousy curled inside him, like a wave of swirling knives jabbing in his gut. It was entirely irrational, but damn it all to hell, Jonathan was the charming brother, the likable Griffin. Not anything at all like Ambrose.
He cursed at the direction of his thoughts.
From the moment he left Willow’s side—and he had barely managed that—he’d found his eyes returning to her, again and again, wanting nothing else but to toss her over his shoulder and return to his bed. Their bed.
Thoughts of her soft body pressed up against him, his lips against her bare skin, her wandering hands shooting every thread of his control to hell were never far from the surface. Bloody hell, he had almost lost all restraint and taken her home, expectations be damned.
But he’d managed to keep his head about him, even if the impulse had been hard to control. He’d been content to admire her beauty and bide his time until it was acceptable to leave.
He slowed as he reached them, capturing Willow’s hand and setting it on his sleeve. Her eyes lifted to meet his.
“Ambrose,” Jonathan said. “Good of you to join us. I almost did not recognize you without your mask.”
“Masks are for pups,” Ambrose drawled. “Though I am overjoyed to see you are trading your old haunts in for more respectable events, brother.”
“Nothing as mundane as that, I assure you, but since you married, these events have begun to hold more appeal.”
Ambrose scoffed.
Jonathan motioned to the crowd in way of explanation. “You have the entire ton convinced you are the besotted husband. Splendid work, old chap. You pulled the wool right over their eyes.”
Ambrose tensed. The urge to punch his brother swamped him. He did not require a reminder they were putting on an act, when, in fact, he had never been more in earnest. A fragile bond had formed between him and his wife. The last thing he wanted was for his brother to ruin that.
Not after last night.
Not after Willow had admitted to their mutual attraction. And certainly not after Ambrose was the most at ease he had been in ten years. He was determined to discover where their attraction, their dawning bond might lead them.
“The ton has nothing better to do than create wild stories to gossip about,” Ambrose said, clipped.
“What about me?” Willow queried to Jonathan, batting her lashes at Ambrose. “Do I resemble a smitten wife?”
His belly knotted. Suddenly there was no one else in the room—only her, only Willow. She smiled up at him, and his heart clenched. And for once, he didn’t give a damn. He welcomed the sensation.
“Oh, you are the personification of a loving wife,” Jonathan said merrily, snapping Ambrose out of his spell. “Such a charming creature you married, brother. You must be delighted to have fallen into the parson’s trap.”
“I did not fall; I was pushed over the cliff by father’s will.”
Willow turned her eyes heavenward. “Honestly, let that go already, Ambrose. Your father meant well in his own way.”
“Listen to your wife, brother; it was still the best thing that happened to you, in my opinion, and me, since I was pushed into a hefty purse.”
“You were what?” Ambrose demanded.
Jonathan shrugged. “I might have wagered that it would be a woman, not ripe old age, that’d bring you to heel.”
“You placed a wager on me?” Ambrose bristled.
“I didn’t start it. The busybodies of White’s did. You were an unattainable bachelor; it was the best sort of wager. And I won a hefty purse.” Jonathan waggled his eyebrows. “And now if you will excuse me, I shall squander my winnings at the gambling tables.” With a parting wink, he wandered off to the card rooms.
“Well, I daresay your brother is a cheerful fellow,” Willow murmured, her lashes lifting to him.
Ambrose grunted. “At the moment, he is basking in my misery. It will pass soon enough.”
“You are miserable?”
He dropped his voice an octave. “When I don’t have my hands on you, yes.”
Ambrose loved how her cheeks flushed. Dammit, he was finding it deuced difficult not to cause another outrageous scandal by hauling his wife over his shoulder and marching off like the barbarians of old.
“Perhaps we could . . .” she cleared her throat, “explore the library.”
He cast a faintly scandalized look her way. “I was unaware wives dragged their husbands off to ravish them in dark, secluded corners.”
“Smitten ones do,” she teased back.
A low groan rumbled in his throat at her suggestive tone. The intent in her eyes left him breathless. He did not even pretend that his control wasn’t long gone. It was. Along with his discipline. They all just scattered in the wake of Willow’s presence.
“I am thoroughly scandalized.”
“A novel experience, I’m sure,” she purred.
And then she was dragging him in the direction of the library—and he was happy to follow. Because he was sure there would be lovemaking, lots and lots of lovemaking.