Before arriving, Valerian had given the earl’s convoluted proposition due consideration. He’d reviewed the amount of debt that hovered like a harbinger of doom over his every action. He’d envisioned his future once Rigby spoke to his peers and expressed his reaction to the night’s events; and then succinctly walled his heart from all emotion, unwilling to consider how the consequences of the evening would impact Whimsy. She would never trust or speak to him again, believing he’d curried her favor while all along planning deception. Perhaps Rigby was correct. The evening’s destruction was best dealt with swiftly.
But then he’d entered the party and greeted Leonard and Fiona arm in arm, their smiles ear to ear. He’d faltered only the tiniest margin, the barricade circling his heart strong…until his eyes found Wilhelmina.
Why did he turn in her direction?
How could he not?
One glance at Whimsy across the room and the wall protecting his heart evaporated, raw desire no match for brick and mortar, real or otherwise. He could never destroy the tenuous bond they’d formed nor obliterate the hope for her future. He hadn’t the funds to recompense what she might gain from her matchmaking, regardless he’d forfeit all funds from his matchbreaking. And yet he couldn’t pay court. What little did he have to offer her? A paltry scrap of pride and a mockery of a title. That was not enough.
So he stood, once again trapped by circumstances and money; the root of all his heartache. He’d need to find some way to recover financial security or be as guilty as Jasper, vowing to do what must be done, but abandoning the plan when the conditions turned uncomfortable. Indulging in what he wanted more than what he needed. Although when he allowed honest emotion and considered Whimsy, the two conditions overlapped as if a blanket of homespun sanctuary.
“You should return to the party before someone remarks on the oddity of your absence.” Valerian indicated the doors with a wag of his chin. “I’ll walk to the other side of the terrace and find another entrance.” It was a spark of an idea to deter any suspicion raised by him entering the drawing room only minutes after Rigby returned.
He waited no longer and wound around the corner of the house, following the wrapped terrace to an entrance on the back of the property. He slipped into the room and quickly closed the doors behind him.
“Whatsoever are you doing?”
Valerian’s hand stalled on the brass knob, Wilhelmina’s stark question causing him pause long enough to form a suitable reply. “I’ve lost my way.” The ironic truth was not wasted on him, but when she offered a faint smile free of circumspection, he soldiered on. “And thought to slip in undetected, but you’ve caught me.”
His eyes drank her in like he’d crossed a desert in desperate need of the drop of water she’d promised upon his arrival.
She looked lovelier than he’d remembered if that was at all possible. The gentle blush silk of her gown enhanced her skin’s ivory perfection and the way the fabric hugged her curves reminded how eager he was to have her in his arms. Perhaps he could spend just a few minutes in conversation, long enough to grant one dance before he destroyed her every illusion. She’d despise him on the morrow, what harm could come from prolonging tonight? God help him if she detected his desiderium.
Sentimental strains of a violin’s melody interrupted his considerations and he moved farther into the room, unwilling to lose the time he had left in Wilhelmina’s esteem. “Fancy finding you here. Are you not enjoying the party? Or have you withdrawn to the library in search of a bit of Byron?”
In search of you. Good lord, she could never confess that. But once detached from the jovial engagement party and no longer distracted by idle conversation, she’d become lost in the tumult of her thoughts and Livie’s painful suffering. She’d already decided to leave early and return home; the weight of her sister’s discomfort a shadow over the evening, her purpose echoed in her soul.
“I needed a moment. Nothing more.” She strove to keep her tone even.
“Then I shall leave you. It’s unseemly for the two of us to be sequestered alone again. Or is it three times now? Perhaps fate plays a game of which we are unaware.”
His charming words served their purpose and she smiled, recalling the time spent in the wine cellar with spectacular clarity. “Ah, but it was then that you promised to assist me with Leonard and Fiona and now we are here to celebrate their betrothal.” She indicated their surroundings with her gloved palm. “Besides, your conversation is welcome and a fine distraction from my heavy thoughts.”
“You’re concerned for the guests of honor?” He canted his head, his eyes alive with interest.
“I’m concerned for my sister,” she answered with forlorn honesty. “She was unwell earlier today and while I’m here, she likely suffers still. It’s a humbling and helpless condition, to care so much and be unable to improve the situation.” How she wished she could confess her darkest regret: that had she not acted so thoughtlessly that night, the accident might never have happened; her dear parents and sister untouched by her foolish decision and imprudent choice.
“I understand. More than you realize.” His voice held a gentle sincerity. “I hope your worry is for naught, your sister already improved.”
“Thank you. You’re very kind.”
He strode closer, his boot heels echoing the solid thud of her heart. He looked incredibly handsome and dangerously male, yet the observation served to fuel her pulse more than cause trepidation. Anticipation swelled in her throat. Would he kiss her again? Lord, she hoped so. No doubt another kiss would rid her mind of function altogether.
He stopped when only a stride separated them, and she instinctually alerted to the scent of neroli and cloves. Again her heartbeat leapt. Watching with avid interest, his eyes full of warm promise, he extended his white gloved hand as a smile curled his mouth in delicious invitation. Good lord, he portrayed the definition of dashing.
“May I have this dance, Whimsy?” His grin widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners in the most attractive manner.
It wasn’t at all what she expected, but she floated into his arms, the faint melody from the musicians at the front of the house sufficient to set the tempo as they fell into step.
“At the least I may serve as a distraction.” His words met her ear with surprising tenderness no matter his arms held her in a circle of possession and strength. It was as if he understood the ache of her sadness. That was impossible. He was an affluent earl with the world in his pocket, what sense of helplessness could ever touch him?
“As gladdened as I am for Fiona, matchmaking has an ironic consequence of epitomizing the absence of companionship in my future.” She followed the words with a dismissive shrug.
“One hardly excludes the other.” He withdrew the slightest to meet her eyes. “Were I shopping for a wife, you’d be the first person I’d seek.”
Her heart somersaulted in her chest, her breathing tight, until logic interrupted with a slap to her brain. Surely he meant for her matchmaking advice, not as a choice for wifedom. If only her emotions would stop jumping to conclusions and begging disappointment at every turn.
Still, she could have this moment to cherish. To pretend his regard was based on emotion instead of benevolence. She angled her chin and gazed into his lovely blue eyes, as deep and fathomless as the ocean, the sweep of long black eyelashes framing the midnight luster of his irises, the same charming crinkles enhancing his attentive stare. Her nerves danced.
“Again, thank you. You’ve graciously assisted in encouraging Leonard’s suit and I’m forever indebted for any help that allows me to succeed on my sister’s benefit.” With her heart pounding, she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, warm and roughened with wonderful masculinity. His head whipped round so that only her gasp separated their mouths. His lips parted and a rush of hot desire drenched her head to toes. His eyes, glittering in the fractured candlelight, looked into her with such depth he could surely read the most locked-tight secrets of her hea
rt. Some indefinable emotion took hold; something magical and enchanting and without question the best feeling of her life.
She could fall in love with this man. She likely had already fallen.
His lips descended nary a hair’s breadth to bring their mouths together. With an intense combination of need and desire their mouths collided, fulfilling all possible expectations. He tasted like a fantasy she’d never dare dream, hot, strong, confident and otherworldly. Her kiss was anxious, his showed no hesitation, and with the first glide of her tongue against his, a shiver of heat and sensation rioted through her with such impact, it was as though someone slid a silk sheet across her bare skin, teasing and exposing, evoking desire and forbidden impulses tamped deep inside.
He pulled her flush against his body. Her breasts, too sensitive, the tips pebbled inside her corset, seemed barely protected from his heat, his broad-shouldered strength holding her against his hard chest so every exhale resonated as her own, the deep growl of his passion an echoed rumble in her chest.
He deepened the kiss, slanting his mouth for another open-mouthed embrace, one hand tight at her back, his fingers splayed to hold her in place as if she’d ever think to flee.
The kiss was gloriously soul-searing, emotional and at the same time daring and passionate; the effect dizzying and delightful, too wonderful for words, and she thrilled with every detail, committing his passionate attention to memory, not wishing to miss a single resplendent nuance. Yet for all its layers of breath-stealing titillation, it ached with a quality that bespoke of finality, a goodbye kiss of sorts. The realization startled her into deepening her efforts with a desperate plea to disprove her heart’s conclusion.
He withdrew with a shuddering exhale hot across her cheek, whispering kisses along her cheekbone as if he didn’t wish to end contact just yet; his lips paused near her ear, the slight whiskered scrape of his chin exquisitely sensual against her delicate lobe.
“Wilhelmina.”
His deep-felt emotion caused a sweet ache in her heart. Yet despite the ardent affection he’d just shown, a note of sadness tainted his murmur. They stood in breathless silence for a moment longer.
She meant only to thank him with her tender peck on the cheek.
Liar.
He shouldn’t have kissed her so fervently and she would mention it as soon as her head cleared.
And then treasure it always.
He swayed to the sound of the musicians, rejuvenating their dance, and they twirled in another small circle before either one of them found their way to words.
“Fiona and Leonard are certainly happy.” Her inner joy mirrored the words.
“You deserve all the credit, Whimsy. This happy ending was none of my doing. Leonard and Fiona found romance without my interference.”
His words were gratuitous although something clouded his expression, not unlike the emotion she’d detected earlier in the drawing room. He suddenly seemed different, the hold of his arms distant and feeling not at all intimate as it did only breaths before. A million questions danced on her tongue, but she kept them locked inside. When she glanced at his face, the wariness in his eyes deepened. “Have I said something I shouldn’t have?”
“Not at all.” He inhaled deeply and matched her concern with solemn intensity. “Lemon and gardenia. Very lovely. It suits you.” They continued although their natural fluidity had evaporated, their movements more perfunctory than enjoyable. She offered him a mute smile as several long minutes ticked by.
“I thought I could do this, but I can’t.” His voice was nothing more than a husky whisper near her ear and she wasn’t sure if he spoke to her or himself.
Puzzled by his odd confession, she studied him as they stalled in contemplative silence at the middle of the room. “Are you all right,Valerian?”
He sliced her a look at the use of his Christian name, still the unanswered question waited between them and Wilhelmina wondered how their exchange had gone from light banter and indescribable kisses to a disrupted dance and inutile conversation. She blinked, uncertain and all at once self-conscious.
“I should go.” He withdrew; his voice remote in the silence until a loud outburst, earsplitting and stentorian, caused them both to rush toward the door. Wilhelmina followed Valerian down the narrow hallway barely able to keep pace with his hurried strides.
The scene in the drawing room was nothing she expected. Leonard stood beside Fiona, his posture tight and furious as if he aimed to punch someone rather than celebrate his engagement. Fiona was tearful, her hands clasped within her mother’s, while Lords Rigby and Nobles stood nose to nose at the center of the floor.
Having been out of the room, Wilhelmina had no idea where the conversation had wandered, yet Valerian’s face appeared anything but perplexed. She watched him step forward, with nary a backward glance in her direction.
“I’m sure there’s some way we can discuss—”
“Speak up. Now’s as good a time as any. Tell them what you know.”
“I don’t think this is the—”
“Tell me what? What’s wrong with Leonard?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me, sweetling. I have no idea what my father is blustering about.”
“Mind your tongue, Leonard. There’s no way I’ll condone this marriage. The Rigby lineage will not be marred—”
“How dare you?” Lady Rigby barged to the center of the fray, the fuchsia plume artfully arranged in her coif bobbing in objection as she raised her voice above the din and silenced the commotion with three words of outrage. She pointed a dainty lace-gloved finger at her husband. “You’ve been against this marriage from the beginning and I will not allow you to spoil Leonard’s happiness no matter what underhand methods you’ve employed.” She finished on a shrill note, her eyes pinning her husband with contempt before she slued a venomous glare in Dashwood’s direction.
Lord Rigby opened his mouth to rebut, but the marchioness continued her tirade in high dungeon.
“I’ve known about your sneaky manipulations since the onset. Our butler has kept me abreast of every sly maneuver.” She prodded his shoulder, her finger sinking into the cloth with pressure. “Every clandestine meeting and bank draft.” She poked him again before swinging her accusatory glare to Dashwood, only this time the rapt audience mimicked her actions, every head in the room turned in Valerian’s direction.
Panic clutched Wilhelmina’s lungs.
Valerian stepped back at Lady Rigby’s assertion.
Wilhelmina inched behind him, her whisper meant for his ears only. “You don’t have something to do with this mess, do you?” An incredulous note punctuated her question.
“Dashwood.” Rigby’s voice shook with barely controlled anger. “Do I need to do everything myself?”
“Lord Rigby, that’s not true at all.” Wilhelmina broke in before she examined Valerian’s face, all at once confused, but then aware; the nascent hope that she’d found someone who understood her struggle crushed beneath the weight of sudden realization.
He met her gaze with equal concern. “Perhaps I should explain.”
Like a kick in the chest, Wilhelmina’s body felt airless, her hopes emptied. A whisper of protest escaped as full recognition of his betrayal took hold. But again, the room’s hostility demanded attention.
“Explain?” Fiona’s shrill question cut across the room. She dropped her mother’s comforting grasp and approached Dashwood with a stricken expression. “It’s too late for explanations. What sort of gentleman consorts to cause unhappiness?”
“My father, I’d expect.” Leonard came up behind Fiona, gently grasping her elbow for a show of support. “But certainly not my friend.”
Chapter Sixteen
Wilhelmina returned home to find the upper windows bright, her sister’s bedchamber illuminated. As soon as the carriage slowed, she hurried down the slate path, through the door and upstairs to Livie’s rooms. Aunt Kate stood near the foot of the bed, lines of worry and fatigue etched into he
r expression as she wrung a handkerchief in tight twists.
Wilhelmina focused on her sister beneath the counterpane and beleaguered by a restless sleep. Livie moaned, her brow damp with sweat. Near her bedside the jar of her medicinal ointment stood opened, and there were used rags littering the floorboards bearing evidence to a round of cramping and discomfort.
“How long has she been like this?”
Aunt Kate didn’t reply and Wilhelmina wondered if her aunt was lost to worry or simply hadn’t heard the concerned whisper. Unwilling to raise her voice and disrupt what little rest Livie might find, Wilhelmina touched her aunt’s arm and signaled they step to the hallway.
Once able to speak in a louder voice, she hurriedly questioned the situation. “How is Livie? Has she declined during the night?”
“I don’t understand what’s happened. She’d made such improvement of late. Now I’m so worried.” Aunt Kate grimaced, her eyes shining with tears, as if she experienced the same pain as her niece, confined to the bed behind her. “She seemed unusually fatigued earlier, so after you left we summoned Dr. Morris. He arrived within an hour and examined Livie, although he didn’t appear as concerned as I thought he might be. He mentioned that the muscles needed to be stretched and exercised often for flexibility and there would be soreness or discomfort after each vigorous session. He also recommended we continue with the menthol ointment and therapeutic massage at a higher intensity, but already, Livie withstands such pain.” She finished on an emotional note, unable to keep her distress composed.
“Well, if the doctor showed no concern, maybe we need to accept this as part of the process that will lead to Livie’s good health? Dr. Morris’ advice has been our salvation. No other doctor wanted to invest time in Livie’s recovery, confining her to a chair and offering little alternative.” Whimsy clasped her aunt’s hands to offer reassurance. “I know it’s difficult to see Livie in pain. I feel as if it’s my own, but I have to believe in the doctor’s plan. Livie has made great strides since we’ve begun the therapy sessions.” She sent a silent prayer upward in hope it might assuage the guilt in her heart.
Defying the Earl Page 15
