her back.
Her mind working furiously, she forced a sob and deliberately went limp against him. Throwing him off guard was her only hope of escape. “Please don’t.”
“You’re wanting it,” he panted against her neck, speaking in a voice that sounded surprisingly polished for a common footpad. He smelled of masculine exertion, but otherwise did not carry the unwashed odor of the streets. “I plan to give it to you until you’re screaming for more. You’re a fine piece.”
But he relaxed his hold a bit, clearly believing she’d given in. She had to act now. Girding herself, she jerked her head forward and slammed it back with as much force as she could muster, the movement followed by the sickening crack of his nose.
“Arg!” He jerked away. “You bitch!”
Her arms free, she spun away without giving him another look and raced blindly toward the coffee house. The sound of footsteps pounded behind her, gaining ground. A firm hand closed around her arm. She spun around with flailing arms, panicked, but also angry and defiant, determined to fight him off. “Get away from me, you lout!”
Strong gentle hands grasped her wrists, stopping them from pummeling him. “Willa, it is me. Hartwell. Look at me.”
The second her mind registered the words, Willa’s knees gave way and she sank into the warm safety of his body. His steady arms lifted her against his hard chest. She clasped his neck, burrowing her face in his shoulder, soaking up the scent of soap and cheroots, the comforting fragrance that was uniquely him.
“What is that commotion?” a voice said from the vicinity of the coffee house.
“Damnation.” Hart cursed under his breath and ducked into the back door of the building.
“Who was it?” she managed to croak.
“Joanna Rawdon. The lady has a tongue that won’t stop flapping.”
Willa groaned. To be seen now was to assure her complete and total ruination. Forever. They entered the kitchen. The workers paused to gape at the duke with the disheveled woman in his arms.
“Is there a place of privacy?” Hart asked in a commanding tone. It must have been his duke voice, stern and unrelenting. She had never heard it before now.
A young girl showed them into a storeroom with a pallet for a bed in the corner. Three chairs were gathered around a small table. Crates of stores were stacked up against every wall. Hart kicked the door shut behind them. He put her down, but kept a firm grasp of her elbows to give her strength to stand.
Concern pooled in his deep blue eyes. “Are you well? Should I send for Camryn?” His gaze slipped to her torn bodice. “Or a physician?” he asked in a soft voice.
She sank against his chest. “No, no. He didn’t truly harm me. I’m shaken up more than anything.”
His arms closed around her in a warm cocoon. “I feared the worst when I saw you, with your gown torn and your hair—” A gentle hand tilted her chin upward until she looked into the midnight blue of his eyes. Profound tenderness marked his face, gentling the sharpness of his features. “Are you certain he didn’t…abuse you?”
“No, of course not.” She felt a pang of emotion at the caring protectiveness in his voice. “I managed to fight him off. He is probably more injured than I.”
He chuckled softly. “Why does that not surprise me?”
“How did you come to be here?”
“Cam and I met here to take tea. I slipped out to have a cheroot since I could not partake in the presence of ladies. There seems to be some event taking place.”
She’d forgotten. “Lady Rawdon’s tea.” The widow must have arrived early to ensure that everything had been properly arranged. “Thank you for coming to my rescue.” Without thinking, she instinctively leaned further into the warmth of his arms. She knew it was inappropriate, but she didn’t care. He made her feel protected and at the moment, there was nothing she needed more than this safe harbor. She closed her arms around his waist,
Her mind working furiously, she forced a sob and deliberately went limp against him. Throwing him off guard was her only hope of escape. “Please don’t.”
“You’re wanting it,” he panted against her neck, speaking in a voice that sounded surprisingly polished for a common footpad. He smelled of masculine exertion, but otherwise did not carry the unwashed odor of the streets. “I plan to give it to you until you’re screaming for more. You’re a fine piece.”
But he relaxed his hold a bit, clearly believing she’d given in. She had to act now. Girding herself, she jerked her head forward and slammed it back with as much force as she could muster, the movement followed by the sickening crack of his nose.
“Arg!” He jerked away. “You bitch!”
Her arms free, she spun away without giving him another look and raced blindly toward the coffee house. The sound of footsteps pounded behind her, gaining ground. A firm hand closed around her arm. She spun around with flailing arms, panicked, but also angry and defiant, determined to fight him off. “Get away from me, you lout!”
Strong gentle hands grasped her wrists, stopping them from pummeling him. “Willa, it is me. Hartwell. Look at me.”
The second her mind registered the words, Willa’s knees gave way and she sank into the warm safety of his body. His steady arms lifted her against his hard chest. She clasped his neck, burrowing her face in his shoulder, soaking up the scent of soap and cheroots, the comforting fragrance that was uniquely him.
“What is that commotion?” a voice said from the vicinity of the coffee house.
“Damnation.” Hart cursed under his breath and ducked into the back door of the building.
“Who was it?” she managed to croak.
“Joanna Rawdon. The lady has a tongue that won’t stop flapping.”
Willa groaned. To be seen now was to assure her complete and total ruination. Forever. They entered the kitchen. The workers paused to gape at the duke with the disheveled woman in his arms.
“Is there a place of privacy?” Hart asked in a commanding tone. It must have been his duke voice, stern and unrelenting. She had never heard it before now.
A young girl showed them into a storeroom with a pallet for a bed in the corner. Three chairs were gathered around a small table. Crates of stores were stacked up against every wall. Hart kicked the door shut behind them. He put her down, but kept a firm grasp of her elbows to give her strength to stand.
Concern pooled in his deep blue eyes. “Are you well? Should I send for Camryn?” His gaze slipped to her torn bodice. “Or a physician?” he asked in a soft voice.
She sank against his chest. “No, no. He didn’t truly harm me. I’m shaken up more than anything.”
His arms closed around her in a warm cocoon. “I feared the worst when I saw you, with your gown torn and your hair—” A gentle hand tilted her chin upward until she looked into the midnight blue of his eyes. Profound tenderness marked his face, gentling the sharpness of his features. “Are you certain he didn’t…abuse you?”
“No, of course not.” She felt a pang of emotion at the caring protectiveness in his voice. “I managed to fight him off. He is probably more injured than I.”
He chuckled softly. “Why does that not surprise me?”
“How did you come to be here?”
“Cam and I met here to take tea. I slipped out to have a cheroot since I could not partake in the presence of ladies. There seems to be some event taking place.”
She’d forgotten. “Lady Rawdon’s tea.” The widow must have arrived early to ensure that everything had been properly arranged. “Thank you for coming to my rescue.” Without thinking, she instinctively leaned further into the warmth of his arms. She knew it was inappropriate, but she didn’t care. He made her feel protected and at the moment, there was nothing she needed more than this safe harbor. She closed her arms around his waist,
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