Kiss of a Traitor by Cat Lindler Read Free Book Online Page B

may turn a pretty leg, but he has sampled the favors of every loose woman from Georgetown to Charles Town. In fact, last week he boasted he killed more men and bedded more women than any other man in America. Should you care at all for your virginity and want to avoid the pox, you’ll not dare to spark his interest.”
    “Willa,” Emma sputtered, applying her fan furiously. “I vow, such scandalous talk. Your father would have apoplexy to hear you speak so boldly.” But her amused expression showed less shock than her words indicated. With a sigh and obvious reluctance, she turned her gaze away from Tarleton. “I wonder when your betrothed will arrive. Then, the night is still young. I suppose ‘tis fashionable for a peer to make a late entrance.”
    “Better never than late,” Willa quipped.
    Emma laughed. “I do believe I have no other friends as outrageous as you. I daresay I enjoy your company immeasurably because of your honesty and outspoken opinions. I always find your spirit refreshingly delicious, though I should never dream of being so courageous.”
    An hour later, while Willa and Emma sipped tepid punch and Willa considered disappearing into the garden in search of a breeze, the footman’s voice bellowed over the throng. “Major Aidan Sinclair, the Right Honorable Lord Montford.” A hush fell over the room, and every eye gravitated to the portal at the top of the stairs.
    Emma clutched Willa’s arm, jarring the cup of punch in her hand. It spilled over her glove and sent a wide red stream down the front of her satin skirt. “Good heavens, Emma!” She wiped at the stain with her handkerchief. “Look at what you have done. Perspiration has splotched my gown, powder is melting on my face, my wig is askew, and now I look as if I took a swim in the punch bowl.”
    “Never mind that. You have a more pressing problem.” Emma’s fingers almost bruised Willa’s arm. “Your fiancé has arrived. Look.” She pointed with her fan.
    Willa’s hand froze, the handkerchief and stain forgotten in her curiosity over the note of caution in Emma’s voice. She directed her gaze to the back of the man approaching her father. He was large, no, in truth, massive seemed a more apt description, like a hundred-year-old cypress tree. Instead of wearing his uniform, which was the custom in wartime Georgetown, he sported a plum satin jacket. Lime-green silk knee-britches fit trunk-like legs as snugly as a second skin. Blinding yellow stockings with cherryred stripes met his britches at the knee. Mountains of lace circled a thick neck and dripped from wide sleeves. Shiny ruby-red shoes with high heels adorned enormous feet. The most elaborately coiffed wig she could have imagined existed covered his head and, of all things, was a bilious shade of pink. He embodied every woman’s walking nightmare, hers in particular. She pressed a hand to her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.
    Colonel Bellingham appeared taken aback by the colorful apparition bowing at the waist before him. But he quickly recalled his manners and returned the greeting. Then frantically searching over the heads of the crush, he located Willa and beckoned. She exchanged a helpless glance with Emma. Her friend, at last, was speechless. Waving her fan back and forth slowly, Emma stared openmouthed at the baron.
    Willa pushed through the press of bodies and made her way to her father. Her lips twitched with ill-concealed amusement. Or was it revulsion? When she gained his side, Bellingham sent her a stern look and reached out to grasp her fingers in a strong grip, wordlessly warning her to behave. “My dear, may I introduce you to Lord Montford.” He turned to the fop. “My lord, I present to you my daughter, Lady Wilhelmina.”
    Montford arched a thick, dark eyebrow, the size and shape of a wooly caterpillar, and clasped Willa’s fingers when she presented them. He sketched a bow and placed so wet a kiss on the back of her hand she felt the dampness