Virginia And The Wolf

by Lynne Connolly

  A slight lift of Col’s shoulder indicated a shrug. “Probably. But negotiations are torturous. They have only just begun, and they could break down yet. I shall tell you when you may congratulate me.”

  When the contracts were signed and the wedding held. Weddings were generally private affairs. Not so the balls and dinners that followed. Perhaps Col chose the end of the season for that purpose. The fuss would not be as great.

  They moved to other topics, other sources of gossip. Anyone believing men did not gossip should attend one of the many clubs springing up around town. Francis appreciated Col’s chatter, giving him time to calm his senses and recall the attack in peace, although not quiet. As usual, the main room of the club was busy, filled with gentlemen taking a few hours out of their busy days to drink, gamble, and gossip. Ah, but that was the busy day of many here.

  A few had stared at him curiously as he’d entered, but he’d given them no clue. They would know soon enough, if anyone bothered to report it. After all, it was merely another small scuffle in a city that saw several every day.

  Except it was not.

  If Dulverton thought he would keep Francis away by setting a couple of bully boys on him, he had a shock in store. He had agreed to Virginia’s strictures tonight, but now he changed his mind. If anyone got Combe Manor, it would be him. And he would thoroughly enjoy getting it, if it meant getting closer to Virginia.

  Chapter 5

  Virginia could not get that kiss out of her mind. She could taste him, feel him, his breath on her cheek, his heart pounding next to hers. At the moment his lips met hers, everything made sense. It was inevitable, day following night.

  She must be mad. The minute Francis—or as she must think of him, Wolverley—entered her life she fell on him like a starving widow.

  Even shopping with Angela and buying a completely extravagant fan, all lace and brilliants, which she seriously discussed having inset with diamonds, could not take that one fraught kiss out of the forefront of her mind. When she got home she handed the package containing the fan to her abigail, Winston. Usually she enjoyed her new purchases, but this one had defeated its purpose. She didn’t care if she never saw it again.

  To Wolverley the kiss was probably little more than a tease, taunting her with what she could have if she asked properly. Or let him have Combe Manor. That had probably been his sole motive. She was a fool, but he still wasn’t getting Combe Manor.

  She wandered into the parlor overlooking the front of the house, preparing to do a little tea-drinking and people-watching.

  She was independent, able to dictate her own fate. In the last four years she’d learned to love it. Why would she want to change that?

  Except that she kept thinking of a pair of laughing gray eyes and a wicked smile. And the feel of his hard body against her own. Ralph’s body had been hard, but in a battle-scarred, leathery way. Francis would not be leathery. And she and Ralph—that had been different. Completely different. Ralph rarely kissed her, for a start. A brief brush of his thin lips against hers. Once she’d tried to deepen it, but he’d pulled away.

  He’d smiled down at her. “You do not want that, my dear. Believe me, you do not.”

  Being barely eighteen, she had believed him. And also, she’d been deeply in love—or thought she was. That was before the disillusionment. She could see Ralph’s face now, rugged, tough, the scar on his cheek a sign of the more serious injuries on his body. She still heard his cries of pain in her head sometimes, and she would get out of bed and reach for her robe before she recalled that Ralph was dead and didn’t need her help any longer.

  Ralph had taken her from an impossible situation. Because of that she would have done anything for him, and she tried, but it had been hard.

  Those moods had not lasted long. And after he died, their bargain meant that Ralph had ensured she would never have to marry for duty again. Or ever, come to that. In fact, he’d said once that he would prefer her not to marry, but the decision must be hers. In any case, he was hardly in a position to stop her.

  He must have known he couldn’t prevent it. Only make remarriage difficult for her, which, at the time, she’d wanted. Now she wasn’t so sure. But there wasn’t much she could do about that now.

  The clang of the doorbell led to murmuring in the hall. Virginia waited until the footman came in with a card and a note on a tray. She sighed when she saw Wolverley’s name, but at least the corner wasn’t folded over, which would have meant he had called in person and was waiting for her.

  On the note he’d scrawled, “Drive with me today? I’ll call at eleven.”

  Wolverley’s bold hand reflected the man: decisive, hasty, and distinctive. But there was no harm in her driving with him in an open carriage, and a distraction would help right now. He could hardly kiss her in an open carriage. She needed to make a few things clear to him, and this was her chance to get him in private.

  She would go.

  * * * *

  An hour later, Virginia was outside the house, dressed in a dashing green riding habit, being helped up to the seat of a phaeton. Trust Wolverley to have the lightest, most dashing vehicle possible.

  “I suppose I should be glad you didn’t bring your curricle,” she grumbled.

  As his tiger climbed to his perch at the back of the phaeton, Wolverley swung himself up into his seat with the agility of the natural born athlete. “Would you have preferred that to the phaeton? I can always arrange it for the next time I take you driving.”

  “There won’t be another time,” she said smugly. “I’m traveling down to Devonshire at the end of the week.”

  “You’re leaving without telling me?” He glanced at her as he swung around a corner. “You’re looking particularly lovely today, Virginia. That shade of green suits you to perfection.”

  Ignoring his compliment, Virginia gripped the handrail by her side. “Do pay attention to where you’re going, Wolverley, or neither of us will be going anywhere!”

  “Don’t you trust my driving? I’m accounted a fair whip.”

  He was considered a superb driver, but the speed and hairsbreadth technique was not one Virginia was comfortable with. However, if she said so, he might take it in his head to go even faster and pay less attention to what he was doing. So she held her tongue.

  “At least you’ll be out of London.” He brightened. “And so will I. I’ll make arrangements to follow you.”

  “Not literally, I trust. London is gossiping enough already.”

  London always gossiped about young, well-off widows who’d inherited the bulk of their late husbands’ possessions. As Virginia had learned to her cost.

  He cast her a wicked glance, and she tightened her lips in disapproval. “Why not? We’ll be on the same road. How can we possibly avoid each other when we are going in the same direction? London won’t be there to gossip.”

  “I’ll be days ahead of you.”

  The earlier she left the hothouse that was London, the better. In the country she could put more space between them, and matters would settle into their usual course.

  “I am not a target,” she said bitterly. “Not a thing. You and Jamie will not squabble over me, or rather, over my possessions. Is that clear?”

  “For goodness’ sake, call me Francis when we’re alone. You call Dulverton Jamie well enough.”

  “He is a relative.”

  “Only by marriage. Can you not manage to use my given name?”

  She shook her head. She dared not. He made free with her first name, and to be honest she liked the sound of it on his lips, but she dared not give him more opportunities to weaken her resolve.

  He pursed his lips, and God help her, the slight movement plunged her straight back to that explosive kiss. She could taste him again, feel the melting intimacy of her body pressed against his. He wasn’t even looking at her. Lord, she was in trou
ble. She had to make space between them, or she would be in serious peril.

  “As for your possessions…” He paused while he took another corner. “If you sell Combe Manor to Dulverton, I will take that extremely amiss. But the kiss was nothing to do with that. I kissed you because I wanted to. You must be aware how utterly delectable you are, Virginia.”

  Words failed her. While she was still gaping, Wolverley adjusted his speed and bowled through the park gates. During high season, Hyde Park was thronged with fashionable vehicles and people taking the air, but now, at the end of June, it was much less crowded. Lady Conyngham’s ball had ended the main events of the season. Soon the theaters and pleasure gardens would close for the summer, and town would empty of company.

  The summer round of house parties and attending to estate affairs would begin, and London would steam under the summer heat. A few people stayed in town year-round, or almost so, but this year even Angela was planning to attend a few summer parties in the country. The SSL was still meeting, though, and she planned to go and bid them farewell tomorrow, Thursday.

  Now was as good a time as any to talk to him. “Wolverley, I must speak to you.”

  “Speak away.” He cast her an amused glance. “And don’t be tiresome, Virginia. Call me Francis.”

  Taking no notice, she continued. “You cannot continue to pay me the kind of attention you did at the ball last night. People will notice. People—men—will pursue me. You know the dangers of being taken in by fortune hunters. It is real. Why, Lady Glaston was only rescued from that fate at the last minute by his lordship.”

  “And now they are happily married.”

  “But that wasn’t her abductor. He was a slimy fellow. If you encourage that kind of person, you will put me in danger. And you cannot say that nobody has noticed your attentions to me.”

  He said nothing. When she ventured a glance at him, his lips were tight, and he was staring rigidly into the distance.

  “Admit it, Wolverley.”

  He sighed. “Yes, I do. Admit it, that is. People have noticed. But—what makes you think you are not a marked woman already?”

  She frowned. “What on earth do you mean?”

  He shrugged, refusing to meet her gaze. “I don’t know. Forget it.”

  Why should she? Did he know something already?

  About to question him further, she noticed someone waving vigorously. So did Wolverley’s muttered curse. “Good Lord, did you know they were in town?”

  She waved back. “Yes, Jamie told me last night.”

  A stout gentleman stood by the path, a lady by his side, their children completing the picture. All were waving.

  “We have to stop,” he said. “You acknowledged them.”

  “So I did,” she said as he drew his frisky horses to a smooth stop.

  She didn’t even have to grab the handrail again. As a lady should, she waited for him to dismount and offer his hand to help her down. She didn’t see what he was up to until his hands went around her waist and he lifted her off her perch, settling her gently on the ground.

  Virginia closed her eyes, giving in to her weakness. He felt so good, warm and strong.

  At least he stepped back as soon as she was down.

  “Don’t mention it,” he drawled, so easily that she wanted to put her hands on him—around his neck to be precise—and squeeze hard. He captivated her and infuriated her, sometimes in the same sentence.

  He was looking past her, his smooth smile firmly in place. “Ah, Sir Bertram. So good to see you in town this season. Taking the air?”

  She had wanted to avoid Sir Bertram. She would see enough of him when she went home.

  Their Devonshire neighbor had been a particular crony of Ralph’s, and their condescending attitude to her sex had infuriated her in the past. Now Ralph was gone, he had made himself of particular service to her, by arranging a few small matters on her estate. However, he had only done it to further the acquaintance and continue to read her lectures.

  His favorite topics were on the decadence of the aristocracy. As if she would know anything about that.

  And yet he had brought his daughters to town. Was he planning to marry them off to those decadent aristocrats?

  “We had to present the girls sooner or later, so we thought we’d wait until Amelia was old enough and get all the girls done all at once,” the man said, the burr of Devonshire evident in his tones. He could speak as properly as an earl when he wanted to, but he liked to remind people of his origins. “We’ve seen the minster, and the cathedral, and I took them to the opera.”

  His three daughters bobbed curtsys and fixed fish-like stares on Wolverley.

  It sounded like they were getting their cultural education in a month.

  “What did you see?” Virginia asked, knowing what he would say, because there was only one opera running.

  “Handel’s Rodelinda. A fine opera demonstrating the danger of despots and the glory of democracy.”

  Virginia frowned. She had seen the opera, but it had not sent her that message. She was probably too concentrated on the central love story. That was the reason the opera was one of her favorites, not any message it sent.

  But before she could speak up, Wolverley added his mite. “I saw Francesco Baratti last month. He was very fine. In an Italian opera, what was it called?” Frowning, he tapped his boot with his whip, as if trying to remember.

  Virginia refused to tell him. They had been at the same performance, but she would not play his game and make it appear as if they’d gone together. They’d exchanged brief polite exchanges while waiting for their respective carriages, but that was all.

  She had to behave as if she was in perfect harmony with him, and that she was immune to his considerable charm. The task would be more difficult than any time in the past, but she would do it. She’d faced worse.

  Wolverley confused her; he fascinated her. She wished she was free to discover which one mattered the most. But she was not.

  At least he was provoking Sir Bertram, and not her.

  “Pooh!” Sir Bertram said, scoffing at Wolverley’s words. “Italian opera cannot hold a candle to Handel! I wouldn’t give you tuppence for an Italian aria, or the fancy-boys who trill them, next to a good English tenor!”

  The hero of Rodelinda was usually sung by a castrato, but Virginia decided not to mention that. Sir Bertram was a defiant Tory, and a supporter of English everything, a sentiment that most county gentlemen shared. The fact that Handel was German didn’t seem to matter.

  Virginia gave Lady Dean a sweet smile, and even included her three daughters, who, she noted with amusement, were still staring at Wolverley with their mouths half open. As he turned his head, the sunshine caught his diamond earring, sending a flash of brilliant light to temporarily dazzle her.

  She blinked but kept her gaze firmly fixed on the girls. Girls? The oldest must be in her early twenties by now. She would find a husband at home, to strengthen the family bonds in Devonshire. Perhaps even north to Somersetshire, if they were more adventurous.

  Lady Dean said, “There is an Assembly in two weeks’ time in Exeter, if you were thinking of attending.”

  “I may do that, thank you.” She wouldn’t put a foot anywhere near Exeter Assembly rooms if she could help it. There were as many young men looking to further themselves there as in London.

  “We enjoyed ourselves at Lady Conyngham’s last night,” her ladyship went on.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I did not see you there. Yes, it was enjoyable.”

  But she had made an early exit. The reason for that sent heat rushing through her. “I felt unwell, so I left early.”

  “I wished to speak with you on a matter of business,” Sir Bertram said. “We are leaving tomorrow. May we call on you later?”

  Regretfully Virginia shook her head. “Mrs. Dauntry is away,
and the house is being closed up, ready for my departure. I cannot offer you hospitality. But you are welcome to visit me at home in Devonshire when I reach it.”

  Sir Bertram shot Wolverley a sharp look. What on earth was that for? “I have heard that you wished to make an offer for Combe Manor, sir.”

  Wolverley inhaled sharply. “The manor is a lovely spot, perfect for my mother. It was her childhood home, so I wished to give it to her.”

  Sir Bertram shook his head, shifting his comfortable, loose-fitting bob-wig so it was no longer level. Virginia itched to straighten it, but naturally, she restrained herself from doing so.

  “I had thought to make an offer for it.”

  What was this fuss about Combe Manor about? It had sat there quietly rotting away for many years, its only occupants the old couple Ralph had installed to keep it weatherproof and guarded.

  Jamie wanted the manor to complete his holdings in that area. Together with the spinney, that would give him a clear path to the sea and tidy up that part of the main Dulverton estate. But why would the Deans want this place? And Wolverley too? Did he want it for more than sentiment’s sake? What was she missing?

  “Combe Manor is a relatively small property, close to the sea. The land isn’t suitable for crops or cattle, or even sheep, unless the fence at the cliff edge is mended. Sheep would tumble over, and there isn’t enough sustenance for cattle,” she pointed out.

  “You know why I want it,” Wolverley said softly, then raised his voice so it was not so intimate. She should be glad of that. “Why do you want the property, Sir Bertram?”

  The magistrate shrugged, his well-worn black coat of good cloth revealing the substantial body beneath. The squire was not tall, but he was a man of considerable substance. “It is close to my land. It would be convenient.”

  “For what?” she demanded. “It’s just an old house.” And he’d offered for the spinney, too.

  “So it is,” Sir Bertram agreed. “But it would parcel into my lands comfortably. It’s not part of your main holdings, it’s separate, so you are hardly using it, my lady. We could tidy up a few loose ends.” He shot Wolverley a glare. “I have asked Lord Dulverton to consider the sale of the spinney close by, but he tells me that is in your gift too, my lady. With the spinney giving access to the house, I see it as one parcel.”