He leaned farther down, bending her far forward and in turn, keeping her in place with his weight. “Cease being an impertinent child,” he demanded, his warm breath heating the side of her chilled cheek. “He’ll be fine. You, on the hand, won’t be if you get any more drenched.”
She trembled within his arms, the cold seeping deeper into her skin. “He is all I have left of Victor. And if that makes me a child, so be it. Now let me go. Let me go!”
Remington released her, allowing them both to straighten. Turning her toward him, he grasped her shoulders, pulling her close. The few waning candles in the sconces of the entrance hall dimly illuminated his rain-moistened face. He rubbed her shoulders. “Forgive me. Grayson has often told me how close you and your brother were.”
She looked away, refusing to give in to emotions that were pointless to feel. It wouldn’t change the fact that her brother was gone, having succumbed to smallpox after a servant had exposed him to it. Sometimes she wondered why it hadn’t been her.
Remington’s fingers pressed into her shoulder blades, silently assuring her that she was not alone. Not wanting or needing his pity, she pushed away his heavy arms and swiped away droplets of water running down the sides of her face and chin.
“Victoria.”
She glanced toward him. “What is it now?”
“I…leave for Venice tomorrow.”
She sighed, unable to hide her own disappointment knowing she wouldn’t see him until her coming out. “Yes. I know.”
“I may not return in time for your debut. Which is why I was hoping you could…” He winced.
She stared up at him, dreading whatever he had in mind. “You were hoping I could what?”
He shrugged and glanced away. “I…wanted to give you something, is all. Something that would—”
“You had better not be asking me for a kiss, Remington. Because you won’t get it.”
He cleared his throat and shook his head before setting his broad shoulders. “No. I…in truth, I wanted to give you something that will help bring Flint back.”
She sighed. “A whistle won’t be of any use. That dog hates whistles.”
“It’s not a whistle.” He drew closer, his wet hair glistening as black as night, and dug into his soaked trouser pocket. He held up a dainty, gold-and-ruby ring by the tips of his fingers. “Here. Take this.”
Sometimes, men were utterly useless, weren’t they? “I do believe my intelligence is being insulted. How is a ring supposed to bring my dog back?”
He let out a gruff laugh and grabbed up her chilled hand, forcing it open. Holding the ring up between them, he set it against her palm and pressed her hand tightly closed. Water from the sleeve of his shirt dribbled onto her hand, raising more gooseflesh on her already cold skin.
He lowered his voice. “My mother gave this to me shortly before she passed eight years ago. She and I were very close. From what I am told, a Gypsy gifted it to her. All you need know is that the worth of this ring will prove itself to you in time. Believe in its magic, and I assure you, all will come to pass. I am giving it to you so you can wish for anything you might ever want or need whilst I am away.”
Victoria opened her hand and blinked down at the ring. She glanced up at him. “Surely, you jest.”
“I do not.”
“You are a man of nineteen. You don’t actually believe in real magic, do you?”
“Age should never exempt one from hope. Which is what defines true magic.” He tapped at her hand, still holding her gaze. “Place the ring on your finger, whisper to the stone whatever it is you most desire and it will come to pass. I promise.”
She snorted. “Are you trying to melt butter in a wig? There are no magic rings in this world.”
He lowered his chin and drew closer. His hand reached out and brushed her cheek, his warmth making her cool skin tingle. “How do you know there aren’t?” he murmured, staring at her lips. “Have you whispered your most intimate desires to every single ring that exists in this world?”
“Well, no, I…” She froze, fully aware that he was inching in closer. His dark head lowered as he tilted his face toward her own.
She gasped, scrambling out of his reach, and stumbled, her bare feet sliding across the cold marble floor. She didn’t want or need her father to catch her being irresponsible. Not when her coming out was only seven months away.
She bustled toward the dim, sweeping stairwell, and chanted to herself that she needed to leave. Her hand, which still held his ring, trembled, though not from the cold.
“Victoria. Please. Don’t leave. Not yet. I need this moment between us to last. It may be as many as ten months before I see you again.” There was a tender huskiness in his voice that made her melt with yearning. It was a yearning she didn’t think she’d ever feel for anyone. Or want to feel for anyone. Not after the losses she’d endured.
Though she did pause, her pride insisted she not turn, lest she give in to the pathetic yearning she felt by flinging herself at him like a squirrel into a pile of nuts.
He cleared his throat. “I don’t go about seducing women, if that is what you think I am doing. Ask Grayson. My father was a true gentleman to his very last breath, and since his passing, I have honored his legacy. So much so, in fact, that I haven’t even allowed myself to kiss anyone.”
She spun back toward him and met his gaze across the short distance between them. “You’ve never kissed a woman? At your age?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve already kissed some lucky bastard, or I will hang myself for admitting what I just did.”
She bit back a laugh, realizing how serious he was. She shook her head, her wet braid clinging to her shoulder. “Of course I haven’t kissed anyone.”
“Good. Because I am not one to share with others.”
Her fingers tightened around the ring he’d given her, the sides of the stone digging into her palm. “I wouldn’t worry about others. I’m not even allowed to be alone in the presence of a man who isn’t a relative. You know that. Even this would be considered very…”
He closed the distance between them. “Very what?”
“Improper.”
His dark brows came together. “Genuine intentions could never be improper. I swear upon my honor that I have never once pursued a woman the way I am pursuing you. But this…you…us…it is meant to be. I can feel it.”
“You can feel it?” she drawled. “Oh, dear. That cannot be good. You may require leeches.”
He glared at her. “I am being quite serious.”
She giggled. “Yes. A bit too serious, I see.”
“Victoria.” He lowered his voice, leaning toward her. “I am not being insincere. I am merely conveying what I feel. What I have always felt. Destiny has been whispering your name to me ever since our eyes met. I cannot let this go. I cannot let you go. To do so would be to walk away from everything I feel.”
Victoria gawked up at him. It was as if he really did believe in all the silly things that existed in story-books. Silly things like magic rings and destined courtly love meant to conquer all. Why, she hadn’t believed in such nonsense since she was…thirteen, when her mother died and shattered not only her father’s life, but her own. And when Victor had died…the last of whatever true happiness she’d known had died, too. Love could conquer quite a bit, that she knew, but it couldn’t conquer death. Which was why she wasn’t about to let it conquer her.
“How can destiny be whispering anything to you?” she challenged. “You don’t even know anything about me, aside from all of our superficial banter.”
“I know quite a bit about you.”
“You do not.”
“My dear, I have exhausted myself with all the inquiries I’ve made about you. I believe I know more about you than I know about myself.”
“Oh, is that so?”
“That is exactly so.”
“Then tell me. When and where was I born?”
He tilted his head and pushed away her wet
braid from her shoulder. Her heart fluttered from the touch and she felt herself leaning toward him.
“I need more of a challenge than that, Victoria.”
“So you don’t know.”
“I do know.”
She jabbed his wet chest. “Then answer it.”
He caught her hand with his, keeping it from poking him. He smiled and lifted it to his mouth.
Full, warm lips brushed against her chilled skin, sending tingles of heat darting through her entire body. Wild tingles that made her breath and her pulse catch.
Meeting her gaze, he rubbed his fingers against her hand and indulgently replied, “Both you and Victor were born on the ninth of April in the year eighteen hundred and seven in the east wing of this house. You came first and your brother second. Whilst you thrived at birth, Victor was very frail. Though physicians did not expect him to live, he did, and as a result, your parents were always very protective of him. In time, however, you became far more protective and mothered Victor to annoyance.”
She blinked and yanked her hand out of his. This was far too intimate to be respectful. “Who told you that?”
“Grayson. I had him tell me everything about you. And I do mean everything.”
“Everything?” she echoed.
“Everything.”
“You can’t know everything.”
“Oh, but I can. Ask me another question.”
“I will.” She rolled his ring against the palm of her hand and eyed the end of the wood banister beside them, trying to come up with a question. “Who is my favorite author?”
“Daniel Defoe. The History and Remarkable Life of the Truly Honourable Colonel Jacque is your favorite. And though you’ve tried numerous times to get Grayson to unearth a copy of The Fortunes and Misfortunes of the Famous Moll Flanders, Grayson knows you are far too young to be exposed to such devious content.”
Her eyes widened. Oh, she most certainly was going to gibbet Grayson for this. “What else did my cousin tell you about me?”
“Things you would probably deny. But things I cannot help but find extremely endearing.” His eyes flicked down toward her lips. He leaned in, hovering close. His breath heated the air between them, the scent of rain and allspice drifting all around her. “I want you to kiss me. I need you to kiss me. Because right now, destiny is telling me that if we do this, our lives will never be the same.”
She drew in a breath.
In her heart, she wanted to believe this romantic sop. She wanted to believe that if she kissed him and allowed herself to submit to whatever he was offering, her entire life would be transformed and all of her doubts about relationships, people, life and death would dissipate into a pile of rose petals she could toss into a fountain. Could a kiss change her entire life like the tip of a fairy wand changing one apple into a whole pie? There was only one way to find out.
“Don’t move,” she warned.
“I won’t,” he whispered.
Victoria eyed the quiet darkness of the foyer around them. Knowing she was probably going to regret it in one way or another, she raised herself onto the tips of her bare toes, hooked a hand behind his strong neck and yanked him down toward her. She pressed her lips against his surprisingly warm and soft mouth.
Lean, muscled arms slid around her and molded her closer against the length of his rain-soaked body. Everything swayed and spun. It was incredible.
Ever so slowly, their pressed lips parted in unison. After a moment of awkward hesitation, their tongues touched. Her pulse leapt. The faint taste of sweet, spiced cake made her realize Remington had in fact been in the kitchen eating Mrs. Davidson’s Banbury cakes.
His hot, wet tongue slid against her own as he deepened their kiss. All of her melted into a tingling disarray as she pressed herself against him, wanting and needing to be near him. Remington groaned against her mouth, his large hands drifting toward the back of her waist and skimming her entire backside through her wet nightdress.
She gasped, realizing she was allowing too much, and broke their kiss, pushing herself out of his arms. That was not what she had expected. It had only made her realize she was capable of feeling so much more than she’d ever imagined, and in turn, losing so much more. “There.” She tried to sound indifferent, even though her heart pounded and her throat tightened. “Is destiny well pleased?”
His hands dropped heavily to his sides, but his eyes remained closed. “Destiny wants you to do it again.”
She let out a nervous laugh and stepped back. “I think not. My father would send me away to Scotland if he caught us doing this. And then what? We would never see each other again.”
He opened his eyes and stared at her, his chest rising and falling heavily, emphasizing how wet his shirt was and how incredibly attractive both he and his chest were. “So you want to see me again? Why?”
Her cheeks burned. “Well…I…like you. I have always liked you. You know that.”
“Like?” His voice was gruff. “I like Banbury cakes, but I’m not going to take them to the altar and give them my name and my children. I want to know. What do you really feel for me, Victoria? Tell me. Aside from like? That kiss told me you are well beyond like.”
She blinked up at him, realizing she had placed herself in a very awkward situation. He was trying to extract promises. Mrs. Lambert was going to have a fit. “You cannot expect a lady to divulge what she feels.”
“If you and Mrs. Lambert think my intentions are villainous, then neither of you know a thing about me.” He searched her face in the shadows, the silence of the house interrupted by the steady rush of rain outside. “Are you going to place my mother’s ring on your finger? Or are you going to deny what it is I know you feel?”
Kissing him had been a horrid mistake, because now he seemed to think she was in love with him. Young though she was, she understood how attachments caused one’s fingers to slide off the ledge of reality. Her own father’s grip had slipped years ago. “I will keep your ring on my finger this one night, to assure you of my fondness, and will return it to you in the morning before you leave. But that is all I am willing to offer.”
“No. I am asking you to keep it on your finger until I return from Venice.”
“Keeping it would insinuate far too much and I am not in a position to be granting you or any man favors. Now, please. Don’t tell anyone about this. Not even Grayson.”
He raised a forefinger and tapped it gently against his lips. “I will tell no one. I am and will forever be your protector from this night forth.” He lowered his finger, never once breaking their gaze. It was as if he were silently announcing to her that she was now his. All his.
She swallowed. “If you really seek to pursue this, Remington—”
“I do. Believe me, I do. By God, I have been—”
“Then I suggest you prove your worth in seven months. Not a day sooner. Good night.” Feeling her damp skin tingle beneath the continued heat of his gaze, she quickly turned and scampered up the stairs.
Odd though it was, she couldn’t even remember how she got back to her room. With trembling hands, she bolted her bedchamber door, stripped off her damp clothing and put on a dry chemise and nightdress. Burying herself within the linens and coverlet of her bed, she turned on her side and fingered the ring in her hand.
She drew in a shaky breath and let it out, praying that if Flint was indeed outside, he had found shelter for the night. Heaven forbid that whilst she had been indulging in an incredible kiss with an incredible man, Flint had drowned.
Bringing the ring to her lips, she whispered against the polished ruby, “I beg of you to prove yourself by returning Flint to my side.”
She held her breath and blinked, expecting something to happen. When nothing did—and why would it?—she slid the ring onto her finger, wanting and needing to believe in real pixie magic. The way she used to before loss had destroyed whatever was left of her family, her happiness and her heart.
Late morning, the library
“You are supposed to be reading,” Mrs. Lambert ordered with artificial patience from where she sat in a cane chair opposite Victoria. “Regardless of Flint’s absence, you have responsibilities that cannot be swept aside. One must exude staid refinement even during the most trying of times.”
“Yes, Mrs. Lambert.” Exude staid refinement, indeed. There was far more to life than putting on superficial airs. Her dog was missing, possibly dead, and she wasn’t even supposed to care?
Victoria huffed out a breath and grudgingly paged open the red leather-bound book, How To Avoid A Scandal.
“Ladies do not huff out breaths.” Mrs. Lambert’s brown eyes pinned her with an agitated stare.
“Yes, Mrs. Lambert.” Setting her chin, Victoria held her open book up with the refined poise expected of her. She didn’t understand why she was being forced to tolerate the teachings of an etiquette book in preparation for her coming out, which was still a whole seven months away. Not seven days away.
She read the very first page:
Whether or not a lady possesses excellent character, astounding wealth, esteemed rank, or is simply a mere Miss with nothing more than a face and a figure to recommend her to the world, society will still demand the same of each and every woman: perfection. If this appears too daunting, this author can assure you it most certainly is. Society is a ruthless creature expecting perfection in everything a woman does, yet it rarely applies those same expectations toward men. This manipulated form of prejudice creates an unfortunate imbalance that allows men to deviate in ways that put women at a disadvantage. This disadvantage is what ultimately compelled me to offer an array of words in an attempt to rescue and retain a sensibility in a woman. There is only one reason as to why a lady should read this book, and that is to prevent her from becoming a flapping fish upon a hook.
Once Upon a Scandal Page 3
