all evening to find the traps laid by old Mr. Pratt and trigger them with the sling she'd borrowed. She'd told John that she was only going to seek out the last of the ripe wild currants.
Her guardian didn't approve of poaching, but he didn't think it was Willa's place to stop it. Of course, it also wasn't her place to fell innocent strangers on the lane.
Perhaps if her handsome fellow came walking into the village under his own power, there would be less of a ruckus over her latest escapade. She craned her neck to gaze hopefully into his face.
No such chance. He was most assuredly not in walking condition. Resting her chin on one fist, she gazed at him. She had never been so near a man, especially one so fine.
None of the men she knew would come close to her, fond of her as they might be. Not a one of them would so much as give her a kiss, not after what happened to poor Wesley Moss. And now, with Timothy, her reputation would no doubt spread far beyond.
Why, she might go all the rest of her days without being kissed. Since this man was already unconscious, she may as well take advantage of a unique opportunity.
She leaned over him again, given courage by the growing darkness. He smelled wonderful, like spice and horse and a heady scent she didn't have a name for but that she responded to anyway.
Taking another deep breath, Willa fancied she could smell adventure on him. This was a man who had smelled the scents of the world, she would wager. He'd breathed in exotic scents like those of the dusty streets of Cairo or the perfumed salons of Vienna.
He might even now be on his way to London. This road didn't go there, but Willa knew that it eventually met a greater road south of Derryton, although she had never been that far. Imagine, London!
Willa shook her head. She was being silly. Yet simply the way the man's lips had felt under her fingertips made her all breathless and fairly dying of curiosity.
No one was about. No one would ever, ever know.
Sliding slowly up her fellow's chest in a fashion that made her catch her breath in a whole new way, Willa hesitated. Was it wrong to kiss someone without his permission? Timothy had very politely asked her first. Not that it had done him any good, what with the broken bones and all.
"Would you mind terribly if I kissed you?"
Well, she could quite truthfully report that there was no protest. After running the tip of her tongue over her lips, Willa pressed them to her handsome fellow's mouth.
It was lovely, to be sure, but somehow not what she was expecting. With a disappointed sigh, she slid off his chest and lay low in the grass beside him.
He was terribly untidy, with his coat twisted about and his limbs splayed. If she left and someone else discovered him like this, he'd likely be embarrassed by his disarray. Not to mention that settling him would provide an excuse for her to touch him once more.
By the time she'd gotten him rearranged to her satisfaction, she was out of breath again. Wasn't it odd how touching a hard thigh or a large, roughened hand could take one's very air? Perhaps she should stop touching him if she wanted to ease her breathing.
Leaning on her elbows and tipping her head back, Willa contemplated the growing dusk. She could leave him as soon as the hornets settled. She would go before long, for he had not woken yet, and that was not a good sign.
Just as soon as the hornets settled…
2
« ^ »
The chamber tucked away in a tower of Westminster Palace would scarcely interest the offhand observer, for it was simply a round room whose curved walls were punctuated at intervals by arched panels portraying absurdly idyllic country scenes, frescoed by a nameless artist of a previous century. The colors were dimmed by soot and careless housekeeping, giving the plump peasantry depicted there a grimy quality. Not that anyone noticed.
In the center of the room, beneath a not exquisite chandelier, stood a single round table with four chairs placed
Her guardian didn't approve of poaching, but he didn't think it was Willa's place to stop it. Of course, it also wasn't her place to fell innocent strangers on the lane.
Perhaps if her handsome fellow came walking into the village under his own power, there would be less of a ruckus over her latest escapade. She craned her neck to gaze hopefully into his face.
No such chance. He was most assuredly not in walking condition. Resting her chin on one fist, she gazed at him. She had never been so near a man, especially one so fine.
None of the men she knew would come close to her, fond of her as they might be. Not a one of them would so much as give her a kiss, not after what happened to poor Wesley Moss. And now, with Timothy, her reputation would no doubt spread far beyond.
Why, she might go all the rest of her days without being kissed. Since this man was already unconscious, she may as well take advantage of a unique opportunity.
She leaned over him again, given courage by the growing darkness. He smelled wonderful, like spice and horse and a heady scent she didn't have a name for but that she responded to anyway.
Taking another deep breath, Willa fancied she could smell adventure on him. This was a man who had smelled the scents of the world, she would wager. He'd breathed in exotic scents like those of the dusty streets of Cairo or the perfumed salons of Vienna.
He might even now be on his way to London. This road didn't go there, but Willa knew that it eventually met a greater road south of Derryton, although she had never been that far. Imagine, London!
Willa shook her head. She was being silly. Yet simply the way the man's lips had felt under her fingertips made her all breathless and fairly dying of curiosity.
No one was about. No one would ever, ever know.
Sliding slowly up her fellow's chest in a fashion that made her catch her breath in a whole new way, Willa hesitated. Was it wrong to kiss someone without his permission? Timothy had very politely asked her first. Not that it had done him any good, what with the broken bones and all.
"Would you mind terribly if I kissed you?"
Well, she could quite truthfully report that there was no protest. After running the tip of her tongue over her lips, Willa pressed them to her handsome fellow's mouth.
It was lovely, to be sure, but somehow not what she was expecting. With a disappointed sigh, she slid off his chest and lay low in the grass beside him.
He was terribly untidy, with his coat twisted about and his limbs splayed. If she left and someone else discovered him like this, he'd likely be embarrassed by his disarray. Not to mention that settling him would provide an excuse for her to touch him once more.
By the time she'd gotten him rearranged to her satisfaction, she was out of breath again. Wasn't it odd how touching a hard thigh or a large, roughened hand could take one's very air? Perhaps she should stop touching him if she wanted to ease her breathing.
Leaning on her elbows and tipping her head back, Willa contemplated the growing dusk. She could leave him as soon as the hornets settled. She would go before long, for he had not woken yet, and that was not a good sign.
Just as soon as the hornets settled…
2
« ^ »
The chamber tucked away in a tower of Westminster Palace would scarcely interest the offhand observer, for it was simply a round room whose curved walls were punctuated at intervals by arched panels portraying absurdly idyllic country scenes, frescoed by a nameless artist of a previous century. The colors were dimmed by soot and careless housekeeping, giving the plump peasantry depicted there a grimy quality. Not that anyone noticed.
In the center of the room, beneath a not exquisite chandelier, stood a single round table with four chairs placed
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