The weight of his chest and strength of his arms, the hot pursuit of his mouth and tongue, left her breathless and invigorated, and she didn’t spare impropriety a niggling of consideration. On a sign of surrender, she answered the persistent rub of his tongue with equal caresses. His groan of appreciation reverberated from his chest to her heart. She threaded her fingers through his hair, a fantasy she’d kept secret since the moment she landed them in a mud puddle, and relished the silky softness glossing between her fingers, an erotic entreaty to explore more.
Valerian broke free, his kisses extended across her cheekbone, against her ear, where he whispered delicious words of temptation, his breath notching her desire tighter. She wriggled beneath him and relished the weight of his body, melting as he tasted the side of her neck, licking and nipping a path to her shoulder, her desire alive and anxious. She wanted nothing more than to feel the heat of his kiss on each part of her.
Had the butler not chosen that moment to interrupt, she might have allowed Valerian every advantage.
A strong knock intruded and Valerian narrowed his eyes as he withdrew, fixing his expression in a grim line of dissatisfaction as he shielded Wilhelmina and pivoted toward the door.
“What is it, Turner?” His sharp-edged tone could not be misconstrued.
“I apologize for the interruption, milord, but I knocked persistently to no avail and there is a situation that needs your immediate attention.”
“I’m sure it can wait.” The succinct directive left little room for discussion, yet Turner pursued the matter.
“It cannot.”
Valerian nodded his apologies to Wilhelmina, now reassembled and seated primly on the settee. He exited the room with the intent to strangle Turner if the interruption proved unnecessary although his servant had never shown poor judgment in the past.
“My apologies once again, milord, but as I prepared the fireplace in your study a drop of water struck my head, alerting me to an additional problem with the roof. As I investigated I found a large leak around the window casement where rain enters with a steady trickle. I’ve done my best to patch the problem, but I knew you would want to be made aware.”
“Of course.” Valerian huffed a frustrated sigh. “Let us assess the situation.” He thrust out his arm to allow Turner the lead and followed with a silent prayer the wounded estate could be staunched one more time. As he climbed the stairs, he avoided the loose floorboards midrise, their creak a sure sign of further impending repair.
A quick assessment of the leak lent him a portion of relief.
“Very good, Turner. You’ve done a wonderful job of patching this up. Have you checked the other rooms for similar disparity?”
“I did, milord. At present conditions appear dry, although the rain has intensified. I doubt this portion of the roof will withstand a slanting downpour without fail.”
Thunder and lightning chased Turner’s words as if promising the proclamation and they looked to the study ceiling as if awaiting the slightest evidence nature’s elements were forcing their way indoors.
Turner started to leave. “I will return downstairs and check the kitchen. The roof there has been completed and this weather will serve as testament to whether or not Cook’s brother’s work is reliable. He’ll be needed to attend this problem.”
“Indeed.” The butler left and Valerian flicked his eyes upward. Clear of further leakage and disappointment, his mind reeled to Wilhelmina and her safety. She’d need to leave straightaway if she hoped to return to London before the storm worsened. His conscience already argued the roadways would soon become unsafe. Were they to wash out, she’d be stranded with no means to find safety. She’d taken a hired hackney to Kirby Park. It was his responsibility to see her home.
The creaking floorboards of the stairway grabbed his attention and he headed toward the door, confident Turner knew the treads to avoid. He could never have harm come to Whimsy.
But he was too late. She stood at the top of the landing, her expression one of surprise and despair.
Embarrassment suffocated any remaining pride in his heart.
“Oh dear.” Her utterance, nothing more than a muted whisper, held a note of sadness above all else.
They stood in uncomfortable silence for longer than he would have liked.
At last, she spoke. “I thought to tell you I must leave. The weather is worsening and my aunt will be frantic with worry. I could never perpetuate her distress.”
“Yes, of course.” He forced his voice to remain steady.
His eyes followed hers as she scanned the bare walls, patched with plaster in odd places, the paint faded or discolored where pieces of art had been removed and sold. Earlier water damage had stained the ceiling near the upper corners and extended down the crease for a large portion of the wall. The brass wall fixtures stood empty and the carpet runner was nothing more than a threadbare shadow of its earlier extravagance, the nap almost transparent. Aside from a scarred lowboy holding a pair of blunt tallow candles, the corridor remained absent of furniture.
“Then we should go at once.” He broke the moment and strode toward the stairs, pausing as they descended to indicate where she should take his hand and overstep the loose treads.
Once in the foyer, he conferred with Turner to have Arcadia hitched to his carriage in the stable. He would drive the conveyance for the duration of the trip. There were no footmen to assist.
Shielding Wilhelmina from the worst of the elements, he handed her into the coach and mounted the driver’s box, a beaver hat pulled low on his brow, his greatcoat of little help for the increasing rain. They’d spoken few words since the humbling experience at the top of the hall, and now only Arcadia offered an objecting whicker in response to the weather. Valerian flicked the reins and they were off.
The roads remained passable for the first thirty minutes of their journey. Val could only imagine Wilhelmina’s thoughts within the interior. He’d confessed his affection and financial distress with as much pride as he could muster all the while sequestered in a room meant to display a modicum of hope. Then she’d wandered up the staircase and discovered the truth. Would she consider his feelings an equal sham and assume the worst? Pride was lonely. Pride was hollow. Pride felt shoddier than unrequited love. But Wilhelmina cared for him. He could tell despite she hadn’t voiced the words.
Had Turner not interrupted earlier, he would have kissed her senseless, her sensual sigh of pleasure enticing invitation. The memory of her face as he withdrew, wide-eyed with kiss-bruised lips, fired sexual tension through his veins that reverberated in his groin despite the dropping temperature. He slapped the reins to urge Arcadia up an approaching incline and cursed into the wind aware he wouldn’t be able to explain further until Whimsy was safely returned to London.
Still to be traveling at such brisk speed, while the storm drove hard against them, was a foolish endeavor. A sudden gust of wind captured his cap before he could react, the stinging pelt of cold rain striking his face in sharp retaliation. He wiped his brow free of water, slicked his hair back, and blinked several times to clear his vision as drops continued to pebble his attention.
Ahead the roadway had washed out. What usually stood as a shallow creek had overcome the flooded roadway with unclear depth, a rushing current of storm-driven water. Valerian yanked the reins and Arcadia reared, the momentum pushing the carriage backward at a precarious angle, the wheels slanting across the mud. Within seconds, the coach skidded in the opposite direction. Val snapped the leathers, anxious to set Arcadia into motion and avoid the impending danger of a jackknife over the steep embankment along the roadway’s edge, but his attempt was to no avail.
Despite Arcadia settled, the weight of the carriage remained vertiginous and combined with the slick conditions and mud-covered road, Valerian could not cease their slide. His eyes shot to the drop off, nearly twenty feet and steep enough to cause harm to Wilhelmina or Arcadia were they to fall into danger. The threat grew closer as he waste
d moments.
With lightning speed, he jumped from the box and captured Arcadia’s harness. Hollering words of reassurance over the wind, he urged the horse forward regardless they sank knee deep in muddy water. The horse hesitated, snorting in protest and then at last complied, righting the carriage that had slipped nearly a yard over the embankment. Val worked quickly to untangle the reins, disconnecting Arcadia in the process so he could tighten the straps. His haste to leave Kirby Park provided poor adjustment to the harness and he paid bitterly for it now.
Between the wind and the rain, the task was difficult, yet with relentless determination he hurried, the wet swollen leather difficult to maneuver. At best, he struggled to refasten the buckles.
What could Whimsy be thinking inside the carriage? He needed to correct the harness and reassure her before they continued. As soon as he tightened Arcadia’s lines, he would speak to her and then rid them of this place toward London.
He never had the chance.
A sudden shot of lightning struck a nearby pine and spooked Arcadia into a full gallop. The reins, loosely held in his hand, sliced across his palm and the horse bolted free. Valerian gave chase, hardly able to keep balance as his boot heels slid on the sodden roadway. Admitting defeat and aware his horse had abandoned them, he whirled at the sound of a horrible crash amidst the howling storm. Had the pine come down? It stood too near the coach for safety.
Yet, no. To his horror, the carriage disappeared from sight, rolling backward over the embankment with Whimsy inside.
Chapter Twenty-One
Wilhelmina scrambled toward the window intent on discovering the commotion. The carriage slanted to the right gaining speed until with a harsh jolt, it dropped, caught for a timeless moment in midair. She barely had time to scream before she crushed hard against the interior wall, her forehead scraping against the brass lantern as she bounced to the opposite side and was thrust to the corner, the carriage landing with a sharp crack and objecting sway. The entire vehicle trembled as if threatening to break apart, but settled a moment later, the howling wind a dark reminder the elements meant to assault her safety.
“Valerian.” Her voice trembled on the four syllables and she blinked twice, aware her forehead ached. She shed her gloves and touched her fingertips to her brow. They came away damp with blood, a small welt and open cut the cause. Scrambling to gain perch she stopped abruptly as the action caused the carriage to shift and drop. Caught midway, she plummeted into the corner, tears blinding her eyes. For a moment she surrendered to emotion, allowing her fear to overcome better sense, but with swift determination, she wiped the tears aside and shook her head, replacing sentimentality with sensibility. Surely Valerian would help her. Patience was needed. The carriage seemed secure if she didn’t move about. She’d wait and he’d come to her rescue.
But what if he’d been thrown? Injured? The fleeting memory of her parents’ driver remained all too fresh. Her lungs seized with panic, not for her own safety, but for the man who’d captured her heart. She had no time to dwell on it though as relief replaced worry, the sound of Valerian’s deep timber slicing the storm’s anger.
“Wilhelmina, don’t move.”
A silence pursued, causing tears to refill her eyes.
“I’m climbing down.”
She released a shuddered breath and reclaimed her resolve. Strength and cooperation were most needed. Yet again, a rush of remembrance, the description of her parents’ accident and the days immediately after, as Livie was returned to the house, unconscious and clinging to life, suffocated her emotions with a constriction that threatened to stop her breathing altogether. Why had she behaved so terribly? If she had been in the coach with her family, she may have been able to help them…save them.
She forced shallow, even breaths and rallied enough air to answer Valerian. He would be reassured to hear she remained unharmed, although her call to him seemed lost in the gale of wind. Thank goodness she’d left a note for Livie explaining her absence due to matchmaking purposes; asking her sister to supply excuses to Aunt Kate if need be. A closed door and a headache complaint should suffice if Livie was forced to offer explanation.
Moments passed in eerie silence aside from the consistent thrum of rain against the walls. Perched at a precarious angle, any slight movement dared to worsen her plight and so she sat as motionless as possible, afraid she’d cause the coach to plummet further down the embankment by error of a deep breath.
She heard Valerian’s voice, hollering her name as he neared and a rush of hope took hold. How her sister must have suffered and endured the countless hours trapped under the weight of her parents, painfully paralyzed by fear and injury. Sobs of regret and unsettled guilt welled in her throat. She released a broken sob of dismay. Then, glad for the distraction, a knock on the side of the carriage that now served as the roof, pulled her focus to the present.
“Wilhelmina. Can you hear me? Are you well?”
His voice offered her the strength to push aside the past and grasp onto the present. “Yes. I am fine. Please help me, Valerian. I am afraid.”
“I will be there in a heartbeat, my love. I must decide on the best way to proceed. Be still and don’t worry.”
She smiled at his apt reassurance. A shadow passed over the sliver of window glass that remained unobstructed in the failing light. The coach had plummeted sideways, twisting in position so the door was flattened solidly against the ground. Even if she could fit through the window above, soil, branches and forest brush had fallen atop the carriage when it had settled and she wasn’t sure where or what Valerian intended. She waited, her heart thundering a tremendous beat.
“Just a moment longer, Whimsy. I’m nearly clear to reach you.”
She smiled at his desire to pacify her fear and in a moment of ridiculous vanity, touched her fingertips to her brow to scrub away the caked blood, unaware she smeared it across her forehead. Surely her hair was a tumbled mess. Even in the dim light, she could see her dress was soiled and torn. The debris that had fallen in through the broken window had dirtied her skirts while the lash of windblown rain whipping against her at a slant caused her clothing to transform into a grimy mess.
Would they forever find themselves in the mud?
The sudden thought caused a laugh to bubble over, a note of hysteria and amusement combined.
The carriage rocked as a solid thud permeated the interior. “Protect yourself, my love. I need to break away the remaining glass from the window. I will do so with care, but turn away and do your best to take cover.”
“Yes. I’m ready.”
The tinkling of falling glass added to the odd mixture of sounds present in the near darkness. How would Valerian assist her out without sending the carriage further down the embankment, dropping them both into danger? And then what? They were in the middle of the countryside miles from anyone. Nobody would be traveling the roadway in these conditions. A tremor of fear and futility groped at her better sense, but the dusky sight of Valerian’s face outside the window subdued the threat of emotion.
“There you are, love. We’ve gotten ourselves into a troublesome predicament, haven’t we?”
He smiled, and her heart ached. How much she needed him, his calm demeanor and playful teasing the balm to her fear. All she could do was nod her agreement.
“Arcadia has fled, the coward, so it seems I’m to play hero alone. Can you stand? Does your footing feel steady?”
With cautious apprehension, she rose from the corner, her boots planted firmly against the sideways banquette for better leverage. “Yes.”
Despite the diffused interior, she saw his eyes flare as she moved closer, the firm set of his jaw hard with determined strength.
“Your forehead, Whimsy. Does it pain you?”
“No. It’s nothing. Please, help me out of here so we can go home. I’m ashamed to confess I have far less fortitude than Livie.”
A flash of awareness made his brows rise and then understanding quickly replace
d surprise. Perhaps in the chaos of the incident he hadn’t related what happened to her parents and sister two years ago, but the memory was ever present in Wilhelmina’s mind. Worse yet, within the secrets of her heart, she felt she needed to be punished; that this carriage accident constituted an unpaid debt at last come due.
“Take one careful step forward. The closer you advance, the easier it will be for me to pull you free.” With gentle precision, Valerian settled on his stomach so his face was visible in the window while his body’s weight kept anchor on the boot of the coach, the portion seemingly settled on land. He was drenched, his dark hair slicked away from his brow, his jaw dripping with raindrops and he never looked more handsome.
“I am here.” She’d ventured as close as she dared, considering each step caused the carriage to creak and groan in objection, the precarious teeter in competition with her resolve.
“Yes, you are.”
He didn’t immediately reach for her. Instead his eyes flitted across her face as if seeking proof she’d told him the truth and was indeed all right. The notion warmed her chilled spirit. Then his midnight eyes found hers in a heated gaze that could only intend to reassure.
“I love you, Wilhelmina.”
Her heart fluttered with his words.
“And I love you, Valerian.” Her whisper couldn’t be more sincere.
A flash of white teeth, his smile so broad, accompanied a brief chuckle. “Then we best get you out of there before we catch our deaths in this inconvenient rain.”
But she never reached him, never grasped his extended hand, covered with dried blood dark against the pale skin of his palm, because no sooner had he thrust his arm through the window, than the subtle shift in weight caused the carriage to plunge further down the hillside. The sharp fall knocked her against the interior with bone-jarring force before resettling; upside down, then sideways, the velvet banquette pressed to her ear and obliterating visibility. She couldn’t hear a sound beyond the storm’s anger and an unwelcome silence blanketed the dusk.
Defying the Earl Page 20
