Major Westhaven's Unwilling Ward

Lily glared at him, but shut her mouth tight, desperately trying not to give him the satisfaction of a response, as he seemed so determined to bait her. She crossed her arms and attempted to pretend once more that he was not there.

It was not as easy as she had hoped—plus she was beginning to be cold, now that the energy of scrambling for shelter was no longer required.

Beside her, Major Westhaven shrugged off his coat.

‘Here.’ He draped it roughly about her shoulders where, though damp, it did afford some warmth. Anger overcoming an absurd flash of gratefulness, Lily drew it wordlessly about her, trying not to let him see that she was shivering.

A stillness descended, broken only by the relentless patter of rain through leaves above them. Lily took a deep breath and attempted to regain some semblance of dignity.

‘You need not wait with me,’ she said at length, when the silence was becoming oppressive. ‘Just tell your driver to stop here and pick me up.’

He made no reply, as she was beginning to see was usual for him. Exasperated, she turned to him. ‘If you would be good enough to perhaps go and see what is keeping them? Lady Stanton will be worried, and I do not wish to stand here all afternoon and be soaked to the skin!’

His face grew distant as he looked down at her. ‘I had not thought you the sort of woman to be overly upset by a little rain, Miss Pevensey. Especially as you yourself brought us here.’

‘It is not the rain that has upset me!’ she retorted. The slight stung her, as she remembered afresh his words at Lady Langley’s ball and the original reason she was so annoyed with him. ‘But I find it odd indeed that you had formed any opinion of me as any sort of woman at all, in light of the fact that you barely know me! Although, no doubt, you think otherwise.’

His eyes narrowed. He was looking increasingly out of sorts. ‘Can it be that I have done something else to upset you, Miss Pevensey, other than discipline my own servant?’

She shook her head, amazed at his gall. ‘Odd as it may seem to you, my lord, I do not take kindly to having my character assassinated in public.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Your character?’

She nodded. ‘I am perfectly able to hold a conversation. That I do not choose to do so with you says more about your character than mine. And just because a lady is cheerful it does not mean she is vacant, my lord.’

Realisation dawned in his face. ‘Lady Langley’s ball.’

‘Yes!’ she spat. ‘Lady Langley’s ball, where you seemed so eager to hold forth on the subject of my personality—or lack of one, if I remember rightly!’

‘You were not supposed to hear that,’ he told her, almost accusingly. ‘And, if you remember, most of it was not said by me.’

‘You began it!’ she snapped.

‘They do say, my lady, that eavesdroppers never hear well of themselves.’

‘Eavesdroppers?’ Lily gasped. ‘How—?’

‘Is that not exactly what you were?’

Unable to answer this without incriminating herself, Lily merely glared at him. ‘I am only surprised, sir, that, after such an appraisal of me, you did not retract your magnanimous offer to take me into your home. Or were you hoping to educate me once I was under your roof—make me a little less empty-headed?’

He was silent for a moment, watching the way she stood, eyebrows raised, waiting for his answer. None was forthcoming.

Infuriated, Lily gritted her teeth. ‘I am not usually contrary by nature, sir. There are many who would find me the perfect companion, I assure you, and none of them would presume to speak of me—or to me, for that matter—as you have done. It is no failing in myself that I find you so extremely…’

‘Provoking?’ he suggested helpfully.

She resisted the urge to stamp her foot for fear it would send her up to her ankles in mud. ‘Now you are laughing at me?’

‘I assure you, I would not dare.’

‘Then explain to me why you make such judgements about women you do not know!’

He raised a sardonic eyebrow. ‘Perhaps you should explain why you are so eager to hear my explanation.’

‘Because…Ugh!’ Lily threw up her hands. ‘We are going around in circles. I bid you good day, sir. I will walk from here.’

With that she set off, out from under the tree and across the soaked grass, furious, humiliated and all the while wondering at the strength of the emotions that coursed through her. It had been true, what she told him of her character. She was mild, courteous Liliana Pevensey: unassuming, quiet living and, of late, tastefully coquettish in polite company. How had she turned into the type of woman who shrieked at men in the rain?

It was all his fault—and she would have no more of it! He was an uncivilised boor and about as far from a gentleman as she had ever encountered.

The ground squelched under her shoes, and the rain still had not let up, but Lily gave little thought to these trivial matters—she wanted simply to be as far from Major Westhaven as possible.

Unfortunately, he seemed to be following her.

‘Miss Pevensey.’

Those long legs apparently allowed him to cover ground much faster than she—he was gaining on her.

She swung around, narrowly avoiding losing her balance.

‘Leave me be, sir!’

‘Where are you going?’

‘To the gates to flag down a cab, of course!’

‘I have a perfectly good carriage.’ He sounded as if he was trying to pacify a child, and it infuriated her. ‘And, even if I was willing to explain your unchaperoned departure to your friend, you are unlikely to find a cab out here, I assure you.’

She scowled as he drew level with her. ‘I cannot wait another moment if you are to wait with me!’

He took her arm again as she turned away.

‘Stay.’

It was said with such calmness that she actually paused. She looked at him, his hair plastered to his head with rain—and all of a sudden she felt more wretched than she had in a long time.

‘I just want to go home,’ she said, shoulders drooping as the anger drained from her body. ‘You are quite right, my lord. I have not the character for running about the country with mud in my shoes. If that is what gentlemen wish for these days, then I shall happily remain an old maid.’

A frown crossed his face as she met his eyes but fleetingly.

‘I have truly upset you, haven’t I?’

Something in his expression stung her straight back into fury. She wiped rain from her face and scowled at him. ‘Upset me? Why ever would you think that I have enough substance of character to feel upset?’

‘Perhaps if you would—’

‘You must forgive me,’ she interrupted, ‘but it is not easy to learn that your temperament is out of fashion, sir. Even the most vacuous—the most vacant—of us have feelings!’

She stalked past him, tears stinging her eyes. Must she endure such comments from such a man? Not, she reminded herself firmly, that she cared a fig what this particular man thought.

‘Plenty of your peers find my conversation perfectly satisfactory,’ she snapped over her shoulder. ‘Perhaps you should consider that it is yourself who is wanting, not those of us who are merely trying to make things pleasant for others, so we may all—’

‘It seems I was wrong,’ he said from behind her.

Lily stopped. ‘What?’ She turned to face him as he reached her side once more, mud sucking at his boots.

‘It seems you can carry on a conversation. With or without a partner, it would seem.’

She frowned, disarmed and ruffled. ‘Now suddenly you wish to agree with me?’

‘It seems so.’ Was that amusement in his eyes? Was he laughing at her, again?

‘Well—how terribly convenient!’ She glared up at him, eyes blazing. ‘What about my mindless chatter, sir? Does it not grate on your nerves how I can speak of nothing but dancing, and cannot comment on foreign policy in the Colonies, the role of the British Army or the state of the economy? Do you not wish there was a fishwife somewhere to divert your attention with her witty banter? Or perhaps you find my banality soothing, as you yourself are so very—’

Her tirade turned abruptly into a startled squeak as, taking her chin none too gently in an iron grip, he stepped forward and covered her mouth with his.

His kiss was almost fierce in its intensity, his lips warm and firm against hers. It was a sensation quite unlike anything she had ever experienced.

Lily, jolted out of her temper by the oddest feeling of awakening, felt with wonder the way her mouth moulded to his, the way her body was filled with an unexplained and tingly longing that started in her belly and spread rapidly outwards. Her lips were tender beneath his, and she felt her eyes closing, unspoken reservations swept away on a tide of arousal.

As if feeling her response, he pulled her closer, his kiss hard, insistent, leaving her in no doubt as to the passion that lay just beneath the surface of his cool manner. She found herself pressed against him, surrendering to the depths of his mouth, allowing his long fingers to brush the rain from her face.

She clung to his lapels, his arm around her back the only thing keeping her upright. Her mouth actively sought his now—and she felt no shame, only an odd sense of completeness, as though their quarrel had in some way been leading to this point all along.

At last he broke away, still holding her to him, eyes smoky with suppressed desire. He was very close, rain glistening on his skin, and Lily, too shocked to speak, could not take her eyes from his mouth. Her knees were threatening to deposit her on the ground at any moment, yet all her brain could focus on was the woody scent of cigar smoke that clung to him.

Then he released her and, abruptly, she came to her senses.

She wished to scream at him, but she could not quite catch her breath. So instead she drew back her arm to slap him as hard as he could.

He stopped it inches from his face, pulled her hard up against him and looked down into her face.

‘Try that a second time,’ he said silkily, ‘and I will show you what it is like to be really kissed.’

‘Let me go,’ she ground out between her teeth, almost sobbing with frustration, humiliation and desire. For she knew, pressed against him, that if he was to keep his promise and kiss her again her body would respond just as ardently. She was disgusted with herself.

He let her go.

Dropping her eyes, she stepped away from him, trembling now not only from the chill rain that still poured upon them, her anger dissolved. Her teeth were beginning to chatter as, utterly wretched, she wrapped her arms about herself for warmth.

‘Is that what I can expect if I am to live under your roof, sir?’

A frown creased Major Westhaven’s smooth features. ‘No,’ he said gruffly. ‘No, of course not.’

‘Then why—?’

‘Come.’ He took her arm firmly. ‘The carriage is here.’

Too overcome to protest much, and puzzled by the expression he now wore—a kind of fierce, guilty regret—Lily allowed herself to be led back to the house, where the carriage had just drawn up.

‘Lily!’ It was Kitty, hurrying down the steps, an expression of bewildered terror on her pale face. ‘Where were you?’

Lily took one look at her and, absurdly, tears came to her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Kitty. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I am fine, truly.’

Speechless, Kitty could only shake her head in confusion.

‘If you will allow me, Lady Stanton.’ Major Westhaven held out a hand, for all the world as though he was not dripping wet, and helped her solemnly into the carriage.

Then, turning to Lily, he took her cold fingers in his, even as she attempted to evade him. Heat flooded her at his touch, and—just for a moment—she was lost once more in his gaze, oddly fascinated by the way the raindrops clung to his eyelashes. He supported her as she climbed into the welcome dryness of the carriage, her skirts clinging to her. Then, coming to herself, she snatched her hand away.

‘I will call tomorrow to discuss arrangements,’ he said.

Brushing aside the hair plastered to her face, Lily made a valiant attempt to pull herself together. ‘Do not trouble yourself, sir. I will not be moving under your roof.’

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