Page 40 of Lady Willa's Divinely Wicked Vicar
He pulled her the few steps toward the front door of his cozy limestone home. Across the threshold, he tugged her. And when he shut the door behind her, when he stared down into her eyes, when he cupped her cheeks, when he unbuttoned her coat and tossed it to a chair, she knew her next move was wrong. But right. And necessary.
She stretched up on her toes and spoke on his beguiling lips. “I haven’t missed you.”
“Nor I, you.” He brushed his mouth across hers.
To touch him thus lit fires in her soul. Pulling back, she clutched his arms and stared up at him. Last year, he’d been so respectable to stand apart, to take her hand for mere moments, to dance with only his flashing emerald gaze caressing every inch of her. Last year, he’d been the fine gentleman, the faultless vicar, a pillar of righteousness—and virile masculine desires. “To want you gets me nothing.”
“Only more sorrow. For me as well.” He stepped back, swept two hands through his hair and inclined his head to offer her one of his two chairs before the fire. “You’ve come to talk.”
She sat—oh, dash it all!—of course she did! Sat like a nervous ninny on the edge of the cushion. Words tumbled from her lips. She wanted to summon his mercy. “I’m to have proposals.”
He snorted. “Three to be precise.”
“Someone wrote you?”Others knew of his desire for her?
He shook his head. “I read the papers.”
“Gossip sheets.” She threw him a wicked smile. “Do vicars read such rags?”
“This man does.”
Full of pride in him and satisfaction that he showed his jealousy, she feigned a laugh. “Papa is choosing them.”
“There will be more. And why not? It is the function of fathers.”
“He is disturbed I like no one.”No one but you.
“You will. Many honorable men exist in this world. Do not count any of them out.”
She fastened her gaze to his. “I don’t count themin.”
Charlie frowned and turned his face toward his fireplace. The symmetry of his profile was so perfect her fingers twitched to sketch it. To celebrate his perfection. “Does he know what you think about hurting those you love?”
“No.” She focused on her hands. “He’d call me daft.”
“We know you’re not.”
“I have evidence it’s true.”
“Not so, my darling.”
At his endearment, she was torn in two. Delight registered first because he hadn’t stopped wanting her. Sorrow came next, because he must not address her so unless he wished to disregard all the reasons why they would not match.
He opened his arms, palms up, as if he were inviting his congregation to stand and pray. “Sweet Wills, you have killed no one. They died of war and disease.”
“But I was to marry them and—”
“Did you love them?”
She pulled back. This was the topic she wanted to explore. And so she objected, but only by deflection. “You’re picking a fight, Charlie.”
He nodded. “Indeed I am. You did not really love them. No, you didn’t.”
“God was punishing me for—”
“Forwhat? Being alive?”
“For agreeing to marry them andnotloving them. Yes!”
