Chapter Two
“C ome on, Will. You’ll be glad you let us persuade you to come to the party. You wait an’ see.”
The noisome fellow hanging around William’s neck as they strode down the still muddy street toward the outskirts of the village was supposedly one of his great pals, or the great pal of whoever this Will was he’d been mistaken for. It couldn’t have been his father as these lads were his age, so he was back to musing about who and what kind of fellow this Will was. Could it be that he had what the Germans called a doppelganger? He’d read about such things in books but hadn’t believed they could be true.
When he’d come down to the tap room after a long, soothing soak during which his mind had kept turning to thoughts of the phantom Lucinda, he’d been greeted by raucous calls from a group of young gentlemen, all of whom addressed him as Will, and attested to their long and intimate acquaintance. They’d bought him a pint and he sipped, letting their talk wash over him as he tried to piece together the character of the unknown William. He quickly came to the unfortunate conclusion that he looked astonishingly like a person who might otherwise be his complete opposite.
Will of Twywell seemed to be a bounder and a rake who apparently debauched women on a regular basis and bragged unceasingly about what he’d done. A ne’er-do-well who’d never worked a day in his life and who lived off a pension his mother had from the father who’d deserted them as soon as the boy had been born. Not the best start to life, to be sure, but still the man didn’t have to be such an all-out scoundrel. The more William heard about his alter ego, the more he thought about poor Lucinda, pining for a man who would likely take her tender heart and tear it asunder.
Sipping his pint, William couldn’t help but feel sorry for the lady. She didn’t deserve such treatment, or at least, he didn’t believe she did. Not that he knew anything about her, but every young lady deserved to be courted by a true gentleman. By the time William reached the bottom of his glass, he’d determined that by rights, he should attend the party, if for no other reason than to meet the fair Lucinda and show her how a true gentleman treated a lady. Who knew but that she might very well prefer him to the dastardly Will. If so, he might very well win her heart in a single night. Then he could put Sylvia’s rejection firmly behind him and give his love to a lady truly worthy of it.
The idea that he could accomplish this by engaging in one small deception tantalized him more than William could withstand. So when “his” cronies suggested they set off for the party, William joined them wholeheartedly.
The house they turned up at was impressive, by more than Twywell standards too. It sat back off the road, two stories of pale-yellow masonry brick with a covered stoop boasting two white plaster columns. The upper windows were dormered, the lower ones adorned with open green shutters. A very respectable house, which meant Lucinda must be respectable as well. And the tavernkeeper had said she was well dowered…
William perked up as they tromped up the few stairs and entered the dwelling to find the festivities well underway. A small orchestra played a country dance to which a longways set of couples were dancing enthusiastically. More than thirty people must be milling about the rooms decorated with paper streamers and bunches of pink and yellow posies. Looking around avidly, William was immediately struck by the direst of his problems—he’d no idea at all which young lady was Lucinda. Of course, he could ask one of his companions, but even in their inebriated state, they might think it strange that he didn’t recognize the lady he’d known all his life.
Feigning interest in getting a drink, William sauntered off toward the refreshment table in search of something other than ale. He wanted to keep his wits about him in the event he actually discovered who Lucinda was. The lemonade seemed the safe choice, although when he took a cautious sip, the overbearing sweetness set his teeth on edge. Holding the glass loosely in his hand and pretending to swallow every now and then, William kept a keen eye peeled for a young lady who seemed as though she might be looking for him.
Pretty young ladies seemed to abound in Twywell. Besides the dancers, there must be eight young ladies laughing and talking with the others, seeming not to care about anything at all. Save for one young lady, in a beautiful pale-peach gown with lovely embroidery around the hem. The lady herself was just as stunning—golden hair piled up on her head with ringlets framing her face, blue eyes beneath sooty lashes gazing about the room in impatience, flawless creamy skin, and a slender neck that stirred William more than a little. What would it be like to nuzzle that swan-like neck, to drink in her delicate scent, to make bold with her as they pretended not to notice how closely they stood together in an innocuous country dance. Gazing at this vision, William experienced a tightening in his groin he’d not felt in a very long time.
“Will! Thank goodness.” The vision’s face split into an impossibly wide grin, her cornflower-blue eyes widening in excitement as she glided toward him. “I was afraid you weren’t going to come.”
“And miss the chance to dance with you?” William bowed, his stomach tying itself in knots. “How could you think that of me…Lucinda.” He blushed to think he was calling a complete stranger by her first name, but dash it, it was the only one he had.
“Then shall we?” She gestured toward the floor where the longways set had just broken up. “They will make up a new one in a few moments.”
“I’d like nothing better in the world.” William offered his arm to her, wishing again that he had on dry clothing. His shirt, pants, and hose were dry and warm, but his jacket hadn’t dried sufficiently and he’d brought no spare with him. So the gloved hand she placed in the crook of his elbow might come away damp.
They stopped, allowing the set to make up around them. William hoped against hope the dance would be one in which they would take hands often. The warmth that followed whenever Lucinda touched him might sustain him throughout the entire night. Unless he could find a way to ensure she touched more than simply his hands.
*
When Lucinda turned to find William Fitzwilliam staring at her across the room, she thought her heart would beat its way out of her chest. The intense blue-eyed gaze swept up and down her as the chiseled face broke into a broad smile. Lord, but this was her chance. “Will! Thank goodness.”
Without even murmuring an excuse to Jane Cummings with whom she’d been chatting, Lucinda beamed at him and struck out across the polished floor, her kid slippers skidding dangerously as she hurried toward the handsome rake. “I was afraid you weren’t going to come.”
“And miss the chance to dance with you?” Will bowed elegantly. “How could you think that of me…Lucinda.”
Swallowing convulsively, Lucinda could scarcely speak. Will had never looked at her so appreciatively, with frank interest in his eyes. Could it truly be this easy? “Then shall we?” she managed to croak, then cleared her throat. She couldn’t jinx this now. Putting forth her most engaging smile, she gestured toward the spot where the previous dancers were moving away. “They will make up a new one in a few moments.”
“I’d like nothing better in the world.”
She took his arm, hoping he couldn’t feel the trembling that had started in her stomach but was making a rapid ascent throughout her whole body. “If I’d known you’d ask for this dance I’d have instructed the musicians to play a waltz.”
He glanced over at the three men conferring over their sheets of music. “I’m certain it’s not too late to make that request.”
Lucinda’s mouth dried to dust. He wanted to dance the most scandalous, intimate dance with her. She opened her mouth to say, “What a wonderful idea, Will,” but all that came out was a pitiful, mewling sound.
“Shall I go tell them?”
Certain he must think her a complete ninny, Lucinda smiled and nodded in short jerks of her head, the only thing she could manage. When he turned to go, she grasped her upper arm and gave herself a severe pinch. Ouch! She sucked in a breath through her still smiling mouth. Hopefully the sharp pain would clear her head and make her focus on charming Will instead of proving herself an addled nitwit.
He returned to her, his smile like that of a cat with feathers sticking out of its mouth. As he reached her, the strains of a waltz began and he grasped her hands, assuming the intimate stance the dance required. Gazing deeply into her eyes, he started them off twirling, twirling, one set of hands clasped and raised above their heads, the other resting very familiarly on each other’s waists. Occasionally, as they spun, their bodies would touch briefly, causing Lucinda to gasp. Each time they brushed together, she believed she would swoon.
The pace and position changed, as she slid her hands to his shoulders while both of his hands rested on her waist. And then breathing almost became impossible as they began a series of spritely turns, all the while gazing deeply into each other’s eyes. No wonder this was labeled the most scandalous of dances, although it never had it seemed so wicked when she’d danced it before. But being so close to Will, his touch burning its way into her soul, she understood with crystal clarity the dangers of this dance. Because it led irrevocably to thoughts of their bodies touching in other, even more intimate ways. His smooth, sleek body naked before—
“Are you quite well, Lucinda?” His words broke into her thoughts as though he’d pulled a locked door opened, spilling light into the dark recesses. “Your cheeks are terribly red and you seem out of breath.”
With good reason. Her cheeks should be afire, given that she’d been imagining Will without a stitch of clothing. “I…I am rather…out of breath, I fear. Would you take me outside for a breath of fresh air?” Perhaps the cold, rain-soaked wind would bring her back to reason. “That may be best.”
“But it’s still pouring.” He glanced out the window and frowned. “I’d hate for you to ruin that lovely gown. And you could take a nasty chill.” His gaze bore into her. “Is there somewhere else I could take you to catch your breath? Somewhere more…private?”
So the Fates were indeed offering Will to her, on a silver platter, no less. Well, so be it. “There’s a quiet drawing room upstairs. Perhaps you could take me there?” Lucinda gulped. “I may need to lie down for a moment.”
“Shall I fetch someone else to help you?” The offer was thoughtful, mindful of what could happen to her reputation. Not at all what she’d expect from an unrepentant rake. Perhaps Adriana and the whole village had misjudged Will. Only she had seen the possibility that he was a good man underneath his reckless deeds.
And now she was the one to be reckless. “Oh, no. I don’t wish to alarm anyone.” Reluctantly, Lucinda dropped her arms from his shoulders. “I will be fine with a few minutes rest.” She glanced around until she discovered her cousin, laughing with Mrs. Toliver, the blacksmith’s wife. “It’s just this way.”
Immediately, Will offered his arm, but instead she took his hand—the staircase was narrow and they’d have to go single file up it in any case—and flames of fire licked their way up her arm when their hands clasped. With another surreptitious glance at Adriana, Lucinda turned toward the stairs. She didn’t care that this was not the proper way to get a husband. All that mattered was that she got this man for her husband.