Page 4 of When Hearts Are Wylde
She looked lovely, of course. She always did. Her gown was a pale shade of lavender, delicate and understated, but it clung to her figure in ways that were deeply inappropriate for his thoughts. Her blond curls were arranged in an elaborate coiffure that looked as though the removal of a single pin would send the entire golden mass cascading down her back. It had happened once, and he remembered it too well.
But something in her was altered. The grace with which she normally moved, the effortless elegance of her bearing—it was dimmed. Not gone, but muted. Tense. Her every step was a study in composure tightly held in place.
Was it his fault? Had his rejection wounded her so deeply?
He discarded the thought at once. Hermione Waring would never allow a man to see her wounded pride. Especially not him. No, this was something else. Not sadness.
Fear.
That realization unsettled him in a way nothing else could. Hermione feared nothing. She’d once faced down a rearing horse with more calm than most men could manage. And yet tonight, she looked hunted.
“Stop making eyes at her.”
Leo turned, unsurprised to find himself confronted by Phinneas Merrick, Viscount Randford—Hermione’s brother and one of the few men Leo considered worth tolerating. One of the few men who knew that there was much more to Leo than the rake and libertine he’d
“I have no notion what you mean,” he replied smoothly, lifting a brow.
Randford crossed his arms. “Change your ways and court her properly—or leave her be. But for God’s sake, stop mooning after her from the shadows before you inadvertently ruin her. Then I’d have to kill you. And against my better judgment, I’m not yet inclined to do so.”
Leo smirked. “Better men than you have tried, Randford… well, worse men, certainly.”
“You weren’t always like this,” Randford said, voice tight. “When we were at school together, you had ambitions to be a scholar of some renown. And now look at you. Dissipation and vice have become your only pursuits… and they are not bringing you any joy.”
“I assure you, Randford, I take great pleasure in all my wicked ways.”
“Fleeting pleasure. But not happiness.”
Leo’s smirk faded. There was undeniable truth in those words. Any pleasures he found in his hedonistic lifestyle were merely distractions from the things that haunted him. But he’d never admit it. “If my prurient nature offends you so deeply, Randford, you are welcome to offer me the cut direct. You would not be the first.”
“I have no wish to do that. Regardless of your current behavior and whatever idiocy my sister has involved herself in with you, we were once friends,” Randford said quietly. “I want you to stop pretending this is all you are. That’s what you want people to believe, isn’t it? That you’re hopeless. That there’s no saving you. But I think you still care. Especially about her.”
Leo didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. Because every word struck closer to the truth than he liked to admit.
Randford started to walk away, but over his shoulder, he tossed a final warning. “Stay away from her. If you’ve no intention of being better than you currently are, stay the bloody hell away from her. Otherwise, there will be hell to pay.”
It was a fair warning, and more of one than most people in Randford’s position would give. So he said nothing.
And as the other man left, his eyes sought her again. And he watched her.
Because whatever had brought that look of fear to her eyes—it would not go unanswered.
Not by him.
It wasn’t only her brother who meant to see her safe.
Chapter Two
Hermione,
Every time you come here, I tell myself it will be the last. But you are sweeter—and more ruinous—than any spirit I have ever consumed.
I know the risks we take. Your brother could call me out for the gall of even speaking to you, much less for indulging in these stolen hours we share. Yet there are some things in life that will always be worth the risk, and you, my dear, are chief among them.
Every terrible thing whispered of me is true. But when I hold you, it makes me wish things were different… that I was different. Instead, I will continue the pretense of being London’s worst rake, a man courting wreck and ruin at every turn, rather than some lovesick fool. Icarus flying too close to the sun.
If that makes me reckless, then so be it. I will meet my ruin gladly, so long as it is at your hands.
Leo
