Francis had taken one look at Virginia and wanted her so strongly the emotion had shocked him. He had never lost that first impression of her, despite the way they had shunned his mother, and his subsequent avoidance of them.
Ralph had been a man very aware of his station in life and how others related to that. A stickler for protocol and detail. That had never suited Francis. The men had held off public antipathy, anything that would have caused gossip, but Ralph had kept Virginia close. Had Ralph suspected Francis’s instant and lasting devotion to Virginia? Francis had taken such care not to let it show, but sometimes, sometimes he’d let a little of it out, especially when he was younger.
“Yes, I came.”
Aware of the double entendre, as she was not, he touched his lips to the top of her head and gentled his hold on her. She’d stopped trembling, but she still nestled close, and he was forced to admit, if only to himself, that he loved the closeness. She never allowed anyone close, so this was a first for them both. He counted himself privileged. She slid her arms loosely around his waist, under his heavy evening coat, and Francis cautiously let himself revel.
“He was merely awkward. Nothing else,” he said, assuring himself as much as her. If Jamie had done more, he wanted to know it.
“And insulting.” Her voice was stronger now.
“And insulting. He has no idea how to seduce a lady, does he? I will still call him out if you want me to.”
“No, please don’t. It would cause the most dreadful scandal.”
“In that case, of course I won’t. He needs lessons in how to treat a lady, does he not?”
Her eyes widened when she looked at him, but he saw no fear in them now. Not that awful, cringing dread he never wanted to see again. Francis forced one of his easy smiles, allowing his mouth to quirk more at one side than the other. The side with the diamond earring. He needed to ensure she was calm before he would leave her. Needed it as much for himself as for her.
The spark between them had always been there, and now it was clearer than ever, especially in this rare moment of tranquility between them.
“Perhaps we should start again. Would you agree to a visit to Wolverley Court when you go down to Devonshire? My mother would be glad to receive you.”
Thus demonstrating peace between them.
She gazed up at him, her eyes drinking him in. “Yes,” she said.
He wouldn’t mention Combe Manor right now and break this fragile peace. “We should seal this momentous occasion.”
“What do you suggest?”
He smiled down at her. “With a kiss.”
He feathered a barely there kiss over her forehead. That made her smile back at him. Glad to see that, he touched the tip of her nose with his lips, then waited. Her breath came evenly, perhaps a little heightened, and the pulse in her neck throbbed.
But she did not look away or try to leave his arms. If she had, he’d have released her instantly. He did not take any pleasure in scaring a woman he was making love to, even though he knew some men who did.
“Then this.” He bent, his lips close to hers, but not touching, a mere breath away.
Francis waited. She rewarded him by stretching up and completing the connection. One hand slid around his neck, but not pulling closer, only holding him there, making the connection between them more intimate. He reciprocated, moving his left hand up the silk of her bodice, following the deep pleats in the back of her gown until he reached the nape of her neck, and bare skin.
With a shudder, he released part of his desire but kept a tight rein on the rest. Pressing his lips to hers, he kissed her properly. Eagerly she responded, with a hesitation that suggested inexperience. Warmth and desire filled him, and a tenderness that felt foreign, but one he listened to. If he made the wrong move now, she would never come close to him again. And he wanted that, very much.
Tilting his head to one side, he sealed their mouths together more securely. He touched her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, mutely requesting entrance. Virginia parted her lips and sighed.
Even then Francis didn’t take her like a marauding conqueror. Instead, he slid his tongue past her lips, pausing to caress and stroke the tender flesh, teasing and inciting, raising her arousal as his rose to almost painful proportions. His groin was taut, his body so hard he feared he might lose his much-vaunted control.
But he could show her what had always hidden beneath their animosity. Slowly, he entered her mouth for the first time. The experience shook him. The care he was forcing himself to take, her taste, and her trust all overwhelmed him, swamped him in the emotion he usually tried so hard to avoid. But this time he let it in. So far and no farther, because he had barriers he would not allow anyone to pass. Not even Virginia.
He licked his way in, savored her sweet flavor, and invited her to enjoy him in her turn. Tentatively she moved her tongue against his, but she didn’t attempt to enter his mouth in her turn, as he longed for her to do.
What in God’s name had Ralph done with her? What hadn’t he done with her? She kissed as if she had never done it before, not a true kiss, an expression of desire between two adults.
Francis had never kissed like this, guiding and teaching. He preferred women who knew what they were doing, who wanted him in a specific way, but with Virginia he was entering new territory, and he wasn’t sure of her.
Admiring a lady from a distance was very different to coming close to them. To her.
Her little sighs were followed by a groan. He claimed it, swallowed it greedily, pulled her closer to feel as much of her body against his as possible. But bearing her recent fright, he did not allow his passion to run away with him. Running his finger around the top of her bodice, the lace frill tickled, the silky skin invited more. Such small gestures meant so much more with Virginia.
He wanted her naked, he wanted her under him.
His control was slipping. Francis recognized it and braced himself to finish the kiss, to withdraw and slowly pull away from her, letting his embrace go lax so she could freely move if she wanted to.
Virginia let the hand that was caressing his neck slide away, but she cupped his shoulder instead of pulling back.
She gazed up at him, blue eyes inscrutable now.
Francis forced the saucy smile back to his lips, although inside he was shaking with the intensity of a simple kiss.
“That is what your suitor should have done,” he murmured. “But fortunately for me, he did not. Never let a man kiss you again, Virginia. Not unless it’s me.”
She blinked, breaking the intense connection that for all his self-control, he was finding impossible to cut. She was stronger than he was, or she cared less. Or both. Gently, she slid out of his arms.
“You must promise not to pay me any special attention in future,” she said, her voice sharper.
“Must I?”
“If you had not fixed your whole attention on me back in the ballroom, Dulverton would not have tried this. And if he does, other men will. I will not have that, Wolverley.”
“Francis.”
“Wolverley,” she repeated firmly. “One kiss changes nothing.”
He begged to differ. That kiss had changed everything for him. It had solidified a distant, dreamy kind of love to a certainty.
She bent to pick something up. Brilliants glittered in the candlelight. Her broken fan bore mute testimony to Dulverton’s rough treatment of its owner. With a tsk of annoyance, she pushed it into her pocket. “Drat the man.” She turned to face Francis, completely within herself again, in control. Crossing to the mirror, she studied her appearance before plucking a few pins from her hair and setting about refastening it back into its neat bun. Busy at her task, she continued to speak to him.
Francis got the strong feeling she was avoiding looking at him.
“I do not intend to marry again. If I have to
repeat it another hundred times, I will do that. I have things to do, ambitions to achieve before I can even consider that.”
Francis got up and strode to the wall opposite, so he could see her reflection properly. He leaned against the wall, lifting his leg to put his foot against it in a careless gesture. “What ambitions?”
“It doesn’t concern you. But I’m happy as I am. Why would I not be?”
“I don’t know, why would you not be happy?”
“I am. And with your stalking me in the ballroom, you gave all those men ideas they wouldn’t have had without watching you. Don’t imagine I’m not aware of what you want.” She jabbed a pin into the pleat of hair she’d deftly created. Francis winced. “You won’t get it that way. Combe Manor will become an orphanage.”
Combe Manor did not seem so important anymore.
A pause, while she cast around for something, and then saw it on the bed. She pounced on it with a small cry of triumph, one that spoke directly to his groin. As if sensing his condition, she glanced at him. She was, to all intents and purposes, wholly herself again as she refastened the silver pin to her gown.
“You can go now, my lord. Thank you for rescuing me. I shall take great care not to be in a room alone with Jamie ever again.” She paused and lifted the scrap of lace she had been searching for. A lady’s handkerchief. “Now I have everything I came in with. I can take care of myself from now on.”
She had broken him. How could he cause her such unhappiness? He would have to think of another way to get Combe Manor off her because the path he’d taken tonight would never work.
“I will leave first. You follow in a few minutes.” He unlocked the door, opened it slightly, listened for a moment to detect any potential witnesses, and left.
Francis did not return to the ballroom. Instead, he went down to the hall and demanded his hat, gloves, and sword. He was satisfied that Dulverton had done no more than frighten Virginia with his clumsiness, but her reaction still puzzled him. After six years of marriage and four of widowhood, she should know more than she did. Perhaps Ralph did not like to kiss, but he had fallen madly in love with Virginia, so surely he would have wanted to?
Francis wanted to. More than anything else he could think of he wanted to take what they had started tonight to its natural conclusion. But he would not. That path would be too dangerous for both of them. That kiss had more than a physical effect on him. It had opened a door, made him realize that the simmering attraction between them was more than his natural admiration of a beautiful woman, more than simple lust. He couldn’t remember the last time a kiss had meant so much to him. If it ever had.
The dreamy boy he’d been had melted away years ago, except for his unformed love for the unattainable girl he’d seen across a dance floor. He’d been happy to live with that. Now he was not. Tonight that love had changed, turned from a dream to an aspiration. He wanted her, and he would have her. Somehow he would.
Leaving the house, he stepped into a wonderfully balmy spring evening. Several people strolled past and a number of carriages were drawn up outside, but there was none of the feverish urgency to go to the next event that marked the season, especially early on. If London was like this all the time, he might consider staying longer. He would walk to his own house, clear his head, and work out what to do next.
Happy with his decision, he turned the corner into Piccadilly.
A voice croaked out from the darkness. “There ’e is.”
That was all the warning he got before a man jumped on him.
The man grabbed Francis’s upper arms, trying to force his hands behind his back, making Francis vulnerable to another man, who came at him swinging his fists.
Francis ducked and forced his arms out of the first man’s hold, the sudden movement taking his assailant by surprise. His head plowed into the other man’s stomach, and he pulled his arms free. In an instant he had his sword in his hand, whirling around to make the most of the heavy skirts of his coat, throwing the men off balance. He roared for help.
“To me!” he said as he slashed the air, barely missing one man’s hand.
They were big bruisers, and his counterattack did not prevent them coming at him again. Striking out, he found skin, opening up one fellow’s cheek, the tang of blood tainting the air. The man came at him again, the blade of his knife gleaming in the moonlight. This time Francis found his forehead. A strategic cut rendered his assailant effectively blind. Blood poured into the fellow’s eyes, and he shook his head, cursing.
Francis had concentrated too much on that one; he’d left his side open to attack. A hard punch connected with his stomach, knocking the breath completely out of him. Francis slumped on the ground, trying desperately to suck air back into his lungs, sweeping his sword before him in an effort to prevent the blow that would kill him.
The second man grabbed Francis’s wrist in a hold that threatened to break bones. He bent close, his foul breath full in Francis’s face. “You’re to leave the lady alone. That’s all.”
Then they were off, the man Francis had marked holding a filthy rag to his eyes, being led by the other. They melted into the night, slipping into the shadows of a nearby alley.
Feet pounded toward him. “Good Lord, are you all right?”
Recognizing the voice of a friend, Francis dropped his sword and tried to sit up, holding his side and waving his free hand dismissively. Agony arced through him when he finally succeeded in dragging in a shallow breath.
“Only winded,” he managed painfully, then drew up his knees, resting his forehead on them. He concentrated on breathing.
“It’s scandalous! A man can’t even walk the streets in safety!”
Col put Francis’s hat back on his head and crouched down. “I saw one of them say something to you.”
Francis shook his head. “Didn’t hear him clearly. Think it was—nothing.” He was breathless, not stupid. He’d heard what the bully had said perfectly well, but he wanted time to think about it.
The warning to keep away from “the lady” could mean anyone, but in his heart, Francis didn’t believe that. The warning was about Virginia. And who else but Lord Dulverton would have thought to do this? A flash of fury seared him, making him grit his teeth and fight the emotion down. He’d return to it later, and by God, he’d ensure he was in the boxing saloon during Dulverton’s next visit. Who else could have set those men on him?
Once he was finally breathing, if painfully, Francis got to his feet and brushed himself down. Gratefully he accepted the support of the Duke of Colston Magna’s arm. Col suggested they repair to their club, and he agreed. His home would have to wait. He needed distraction and good brandy.
At the St. James’s Club on Pall Mall, Francis brushed his coat down, grimacing ruefully at the smears of dirt that bedaubed the scarlet velvet. The fracas could have cost him a favorite piece of clothing. A couple of the gold buttons had been torn from his waistcoat, but Col plonked them on the table with a grin before lifting his finger to order a bottle of brandy.
The Duke of Colston Magna, dandified in appearance but with much more substance than it first appeared, gave Francis’s wig a tug to straighten it. “Why you insist on wearing that thing defeats me,” he said.
Francis shrugged. “I like it. It’s the most comfortable one I have. And wearing it means I can keep my hair short.”
“Several men have taken to growing their own hair and discarding wigs altogether.”
Col had done so himself, his brown hair tied neatly behind his head with a black velvet ribbon. He’d kept his hair tucked under a formal wig tonight, but he’d pulled that off when they got to their table and hung it on the back of his chair. In less formal occasions, he created quite a stir when he appeared bareheaded. An affectation, people called it, but quite a few men were following his example.
Picking up his glass, Francis took a healthy swallow,
ignoring the fact that good brandy should be sipped. Whoever said that had not been attacked in the street. He’d put a hundred guineas on it.
“They’re more devoted to their appearance than I am. I prefer to keep my hair short and use these things when I need to.” He touched the edge of his wig.
Col laughed, sharp white teeth gleaming. He reminded Francis of a predatory animal, but for his sins, he was the one bearing that nickname. The Wolf, some called him.
“Those things provide a great deal of employment. Perhaps you should consider cutting those lovely locks and buying a new one.”
“You never know, my wife might appreciate short hair,” Col said then, as if passing the time of day.
The remark snagged all Francis’s attention. “You have a wife?”
“Not yet,” his friend replied easily. He took a sip from his glass. “But it is time I set up my nursery. I fear I must think of the estate. And Miss Mountford is an enticing piece.”
The heiress, eh? Not that Col would be attracted by that. He was wealthy enough. But her connections were impeccable. Her parents guarded her like the treasure she was, but they would allow Col through the ring of fire they set about their daughter. She was richer, on paper, than they were, having inherited her estate from her grandfather. Francis had considered her for himself, but although he enjoyed her company, she did not arouse him like Virginia did.
He was not unaware of why Col had chosen to make his announcement here. What polite company was left in London would add that to their gossip.
“You’ve spoken to her parents?”
“They spoke to me.” He took another sip, eyes glinting over the rim of his glass. He was fully aware of the silent sensation he was causing. “I have been hanging after Miss Childers this age, but her adamant refusals are wearing me down.”
He would not have mentioned Miss Mountford if he was not serious, but Francis had never seen any partiality in that direction. Still, a dynastic marriage had its advantages. “Will you marry soon?”
Virginia And The Wolf Page 5
