“We?” Miss Manners fixed her with her bold stare. “I thought you told us your companion had already left town.”
“Emilia has. She has a family wedding in Devonshire, so I gave her leave to go.” Virginia fought the hot flush rising to her cheeks, but her painful awareness of her failure added to her discomfiture. “Lord Wolverley kindly took me out to take the air. I had not intended to stay in London so long, but I had matters to arrange.” Helplessly, she smiled at Angela.
Angela turned her attention to Virginia. She straightened and faced her. “Virginia, do you have feelings for Lord Wolverley? You do know what his friends call him, do you not?”
“The Wolf,” Virginia admitted. “But that’s because of his name. Wolverley, wolf, you see?”
“Partly.” From a seat nearby, pretty, blond Miss Maria Mountford smiled. “He’s known as a hunter who doesn’t stop until he gets what he wants. The story is all around the city that you kissed him in the street.”
In stark contrast to Miss Manners, Miss Mountford was a great heiress and in demand for every ball and event of the season. Her beaux were legion, but she took little notice of any of them.
She was attractive and dainty, but she had a spine of pure steel, which helped to make up for her lack of stature. Although she did her best to appear plain, she failed badly at that. It wouldn’t have deterred the majority of her suitors in any case.
They were all equal here. That was one of Angela’s rules, and one of the best ones.
A sharp gasp came from Angela’s direction, but Virginia didn’t look. “I would say it was the other way around. I stumbled and then…” She couldn’t say it without recalling the touch of his lips, his taste, his body pressed against her. And being wildly aware that she wanted more.
But she could not have it. From now on she had to avoid him. That shouldn’t make her feel so unhappy.
Angela watched, her gaze far too perceptive for Virginia’s liking. “I see. Do be careful, my dear. A young widow must be beyond reproach. That doesn’t include kissing handsome gentlemen in the street.” She quirked a brow, making her words a suggestion rather than a criticism.
All the same, Virginia understood her message. She smiled ruefully. “I know. I’m going to Devonshire on Monday, and I will not make a public appearance before I leave. By the time I return to town, gossip will have died down.”
“Are you not going to Chatsworth this summer?” Angela asked.
“I had planned to.” But Wolverley had dropped the information that he planned to visit. That meant Virginia would not go, after all. “I haven’t made any definite plans.”
“He took the blame,” Miss Mountford piped up. She put her newspaper aside and devoted herself to the conversation. “It’s in the gossip sheets this morning. He indicated to Lord Meredith that the fault was all his. He said he would call on you to beg your pardon.”
“Well, he won’t get inside,” Virginia retorted.
Miss Mountford’s information relieved her somewhat. However, kissing someone in the street displayed a sad lack of breeding that the sticklers wouldn’t long forgive, if they came to hear of it.
Since few people remained in London, she would pray that not many witnessed the encounter. The neighbors on either side of her had left, for sure. Their knockers were off their doors, a sure sign there was nobody at home. Further up, spectators might have a more restrictive view. She could deny that the incident had happened at all.
Perhaps she would get away with it, if she was circumspect.
Something about Miss Mountford’s words alerted her. Ah, she had it. “You’ve been speaking to the Duke of Colston Magna?”
They had danced together three times at the Conyngham ball, and the gossip sheets were full of it the day after.
Miss Mountford’s cheerful expression dropped, her mouth turning down. “My parents want me to marry him. They’ve started negotiations.”
“Ah.” Never had Virginia appreciated her state of widowhood more. Nobody could force her to do anything, as long as she remained beyond reproach. “You do not wish to marry him?”
Miss Mountford shrugged. “It matters not. I must marry who I am told to marry, and I can only be glad that he is not a monster. My parents find him acceptable. And so do I,” she said after a pause, but with no particular enthusiasm.
Colston Magna acceptable? He was one of the most sought-after men in society. Virginia had a suspicion she knew why Miss Mountford found Colston Magna only acceptable.
“You have a penchant for someone else?”
Her gaze fell. “What I want is not important, apparently.”
So she wanted someone else.
The worst part of being an heiress was the control parents exerted, to ensure their fortune did not fall into unworthy hands.
“So as a married woman, I will no longer be a single lady,” Miss Mountford continued brightly. “And I will no longer be eligible to be a member.”
“No matter,” Angela said. “You joined the club when you were, so you shall have honorable member status.”
“Then I will still have a refuge,” Miss Mountford said gratefully. She leaned her elbow on the arm of her chair and rested her chin on her hand, making a pretty picture. “I will send you an invitation to the wedding celebrations, but don’t feel obliged to come.”
“Please tell me if Lord Wolverley is attending,” Virginia said. “Since he’s a particular friend of Colston Magna, I imagine he will be, so do not take my refusal personally. I will avoid him in the future.”
“I’ll be sure to let you know.”
Virginia indicated the plan of Combe Manor. “I’ll spend a few days assessing the house. Then I’ll visit my estate, ensure everything is well, and go up to Lancashire, where I’ve been invited to visit the Whallers.” Dreadfully stuffy people, but so out of the way that Wolverley would not find her, even if he decided to look. “Lord Whaller detests Wolverley, and he returns the sentiment.” Not Chatsworth. Definitely not Chatsworth. And not Colston Magna.
Angela pulled a face. “I stayed there once. Old house, uncomfortable beds, as I recall.”
“But a small price to pay to live down a scandal.”
Constantly avoiding scandal annoyed Virginia, but she couldn’t blame anyone except herself. She had encouraged Wolverley, she had to admit.
“Then I’ll go too,” Angela said. “And we will say ‘Lord who?’ when anyone mentions Wolverley.” After exchanging a smile with Virginia, she turned back to the house plan and the sketch of the place. “Combe Manor is close to the sea. The sea and Devonshire generally means one thing.”
She wasn’t talking about beauty. “Smugglers,” Miss Mountford supplied.
They gave the word its due pause.
“So exciting,” Miss Mountford continued. “I only have small properties by the sea, and I’ve never had occasion to visit them.”
“But you’ve drunk smuggled tea,” Virginia said. “At least a third of the tea we drink is smuggled. Probably much more.”
Angela made a sound of exasperation. “If the government would agree to lower the duty on it, they could put the smugglers out of business. They’d make up the income from the extra, legal tea. But they won’t do it.”
Virginia flicked the fine lace at her elbows. “We can’t tell what is smuggled and what is not. This lace is French, and I bought it in Bond Street, but who knows where they got it from?”
“Tea, brandy, lace, tobacco.” Miss Manners leaned over the plan. “So which of those does this house handle? It’s close to the sea, on a cliff. And since it’s in Devonshire, you can’t tell me there are not caves underneath it. It’s isolated, not lived in…perfect for the gentlemen.”
“The gentlemen” was the deliberately vague term many used to describe the smugglers. Look the other way on a moonless night and a barrel of brandy would appear at the
back door.
“We can do little about the trade. The gangs run their communities with fear and reward,” Virginia said now. “I will not have any house I own used in that trade.”
“If you see anything while you’re there, you won’t try to act on your own, will you?” Miss Manners said, her frown indicating her anxiety.
Virginia shook her head. “No, and if there’s a run or a landing in the bay, I shall pretend to ignore it. I can’t fight them on my own. But I can tell the excise men and take steps when I’m in a place of safety. The house is not far from Newton Abbott. I can also stay at the inn there. If there is smuggling going on, then it is because of the caretakers I have there. If I find any evidence at all, they will go.”
Miss Manners heaved a sigh but said nothing. She didn’t have to. Although a member of a distinguished family and related to the Dukes of Rutland, she had no house to call her own, nor any likelihood of having one. She was one of those poor relations who provided useful services for free.
Unpaid governess, companion, nurse, she went where she was required and received food, lodging, and little else. Nobody noticed her pretty face and lively intelligence because she had no fortune. If she were destitute, Virginia would help her, but she was not, and she never complained. Or gossiped, come to that.
Although Virginia owned a comfortable estate and a number of residences, she’d started lower than Miss Manners and ended higher.
Except their journeys weren’t finished yet. She could end up as low as possible. Life had no guarantees; recent events had only reinforced that for her. She was only too aware that her behavior could leave her an outcast, which would mean the several lucrative arrangements she could access through belonging would be denied her. And she would be very alone.
She had to take the greatest care in the coming weeks. The ladies here would help her, and in all honesty, she had come here today for the support and help she would find. That was one reason the SSL meant so much to her.
“Speaking for myself, I would not go within ten miles of the place, sea or not,” Miss Mountford said. “The sketches make it look forbidding, and if there is nothing else for miles, your body won’t be found for weeks.”
“Good Lord, it won’t come to that,” Virginia protested. “I only mean to stay there a night or two, and I will not disturb a soul. Merely assess it before I carry on. As far as anyone knows, it’s a way station for me, a place for me to rest before I reach my ultimate destination.”
“You’re braver than I am,” Miss Mountford commented. “Or more foolhardy.”
Demurely, Virginia agreed to take no unnecessary chances.
She might be adventurous, but she wasn’t an idiot.
Chapter 7
On arriving back at her London residence, Virginia was gratified to discover Butler had removed the front door knocker, something London residents did to indicate nobody was in. Nobody need know she was at home, so she could have a quiet evening without any visitors disturbing her peace.
The bulk of her staff had left for Devonshire in an unmarked carriage, with most of Virginia’s wardrobe and jewels. The London staff had left, all but Butler, Hurst the footman, Mrs. Coble the cook, and Winston.
When she arrived at her Devonshire home, her staff would be waiting, ready to pamper her and treat her like the lady she was. She’d hired a comfortable chaise to take her to her home. No postilions, no grandeur. She wanted to pass as a gentlewoman rather than a viscountess. She longed for a few days on her own, to think and plan, and rest after what had been an eventful London season.
The hired servants didn’t care about her. The notion was exhilarating. Not that she did not enjoy having people around her who cared for her, that would be foolish, but the journey was a holiday, a time when she didn’t have to think about anyone but herself. A respite, in fact.
She found unlocking the door and entering the house enjoyable, instead of having the door flung open at her approach. Putting her roll of papers down, she instructed Hurst to tuck them in her valise after he’d ordered tea.
The main rooms upstairs were already in holland covers, the sheets on all but her bed stripped. She felt like an interloper in her own home, but she didn’t mind. Tea, a book, and an early night were in order. She would enjoy every moment.
After removing her gloves and hat, Virginia turned to close the front door, which she’d left open at her entrance. The trouble with opening one’s own front door was that one must close it again.
Wheels rolled down the street. Her senses prickling, Virginia stepped back.
She was right to be cautious. Sitting on the high perch of his ridiculously delicate phaeton, his tiger clutching the back rail, was Lord Wolverley. He glanced at her front door and slowed his vehicle. Damnation. The absence of a door knocker would not deter him.
He leaped from the phaeton before she could move out of sight, and hurried up the steps. Virginia tried to block his entrance, and behind her, she felt the presence of her one remaining footman, the burly Hurst.
“You cannot come in,” she told Wolverley. “I am alone.”
Wolverley’s response was to wave off his tiger. “Wait for me at the end of the street.”
“No, you must go.”
He ignored her demand but hustled her back so he could kick the door closed. “I had meant to ask you to come for a drive, but I see you’re not dressed for it.”
How dare he treat her house like his own? “Didn’t you understand what I told you yesterday?”
“I did, but…” He flicked a glance at Hurst. “I have something particular I need to say to you.” His gaze swept the hall, taking in the packed valise standing there, her traveling cloak and the scarcity of furnishings. “If you mean to travel, then I should speak to you now.”
“Society will hang and quarter me,” she said, trying to get around him to the door. “Out.”
He ignored her imperious demand. “No, they won’t. Your neighbors have already gone, and I sent the phaeton to the other end of the street. The area is clear, and there is nobody to see.” His brusque words belied the care for her buried deep inside what he said. He had noticed, and he was agreeing not to compromise her respectability. “Ten minutes, Virginia. That is all I ask.”
Had he discovered something about Combe Manor, or did he want another chance to buy it? Either way, she should not do this. But if he left now and someone had seen him enter, he’d do as much damage if she threw him out now than in ten minutes. The urgency she saw in his eyes persuaded her.
“Very well, ten minutes. But then you must leave and not seek me out again.” She took him to the breakfast parlor at the back of the house. This and the front parlor were the only main rooms left out of holland covers, and after she left on Monday, they would be shrouded too.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Virginia turned to face him. “You cannot keep doing this, Wolverley.”
“Doing what?” he asked, a smile curling his mouth.
“You know what.” With a wave, she indicated the room, and the lack of company. “Mrs. Dauntry is not here. Nobody is here to give me countenance. If you’re not careful, you’ll have us lovers and married in a month.”
“Would that be so bad?” He asked so softly, sincerity in every syllable.
She caught her breath. “Of course it would. You are foolish.” But her heart beat faster, and she became aware of the vital presence of this man. “Tell me what you have to, and be off, my lord.” Reverting to the formal title should have made her feel safer. But it did not. Not one bit.
He gave a sharp nod. “I know you intend to avoid me this summer. I cannot blame you for it. But I don’t want you to.”
Lifting her head, she met his eyes. They were blazing. “We cannot meet again, Wolverley. Every time we are seen together will add to the gossip. Even if we are yards apart all the time.” She couldn’t stop staring
at him.
“That’s not the entire reason, is it? You feel it, don’t you, Virginia?”
“Feel what?”
“This attraction between us. Dulverton saw it. One look was all it took. It hasn’t worn off, has it?”
“No.” Unable to speak, she mouthed the word.
For once, she would speak the truth. When Wolverley appeared, the very air stung with intensity. The reaction had frightened her, and Virginia hated being frightened.
Ralph had spoiled her for passion. She never, ever wanted to repeat the events that happened with Ralph, never wanted another man in her bed.
And yet…
When Wolverley took a step forward, she did not step back. Putting up her chin, she dared him.
He dared more. Another step, and he was standing directly in front of her and then, without fully understanding how it happened, she was in his arms and his mouth slammed down on hers.
He groaned into her mouth as she opened her lips, and he was there, thrusting deep, licking gently, tasting her, seducing her with his magnificent body and his kiss, by turns passionate and tender. The care he took as he shifted her so her head rested on his shoulder undid her. He freed his right hand to go roaming. He touched her jacket, slid her neckcloth away, undid a few buttons and found skin.
Her skin prickled, and her whole body came awake. Like a character from an old story, Virginia awoke from her long sleep. And now she was awake, she wanted more.
With a sharp intake of breath, she moved closer, slipped her hand inside his coat, around to his back, where two thin layers, one silk, one linen, lay between her and his bare flesh. By sliding her hand up, she created enough friction to feel the flex of hard muscle.
For this, yes, she wanted this—him—so much.
When he touched the roof of her mouth with his tongue and stroked, so very gently, all her good intentions flew away. Only a whisper of one remained, and she clutched it, held the sentence she must say in her mind, and let him have his way.
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