Page 4 of Lady Willa's Divinely Wicked Vicar
“As I thought.”
She licked her lips. Plump, pink lips.
He shifted. Tried to smile. Wished for bigger breeches.
She put out her hand. “Lady Willa Sheffield.”
“How do you do?” He put his hand to hers and had the urge to pull her into his embrace and feel those breasts against his chest. But the name Sheffield rang like bells through his brain. She was…dear Christ!The Earl de Courcy’s girl. His father’s worst political enemy. Not that such enmity mattered here to him or her or her circumstances. After all the old gentlemen’s rivalry was political.
She tipped her head and took back her hand. “And you are…?”
“Vicar of this parish. Reverend Charles Compton.”
“Good to meet you, sir. Thank you for the assistance with my problem.” She stepped back, tugging at her gloves, jumpy as a cat to leave him where he stood. “Good day.”
* * *
Wills would have run if her shoes had allowed it. Manners took hold. Didn’t they always? But she made haste because the honorable vicar was definitely all the crack. And if she didn’t hustle and bustle, she would have stood there and panted after him like a fifteen-year-old ninny.
Very inappropriate.
Especially if the man was now dedicated to speaking to the Man Upstairs about her little problem. Well, not so tiny, really.
But quite deadly!
She didn’t want him playing down her problem. He could. Didn’t her father? So of course, the vicar did, when he gaped at her and stifled his laughter at the idea she’d kill anyone with her acceptance of a proposal.
But she was not the cause of this catastrophe!
No. Papa was!
If he would only give her what she asked for. Her dowry. Yes, she’d make use of it, go away to the north…or perhaps the seashore. Yes, there. She’d buy a little house, make friends, embroider, bake bread, and take her rascally Spaniels, Whistle and Thyme, and settle into a quiet life.
Killing no one.
Nor even thinking about what it might be like to stand near to the Reverend Charles Compton, inhale his intoxicating bergamot cologne and calm her fingers as they itched to outline the perfection of his lips and…oh, my.
Compton! She put two fingers to her lips. The vicar was of that family of the Duke of Southbourne, one of her father’s political opponents. A man with new and outrageous views, or so said her father.
“Lady Willa!”
She halted in her tracks. He had come after her? Oh, chills ran down her spine and she wiggled at the thrill of her nipples hardening. My, my, a vicar could excite her, could he? Did vicars have any sexuality? She hadn’t seen it, felt it. Wasn’t that against some heavenly law?
“Lady Willa!” The vicar in all his tailored black splendor caught up to her, grinning. “I say! I’m walking up to the Hall. I shall accompany you.”
“You needn’t.”
“But I wish to. It wouldn’t be proper for me to allow you to go yourself.”
She considered the slant of the sun in the sky. And the mild breeze that ruffled her hair.
“And I’d like your company,” he told her with solemnity. “A friend of Miss Harvey’s, I should think, could become a friend of mine.”
“Aren’t you afraid of that?” She asked though she smiled at him in encouragement. Foolish girl.
“Should I be?” He arched his brows, a merry light in his grass green eyes.
Weren’t men of God supposed to be surly or blue-deviled? This man was…effervescent! “After what I told you, yes.”
