Page 2 of When Hearts Are Wylde
“The hen has escaped the coop and wandered into the fox’s den, it would seem,” he murmured, still not turning. “A bold move. I might say it is unlike you but that isn’t entirely true, is it? It’s merely unlike the mask you show others.”
“I didn’t wander,” she replied evenly, her voice low and sure. “I chose to come here, Leo. Or have you forgotten your very improper offer to me?”
He had not. Of course, he had not.
It had been weeks ago—he’d been half in his cups at some insufferably dull ball, she’d standing alone by a potted fern watching the dancers with that faintly wistful expression she always wore when she thought no one was observing. He had offered her a waltz—a dance so scandalous that he’d dared not ever ask for one before. Not caring that the matrons were glaring daggers at them, not caring that her reputation teetered precariously on the edge of scandal. And she hadn’t seemed to care either. She’d accepted his offer of a dance and moved with him like she’d been born to do so.
And when the dance ended, he had said something he ought not have. Something that should have prompted her to slap him for his impertinence. But it hadn’t been indignation or embarrassment he’d seen cross her face. It had been curiosity.
“I offered to toss up your pretty skirts and show you how I earned my wicked reputation,” he admitted now, finally turning in his chair to face her. “Though in truth, I believe it was meant more as a warning than an invitation.” Because it had been during that very waltz that he realized she posed as much of a threat to him as he did to her.
She stood just inside the room, her cloak still wrapped tightly around her. Her eyes glinted in the firelight, dark and unreadable.
“I remember your exact words,” she said. “After that, you smiled at me and said I was too clever by half to be taken in by a scoundrel like you, but that if ever I wished to understand temptation, I need only ask.”
“And I meant them,” he said, with a slow, sardonic smile. “But I did not anticipate you’re being bold enough to actually talk up such an offer!”
“Then allow me to surprise you.”
He laughed at that, half bemused and half bitter. “That ship has already sailed. I am stunned… and aware of the fact that we are both courting disaster. I’ve no interest in meeting your brother on the field of honor. Despite his obnoxiously priggish nature, I like the fellow. It’s be a shame to kill him—or be killed by him.”
She was quiet for a moment, then replied, “Then we will not let him know I was here… I can keep a secret, Leo. Can you?”
Christ above, she was the first woman to truly tempt him in a very long time. And his desire to accept her offered company and nothing to do with boredom or base needs. It was simply because it washer. “I’ll keep any secrets you entrust to me. I’mthe rake and libertine they all say I am, but I have some scruples. Inconveniently, it would seem.”
She walked toward him then, her steps not halting but slow, deliberate. Like she was approaching a wild animal or perhaps her own impending doom.
He leaned back in the chair, studying her. “I know you, Hermione. I know you are not the sort of girl who sneaks into a man’s bedchamber for sport. What is this, truly? A wager? A cry for attention? A last gasp of rebellion before some miserable marriage is forced upon you?”
She didn’t answer for a long moment. Then, with deliberate grace, she reached up and unfastened the clasp of her cloak. It slid from her shoulders and pooled at her feet, revealing a simple but elegant ivory gown—demure in cut but scandalous in context. She wore only the thinnest petticoat beneath, letting it drape over the lines of her body in a way that left little to the imagination. She trembled slightly as she lifted her chin to meet his gaze.
“This,” she said quietly, “is the only decision that I have made entirely for myself. And I don’t need you to understand it. I only need you to decide—will you fulfill your promise, or hide behind a sense of honor that only rears its head when convenient?”
He rose then, slowly, with the smooth, predatory grace of a man far too used to getting what he wanted. His eyes, dark and gleaming, locked on hers.
“I should tell you to leave,” he said. “I should warn you again. But it seems neither of us is particularly inclined toward doing what we ought.”
She said nothing. She didn’t need to.
With a low sigh that might have been resignation or surrender—or perhaps desire—he stepped toward her.
“You’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to arrange this little visit,” he murmured. “It would be a shame for you to have nothing to show for it… wouldn’t it?”
He stepped back and seated himself once more in the chair, shielded from the view of anyone who might enter. But he pulled her with him, tugging her down until she was sprawled inelegantly but enticingly upon his lap, her lush curves pressed against him. And then he did the one thing he’d sworn he would never do. He seduced an innocent…
Chapter One
Leo,
I dreamt of you last night. Of us.
I saw you at the Westerhill’s ball—across the room, all elegance and restraint—but I could feel your gaze on me like a touch. And I wanted more than the civility of polite society. I wanted your hands on me, your mouth on mine, the wicked truths you whisper when no one else can hear.
I wanted to feel your touch again… to surrender to the passion and pleasure that only you have ever given me, and that no other man ever could.
Tomorrow night, I will slip away and come to you. Keep the hour for me—and your arms. Until then, dreams will simply have to do.
Hermione
