Lady Mary and Her Rakish Count: A Clean Historical Regency Romance Novel (The Revelstoke Legacy Book 3)

by Lynda Hurst

  Valerian held Mary fast to him, sorry that he hadn’t sheltered her from viewing the murdered man. Shouts at the discovery heralded from Andre and Michel, drawing the attention of the surrounding patrons, and eventually the barkeeper had come around to see after the commotion in the furthest corner of his tavern. Someone had flagged down a pair of commissaires who must have been patrolling nearby, who entered swiftly to survey the scene.

  Still frozen in shock, Mary could not do more than tremble in Valerian’s arms, never having been witness to such an atrocity before. Valerian could feel her shivering and decided she needed to be properly looked after. Divesting himself of his woolen coat, he wrapped the garment around Mary and secured it fast beneath her chin.

  “Stay here a moment, and I will see that we get back to the hotel immediately afterwards,” he commanded. Mary nodded numbly as she watched him cross over to the commissaires to speak to them briefly and then promptly wandered back to her side.

  With an arm about her back, he ushered her quickly outside the tavern to hail a coach for hire back to the hotel. With great care, he helped her up into the awaiting carriage and settled himself across from her on the opposite seat. Leaning forward, he brushed an errant curl from her forehead and worriedly asked, “Are you all right, ma belle? You’re very pale.”

  After a few heartbeats, she finally answered, although weakly, “I’m all right. I’m just so cold.”

  “Here,” he urged, and he reached for her only to place her across his lap. She didn’t protest at the change in position, and he took that as silent assent to rub her back and limbs, trying to restore her body back to a warmer condition.

  The carriage ride continued in silence while Valerian continued to chafe at her arms, her hands, and her back. He tucked her head so that her forehead rested against the side of his neck, willing his heat into her with all of him surrounding her. His movements gradually slowed to a pace that was more caressing than restorative, and by this point, Mary was feeling better. She let him continue his gentle touch up and down her back as it was so pleasant and soothing, that she forgot herself and sighed contentedly.

  “Feeling better?” he asked in a hushed voice. The silence broken, Mary sat up to look him in the eye, and Valerian almost laughed at the stricken look written all over her face. It was clear to him that the quiescent Mary of earlier had disappeared once she involuntarily made it known that she was enjoying his touch. She would have moved off his lap that very moment if he hadn’t prevented it by banding both of his arms about her waist.

  “No,” he insisted. “Just let me hold you and offer you my comfort. The scene at the tavern was obviously more than you could bear, and I find I am comfortable as we are.”

  “But it’s improper!” she cried.

  “What is improper about this when I am your fiancé?” he asked as he gripped her tighter to him.

  Hating that he was right while hating to admit that his touch was agreeable, she remained silent in response and sunk into his arms.

  Teasing, Valerian said, “You are very much like my cat, Esmeralda. She likes to be petted and stroked the same way I just did to you.”

  “Oh? And does Esmeralda have claws and a bite like I do? Cross me and I promise you that you will find out,” she said saucily. Glad to have a reason to exercise her wit, with a pang, she was deftly reminded of the many times she and Jackson would tease each other mercilessly until their mother pleaded them to stop for the sake of sanity.

  Smiling, Valerian lazily replied, “You, ma chere, are a true delight. If I do cross you, will you promise only to scratch and bite me in the most enjoyable of ways?”

  Rolling her eyes at him, she huffed, “And you are incorrigible. Apparently, our engagement has not fully tamed the rake in you.”

  “Why should I let it, when I am immensely enjoying our flirtation?”

  She was saved from answering when their carriage pulled to a stop and the carriage door lowered. They had arrived back at their hotel with more than enough time to spare before supper. Valerian set Mary from him so that he could alight first and assist her down from the carriage.

  After paying the driver, Valerian swept up Mary’s hand to rest it in the crook of his elbow as they walked into the hotel together. Looking down at her, he said, “May I come up with you to your room? I have some things to say that cannot be said with so many ears about.”

  Realizing that he was referring to his tasks sent from Bastien, Mary only nodded. Brielle would be there to chaperone, so it would still be within the boundaries of propriety that Valerian be allowed in there with her.

  Handed up the stairs by her own fiancé, Mary felt somewhat nervous about having a man in her room when she never had one there before. Perhaps having a fiancé in her room would be a different experience than having just any man in her personal space, but with a fiancé like Valerian de Baptiste, she might just be in for more than she bargained for. She supposed she would have to be on guard with him about, especially with a man of his reputation with women.

  There was no respite for Mary’s nerves, however, when Brielle was nowhere to be found upon stepping over the threshold to her room. Just in case, Mary called out for her maid in a raised voice, “Brielle, we’re back!” But there was no answer.

  Valerian had already seated himself in a cushioned chair next to the grate and chuckled at her, “Ma chere, your virtue is currently safe with me. Our betrothal allows me to be here with no qualms about propriety, but I didn’t come here with impropriety in mind.”

  Sighing at his matter-of-fact explanation, Mary seated herself across from him on a small lounge chaise, and exhaled, “Tell me then what you have to say that could not be said in a more public setting.”

  The usual teasing glint in his eye vanished to be quickly replaced with a steely resolve, the degree of seriousness changing his demeanor significantly. Mary thought that if she had only been dealing with Valerian the rake this far, then being treated to the Valerian as the comte was a different matter altogether. He looked every bit a man who was confident in his station and ready to fight for and defend that which he deemed his.

  Valerian began earnestly, “Are you none the worse for your ordeal, then?”

  When she shook her head, Valerian then blasted her with a severe tongue lashing. “For a woman who prides herself in her knowledge and skill, I deemed you with enough sense to steer clear from such a dangerous place! Yet you rushed headlong into the first tavern you laid eyes upon without a care for what trouble you might find within!”

  Eyes wide at his outburst, Mary colored darkly to the roots of her hair in anger. “If you think I am so heedless, then I have to lay my lack of sense, as you say, purely at your feet!”

  Valerian narrowed his eyes at her, and seethed, “Do tell me how that warped sense of logic makes any sense!”

  Heaving a longsuffering sigh, Mary explained angrily, “If I hadn’t caught you, philanderer that you are, cavorting with that woman in that ribbon shop earlier today, I wouldn’t have been made so angry that I would not have lost my wits about me!”

  Valerian was stunned by her admission, but only for a moment. He had wondered if she had seen him with Madame Reveille, and now he had his answer. But he wasn’t yet clear as to why Mary’s lack of sense drove her to choose the first tavern they encountered, so he asked.

  “Why would your anger at me and the supposed slight I caused you propel you to make such a rash decision?”

  “Because it looked like you were making an assignation with that woman, after what we promised each other, and I needed to get as far away from you as I could!”

  Incredulous at her skewed reasoning, Valerian could only but stare at the woman across from him. He pledged himself to her, did he not, and he was going to apprise her of that fact.

  “We are betrothed, are we not? I did promise that I would not look at another woman, and I haven’t since I’ve met you! Did you think so little of my word that I would go back on it, then?”


  She sputtered, “What was I supposed to think when I saw you treating that woman so familiarly?”

  “You ought to have trusted me. That woman is Madame Reveille, an old friend and business partner. I had thought I was discreet in asking for her assistance by not over-lingering.”

  “Assistance with what?” Mary asked, curious and suspicious at the same time.

  “Well,” he began, looking slightly uncomfortable. “I couldn’t very well tell her specifically how she could help in a public place, so I had arranged to meet with her later this evening at her, er, establishment.”

  Noticing his discomfort, Mary narrowed one eye at him, and asked point-blank, “And where is this meeting taking place?”

  Looking heavenward as though he was seeking divine help, Valerian choked out, “To be honest, I would rather you not know.”

  Offended at his secrecy, she plied, “Did we not agree that our union would include honesty? Out with it!”

  “Who knew you were such a tyrant,” he grumbled, half-serious and half-joking. At her glare, he yielded, “All right, if you must know, Madame Reveille is the co-owner of a, er, house of entertainment. Meant solely for men.”

  Understanding dawned on her and her mouth rounded in shock at what he meant. “A house of ill repute, you mean! Your friend is a madam, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, it is, and yes, she is. But let me first correct your assumption that Madame Reveille has been or is anything more than a friend. Our relationship has always been clearly defined within the parameters of professionalism, so you can dispense with the snobbery.”

  “You haven’t known me long enough to know that I would never turn up my nose at anyone. I’ll have you know that some of my own regular clientele were women of loose morals who sought remedies for unwanted pregnancies and the like. All secretly, of course. My mother would have a fit if she knew,” she added as an afterthought.

  That particular revelation shocked Valerian beyond what he expected of the woman before him, as he had always thought that she was gently bred and sheltered within the confines of her family estate. Curiosity had him asking, “So, how is it that you are acquainted with such women with no thought to your reputation, yet you balked at the sight of such a violent death earlier today?”

  Eyes downcast, she said, “I believe that everyone is deserving of proper care and treatment, no matter your station. Besides, I have treated men with serious wounds from hunting accidents, but never have I seen such violence in death as I had seen today. It horrified me to know that someone would place so little value in a life.”

  Her tender heart was very obvious to Valerian, and he felt vindicated in his chastisement for her rash behavior because of it. But they digressed from the point he was trying to hammer home.

  “So, you admit that you were mistaken for assuming wrongly about Madame Reveille and me?”

  Her anger surged up once again at his gratuitous arrogance. “Then you tell me what I was to think seeing the two of you together! If I recall, you failed to tell me how she can help and what it is she can help you with.” She glared hotly at him and continued, “If you refuse to tell me now, I will just have to come along.”

  “No! Absolutely not!” he shouted, standing up to better use his full height to intimidate her into thinking otherwise. “Have you no care for your reputation, woman?”

  “You said you would be paying her a visit later tonight, and with the cover of night, it wouldn’t be hard to hide my identity.”

  “And what makes you think that I will allow you to go?”

  “I don’t need your permission. I’m coming along,” she insisted stubbornly, now standing to match his stance.

  “No, you will not. You must stay here while I conduct my business alone.”

  “Business that you still haven’t divulged. And for that reason alone, I believe my presence is required.”

  “That smacks of distrust. If this union is to work, trust is necessary.”

  “Then trust should work both ways! Let me come with you, if only to see for myself the nature of your relationship with Madame Reveille. You can introduce us.”

  “I refuse to let you destroy your reputation! You are to be my wife!”

  “And what of you? Why is it so unseemly for me to go to such a place in secret while you can do as you please?”

  “Because I’m a man and it’s the way of the world!”

  “Ooooh, you are infuriating!” she screeched and shoved him with all of her might.

  The shove took him by surprise, and since he wasn’t prepared for it, he stumbled a step or two and went careening into a side table. He caught Mary’s look of horror at her misdeed before he tumbled onto his backside, along with the side table and the accompanying vase atop it. The vase shattered underneath his hand as the momentum of his fall caused him to crush the remainder of it, and his hand came away bloody.

  For the second time today, Valerian witnessed Mary turn pale, but this time due to something she had instigated. “Stay where you are,” she commanded. “I’ll get my supplies.”

  While she rummaged through her satchel, he gingerly sat up only to have vase shards crunch underneath him, and he inspected the damage. His hand had several pieces of vase stuck into tiny wounds, while one gash across his palm was moderately oozing blood. The table suffered no ill effects, but he would be owing the hotel the cost of the vase, at least.

  Mary rushed back with her newly acquired purchases still wrapped in its oilcloth covering and a swath of clean bandages. “I’m so sorry,” she babbled. “I never used to let my temper get the better of me, and here I am, seeing the results of giving in to such a fit of temper.”

  She froze in the middle of unrolling the oilcloth and frowned heavily.

  “What is the matter?” he asked.

  “This isn’t mine. It doesn’t feel right,” she said as she hefted it up and down, as if testing its weight.

  “I was with you when you bought those jars of herbs today. Maybe the shopkeeper mixed up the packages?”

  Unrolling it fully, Valerian recognized the object before Mary could guess at what it was.

  Eyes wide, Valerian gasped, “How did you come by the Ark?”

  14

  Stunned, Mary held up the object to better inspect it. In awe, she breathed, “This is the Ark you were meant to find?” Made of gold, the object was much smaller and heftier than she anticipated. It fit squarely in the palm of her hand, but a closer look boasted of its fine craftsmanship, as evidenced by the detail in the feathers of the angel’s wings.

  His injured hand forgotten for the moment, Valerian choked out, “How? We had no idea where to search for it, and it somehow ends up in your possession?”

  Quickly searching through her memory of the day’s events, Mary exclaimed, “The man who knocked me flat on his way out! He must have had it originally, and when he plowed into me, he must have dropped it. Then he must have my new herbs and spices while I have the Ark!” Valerian thought she looked adorable in her chagrin over her missing herbs.

  “Did you see his face?”

  Shaking her head, Mary said, “No, it happened so quickly, I wasn’t paying attention. And even if I did, there would be no way we could track the man down.” Holding the Ark up to the light, Mary marveled that such a tiny thing could topple an entire kingdom.

  Valerian grunted in regret. “Well, we were fortunate to be in the same place as the thief, I expect. I must write to Bastien right away, so I have been very lucky to have only injured my non-writing hand.”

  Reminding Mary of her forgotten duty, she set the Ark down next to her, and she reached deeper into her satchel to produce a pair of tweezers and a few jars. “I apologize for pushing you, Valerian. I didn’t stop to think that you could have been harmed far worse than a few scrapes.” She hadn’t looked up at him once while she was busy at work: she pried loose a few tiny shards out of his hand and pressed a soft cloth down onto his palm with added pressure.

  She instructed,
“Here, I need you to keep pressure on it while I prepare the salve.”

  Mary opened the first jar, and a sweet scent hit his nostrils first. He asked, “Is that honey?”

  “Yes. I will be mixing a bit of tea tree oil into the honey and applying it directly to your wounds. Both serve to keep inflammation at bay, but the tea tree will help the healing process.” He watched as she deftly mixed one with the other, fascinated with her dexterity and skill.

  When the salve was done, and while still not meeting his eyes, she took his injured hand in hers, peeled back the cloth gingerly, and inspected his palm. “The bleeding’s stopped,” she said more to herself than him. She proceeded to gently apply her salve to the whole of his palm, and he luxuriated in her soothing, if brisk, touch. Once she had neatly tied a bandage around his hand, she finally looked up at him, and satisfactorily proclaimed, “There! You’re good as new.”