by Stacy Reid
She cast him a quick sidelong glance. “Might I enquire, your lordship, as to why you own a club? It is something I have been most curious about. I do not think it common for a man of your stature to own a gambling establishment with a rumored fighting den as well!”
“My father…he died when I was only twenty leaving the estates in bad need of funds. Creditors were also knocking, and I had my brother, who was only thirteen at the time and a grief-stricken mother to provide for.”
“Oh, how terrible,” she said, her voice soft with sympathy.
And suddenly he did not want to whitewash what had happened. “My father gambled and lost his fortune, several hundred acres of lands, and a couple of unentailed estates. When he realized the severity of it, he made his way home and killed himself. I tried to shield my mother and brother from the brunt of the scandal and did everything in my power to protect them from a life of poverty. That included selling all our notable paintings, the silverware, and anything of value I could get my hands on. I invested in a gambling hell…and a year later our fortunes started to change.”
She went utterly still, and he had little choice but to stop walking. When he peered down at her, her eyes were wide with such sadness and compassion.
“And it is that pain your mother has lived through for the last several years. Oh, I am so terribly sorry.” Unexpectedly she lifted a hand and cupped his jaw.
Michael sucked in a harsh breath. Her soft caress, so light it was scarcely a breath of sensation, pierced him like a well-aimed arrow. This was the first time she had voluntarily touched him, and he felt like someone had handed him the keys to a kingdom.
The rain beat a wild rhythm on the surface of the umbrella, a gust of wind blew in the droplets to wet their faces and clothes, yet neither moved. Tendrils of water ran from the brim of her hat onto her cheeks, and it was his turn to use his thumb to wipe away the trail.
Michael tucked a strand of wet hair behind her ear, his knuckle barely grazing her cheek. The feel of her skin was soft and so supple. “I do not deserve your compassion after the pain my family has caused yours,” he said gruffly.
Her eyes darkened, and her gaze lowered to his mouth momentarily, before she lifted her eyes to his. “I’ll not blame you for the action of another.”
Yet he saw the pain and shame in her eyes as if her sister’s ruination reflected on herself.
“And you are not to blame for your sister’s actions.”
Miss Ashbrook blinked up at him, visibly shocked. She lowered her hand, and he felt bereft. Touch me again, he wanted to implore, but he remained silent.
“I knew there was someone she liked,” she said so softly, he almost did not hear her above the rumble of rain. “We exchanged letters often, and I sensed the ruination in every sentence as she spoke about the most handsome and amiable gentleman she had ever met. And I did nothing to stop her fall from grace.”
She swallowed, looked away, and continued walking. They moved in silence, their steps in tune with each other, perhaps each contemplating their siblings.
She glanced at him sidelong. “I am not silly or vain enough to wallow in self-pity and blame by thinking I had the power to control Lucy’s heart or her actions. She has always been very willful and would rush headlong into trouble heedless of my warnings. But I am very saddened that she was hurt, and there are days I wish I could take the pain away for her.”
“That I understand,” he murmured, for he felt the same about Thomas.
They strolled closely together for another few minutes, the wind whipping the droplets in their faces. Each time he thought to suggest they board the carriage, he only had to look down and see the contentment showing on her face and swallowed down his words. He thought of the upcoming ball and how delighted she had appeared at the invitation. Michael did not mention that he had also requested of the countess an invitation for her to another ball a few weeks from now.
“Will you save two dances for me?”
She met his eyes, her gaze startlingly direct. “At the ball?”
“Where else would we dance?” he asked with amusement wafting through him.
She shocked him silly by rushing from under the umbrella and doing a perfectly elegant and charming pirouette in the rain. Within seconds she was soaked, and she removed her hat and tilted her face to the sky. When she lowered her head, there was such mischief and a wicked invitation in her eyes, he lost the ability to breathe. Did she not realize how provocative and alluring she appeared? The dark blue service dress now seemed like a gift wrapper, waiting for him to carefully peel back the layers and undo the most delicious present.
“We could dance in the rain!” she cried, laughing. “Oh dear, have I done something that shocked Viscount Wicked? I must say I am impressed with myself.”
She seemed so…alive. That weird malaise which had gripped him for so long suffered its first crack, and a curious sensation fluttered in his chest. He glanced up and down the street, noting that it was empty of carriages. Lifting his head, he indicated for his coachman to carry on and not wait for them. The man obeyed, and Michael tugged her to his side under the shelter of the umbrella and waited for the coach to pass them.
Then he encircled her waist with one hand, while holding the umbrella firmly with the other, and with ridiculous ease twirled her with several movements of the waltz.
“Oh! Are you to join me?”
“It seems your lunacy is catching.”
She followed his lead, and anyone who saw them dancing in the rain with an umbrella above them like loons would surely believe they had recently escaped from Bedlam.
“This is glorious,” she said, laughing.
“You’ll not say that when you are sneezing, shivering abed with a cold and fever,” he warned.
“Oh, I have the sturdiest constitution. Many times, in Biddleton on my long walks, I’ve been caught in a downpour.” The laugh fell away from her lips, and the hands clasping his shoulders suddenly went stiff. “And this is also very improper.” Her lips were trembling.
He stared at her a moment, trying to gather his wits. “I doubt there can be anything truly improper between friends.”
Her breath caught audibly. She stepped away from him, and he released her. Wide eyes searched his face, then she said, “Is that what we are…friends, your lordship?”
“We are more than employee and employer. I daresay friend is the apt term.”
She gave him a smile of such breath-taking sweetness, he wondered for the first time in his life, if a part of falling in love was akin to the sensation of warmth and hunger suffusing throughout his entire body.
He felt oddly unnerved. Michael did not like the sensations coursing through him one bit, they felt foreign, not a part of him or something he could control. The very idea that he could not repress the sudden pounding of his heart or the heat in his body or the urge to laugh was intolerable.
“You are frowning,” she said tenderly. “Most severely too.”
Then she lifted a hand and touched the corner of his mouth. “I have meant to ask about this cut.”
“I’ve been fighting,” he said gruffly. “At the club these past couples of nights.”
“Why?”
To forget this awful need clawing in my gut for you.
“Sometimes I do,” he said instead. “Then I donate my winnings to charity.”
“Admirable, and perhaps worth a bruise or two.”
“Come, let’s hurry. I can tell the deluge will worsen.”
She gasped audibly when their fingers lightly brushed. And he understood, for he savored that fleeting caress. “Tell me about yourself, Miss Ashbrook,” he invited, quite hungry to know all the facets of the woman walking beside him.
She wrinkled her nose. “As my sisters often complain, I am frightfully boring. Let me see. I have an incurable sweet tooth. I love reading, and Papa has long given up on my poor reading choices. I adore gothic romances.”
“So do I.”
�
�I suppose you identify with the villain in those pieces.”
He would not dignify that with a response.
Her smile was barely perceptible. “I do have a confession. Many times, I wish the heroines would fall in love with that brooding, dastardly villain! But I am always disappointed it isn’t so.”
“Ah…so you like villains, do you?”
“I am walking with you now in the rain and living with you under your roof.”
He allowed himself a brief, hungry study of her animated features. “So, you like me?”
“Tolerably enough.”
Despite the dreariness of the afternoon, she was a slice of sunlight walking beside him.
“At first, I deplored the thought of being a governess. I was eager to retain a measure of independence, so I responded to Lord Sanderson’s advertisement.”
“Why did you not want to become a governess?”
“I love children, but there is nothing mildly exciting about such a post,” she said primly. “In Jane Austen’s Emma, she said ‘to become a governess is to retire from all pleasures of life!’ I daresay such a notion filled me with dread. But I resolved such a post must only be temporary. I often have dreamed of adventures which might be ordinary to a man of your experience and wealth.”
“Such as?”
“Traveling beyond the town of Biddleton…, since I read Victor Hugo’s Notre-Dame de Paris, I’ve wanted to desperately see the Notre-Dame Cathedral. Perhaps even the Château de Versailles. I also think it would be grand to purchase any number of books I desire without worrying about the cost, dressing in fine silks, dancing the night away,” she admitted with a self-conscious smile.
Something tender and shockingly vulnerable settled on her face. “But beyond those…I…I desire a family of my own.”
Those softly spoken words were a brutal kick to his gut. A family of her own…that meant a husband, someone else kissing her, making love with her, dancing in the rain with her…and bringing forth that smile that could rival the heat and beauty of the sun.
“We are at your home,” she said with a shaky laugh. “And we are two drowned rats.”
With that simple smile and anxious eyes, she knocked the breath from him. At his lack of response, her smile faded, her eyes darkened with nameless emotions. Miss Ashbrook twirled around and rushed up the small steps. As if the butler had been peeking out, the door opened, and she disappeared over the threshold. The door remained open, but Michael only gripped the handle of the umbrella a bit tighter and continued walking. It felt like he was running from something, but he was not entirely sure what truth he hoped to disavow.
Chapter 10
A few days later, the morning of the ball arrived, and Marianne was much preoccupied with the duchess’s invitation. Of course, she could not attend the ball. There was nothing in her valise that would be suited for a simple soirée much less a midnight ball given by a duchess! Nor did she feel comfortable with wearing a dress which belonged to Lady Maschelly. But such a longing resided in Marianne’s heart to go. On a deep breath, she pushed through her disappointment. She would procure her address from the viscount and send a polite letter thanking her for the wonderful invite but declining.
With that firm decision made, she’d proceeded with her morning by taking her niece on their daily walk, which was cut once again short by the rumble of thunder. The dreary weather had not lowered her spirit, it had served as a delightful reminder of her interlude in the rain with the viscount.
Something between them had changed that day, and to Marianne, it felt more than friendship. Friends should certainly not be awkward with each other. The viscount had been present at dinner last night, and the entire atmosphere had been filled with a perilous tension. How her heart had pounded and how uncertain she had felt… Marianne had hurried to her chambers afterward and had waited with dread and anticipation of the viscount knocking on her door. Never before had she had such a restless night.
With a befuddled sigh, she closed the children’s storybook she was reading to Lizzie. Marianne spent the rest of the day reading and writing letters to her sister Lucy in Bath, one to Victoria in Brussels, and to her Mama and Papa in Biddleton.
When the dinner bell sounded, she requested a tray to be sent to her room and ate the delicious fare of roasted duck, asparagus in crème sauce, tender slices of roasted pork, with roasted potatoes and a delicate cream sauce flavored with dill. With each bite she’d wondered if the viscount sat eating alone or if he had made his way to the club, or to the duchess’s ball. Having her fill, she set the tray outside and sat on the comfortable ledge seat by her room’s window.
From her view, a little of the cobbled street could be seen, and she watched a line of carriages rolling by, a wistful yearning filled her heart. A knock sounded, and she glanced over her shoulder. A young maid entered and informed Marianne a few packages had been delivered for her. She made her way down the curving staircase. Stepping into the hallway, a footman held three boxes in his hands.
“These are for me?”
“Yes,” he said with a pleasant smile. “There were just delivered, Miss.”
Considerably astonished, she took the boxes, climbed the stairs, and made her way back to her room. She frowned upon seeing a note of sorts peeking from the largest box. Marianne collected the note and folded it open.
Dear Miss Ashbrook,
I gather you would be in most severe anxiety of what to wear at the Duchess’s midnight ball. I’ve taken the liberty to use my connections with a particular modiste to order you a gown. Now, please remove that very fierce and fighting frown from your pretty face.
With a gasp, Marianne snapped her gaze to the mirror on her vanity. She was frowning. Biting her lip to prevent her laughter, she continued reading.
Three boxes should have been delivered. One with a gown, another with unmentionables, and another with such exquisite dancing slippers for a mad moment I thought to try them on myself. But regrettably, my feet were too big.
She was laughing. She couldn’t help it. A soft sob escaped her, a deep breath shuddered from her, and she realized her eyes had welled. She was on the verge of crying like a silly goose. She couldn’t help that, either. It was all so improper and shocking, and so wonderful.
I do hope I acquitted myself by making you laugh and how sorry I am to have missed it. Please accept this token of friendship and say yes to attending the ball.
Worsley.
Marianne dropped the note on the bed and opened the lid of the largest box. The most exquisite gown sat on a sheaf of delicate papers. She lifted the dress gingerly to her face, admiring the sheer richness of the material, and the exquisite cut and design.
Could she dare to wear such an improper gift from the viscount? She gently placed it back in its box and opened the other. Half white silk gloves and the most delicate silken stockings. A corset which clearly cost a pretty penny, a lace chemisette, and even pantalettes.
A knock sounded, and the young maid who had attended her so diligently, Harriet, entered the room.
“The viscount bid me to help you ready for the ball, Miss Ashbrook. The carriage will be ready in a couple hours. We should start,” she said with a warm smile.
A soothing bath in rose-scented water did much to relax Marianne. The maid had assisted her in dressing and now styled her hair before the dressing table. With each curl and twist, she stared at herself, wondering at the young lady who stared back with wide excited eyes.
“This must be what Cinderella felt like,” she said with a light laugh.
“Oh, Miss, you are ever so beautiful,” Harriett said.
Marianne stood, staring at the picture she presented. This gown was the most luxurious thing she had ever worn and must have cost a frightful sum. It was a dark rose low-cut gown with its tightly cinched waist and wide skirt. It revealed more décolletage than she had ever shown before, but she felt exquisite.
Marianne looked…pretty. Remarkably so. Giddy delight washed through
her, and she did a slight twirl before the mirror, before gathering her courage to step out into the hall. She straightened her back and ignored all her fears as she swept down the long staircase. Down below the viscount waited, staring up at her with a slight smile on his face.
She had never seen the viscount dressed in such an elegant manner. He’d donned dark trousers, a white shirt, with a waistcoat of pale blue watered silk, an expertly tied silken cravat, and a rich midnight-black swallow-tailed coat. Instead of cutting his overlong hair, it had been caught at his nape with a black velvet ribbon. How terribly handsome he appeared.
The viscount’s eyes trailed down her body in a manner he had never allowed her to see before—a rude intimacy that made her spine stiffen and had her flushing. His beautiful dark silver-gray eyes glowed hotly, and about his lips was a sensual, almost cruel curve. Flames of unwanted desire twisted through Marianne, and she sucked in a harsh breath. Another never-before felt delicate tendril of heat spun through her body, and her heart shuddered in warning.
“I’ve met the gentleman, and the charmer,” she murmured, a bit of wickedness stirring inside her, and returning his bold stare. “Am I to meet the rake tonight?”
His expression suddenly turned distinctly sensual. “And would you be receptive to the rake?”
A dark throb of indefinable emotions throbbed in his voice. It made her unaccountably wary. “I would be silly to…surely that would only lead to ruin and heartbreak.”
Lord Worsley studied her with an odd gravity, then he said, “You are astoundingly ravishing, Miss Ashbrook.”
That bit of awe in his soft murmur scattered her thoughts for a precious moment. “Thank you,” she said simply, gliding her gloved hand across the elegant bannister of the staircase.
They walked down the hallway without speaking, and he went into the drawing-room, then reappeared with a stunning burgundy evening coat which complemented her evening gown. He assisted her into the coat, and she was so very conscious of the powerful, masculine frame behind her.
