by Lauren Smith
“Very well, tell Darlington he may call upon me after the New Year. I shall discuss my next venture with him, and he can decide then if he still wishes to take part.”
His words were such a relief that Perdita was overcome with gratitude. “Thank you, Lord Lennox. Truly.”
“Any friend of Rosalind’s is a friend of mine.” He kissed her hand, and with a lingering glance at his wife, which made the lady blush, he left them alone.
“Silly man,” Rosalind muttered, though she was smiling.
Perdita had to agree. Lord Lennox was a silly, wonderful man. Wait until I tell Vaughn. He’ll be so pleased. She had guaranteed not just an introduction, but involvement in Lennox’s next venture. Perhaps she would survive Christmas after all.
Chapter 4
Vaughn felt naked without his pocket watch. It had been a few days since he’d sold it, and he and Barnaby were now headed to Lothbrook. He kept reaching into his coat for the watch, and his hand came back empty.
The piece had belonged to his grandfather, handcrafted by Thomas Mudge himself, and it had been given to him by his own father when he turned sixteen. He’d had it for so long he’d forgotten what it was like not to have it sitting securely in his waistcoat pocket. It was the last thing of any real value he had left to sell.
But obtaining a ring for his future bride had been important. It sat safely in his coat pocket, but he kept checking the box to make sure it hadn’t vanished. Between his secret plan to actually seduce her for her fortune and using her to become acquainted with Baron Lennox, he was already indebted to her.
Vaughn was not a man who liked to owe a debt. The ring was his last chance to prove he could offer her something before he ended up owning everything that had once been hers. Even if he had something else left to sell, he couldn’t stomach visiting that jeweler’s shop again. Selling my past to secure my future. He only hoped it would work.
The coach he sat in was stuffed with people like hens in a coop, but a damned public coach was all he could afford. Farmers sat on either side of him, their shoulders pressing into his. The odor of the barnyard was rather too pungent for Vaughn to stomach. He’d taken turns holding his breath and attempting to breathe through his mouth. It helped, but only just.
The coach came to a halt at the crossroads, and the driver shouted that they’d reached Lothbrook. Despite the press of bodies, he was chilled to the bone from the icy wind that cut through the coach’s cracks. Vaughn surged out of the coach, his boots crunching into a light layer of snow. He stretched his legs, relieved to be away from the crush of the vehicle and its occupants.
The town was covered in snow, the roofs of the shops and houses capped with ice. The skies were dark with wintry clouds that seemed to stretch the darkness across the village and swallow up the meager lights from lamps still sitting in windowsills.
Lord, he missed Lothbrook in the late summer. Even when he’d been here last September, the town had been full of flowers, and the days had seemed endless.
“Oi!” The driver’s shout caught Vaughn’s attention. He spun in time to see Barnaby rush to catch the valises the driver had unceremoniously dropped to the ground. Vaughn scowled as he and Barnaby collected their cases and walked toward the edge of town.
“What a tosser!” Barnaby muttered as he tramped alongside Vaughn, carrying one of the cases while Vaughn managed the other.
“Agreed,” Vaughn said. “But it is the season of forgiveness. And if all goes well, dear Barnaby, we shall never have to suffer travel by public coach again.”
“Humph. That’s assuming you win Miss Darby’s heart, my lord. She’s a crafty chit, that one,” Barnaby noted. Other men might have cuffed a servant for such frankness, but Vaughn had always preferred to employ those with a mind to speak up and share observations. They also tended to be cheaper.
“I think I stand a fair chance. She was quite taken with me the other night.” Vaughn puffed out his chest and ignored his valet rolling his eyes. He hadn’t imagined Perdita’s impassioned reaction to his kiss or his touch. He was an excellent lover and had never mistaken a woman’s passion.
The Darby estate was not far, but in the cold…well, it wasn’t exactly a pleasant stroll. By the time they set foot on the long stone path that led to the Darbys’ country house, Vaughn’s feet were frozen, and he couldn’t feel his face. The merry candlelight framed in the windows beckoned him forward, and he knocked upon the door. A footman opened the door, bracing himself against the cold.
“Pardon me, my lord, but you are Lord Darlington, correct? Miss Darby has been expecting you and feared you might run late,” the young man replied. Damnation, he’d wished to arrive earlier than this. Bloody public coaches. If we hadn’t had to stop every three miles to let off farmers and their damned chickens, we wouldn’t have been late.
“Yes.” Vaughn hastened up the steps and gratefully had Barnaby hand them his luggage. Another footman took his hat and coat.
The numerous servants who dashed about the house were all decked out in fine winter livery. They passed several maids on their way up the stairs, and Vaughn swallowed a pang of guilt for his one beleaguered little maid, Pippa, who was responsible for a townhouse that should retain at least a dozen more. That would be one of the first things he changed if he could get a successful return on his future investments with Lennox.
“Please, this way. I’ll show you to your room. I’m afraid you’ve missed dinner, but Miss Perdita insisted you have a full tray brought to your room when you arrived.”
“Did she now?” He was surprised at her thoughtfulness, but then again, between her and her friend Alexandra, Perdita was the sweeter of the two. Alexandra…now that woman had a cornered badger’s temper.
Vaughn followed the footman up the stairs, Barnaby trailing behind, muttering about old, cold country houses. They were shown to an elegant chamber, the same one he’d stayed in before when he’d come down for the garden party in September. The large bed looked warm and inviting, as did the fire in the hearth. Thick Aubusson carpets covered the floors, making the room feel cozy.
His own chambers back in London were in a severe state of disrepair, not at all like the dark oak wainscoting here, which contrasted with the dark-green embossed wallpapers with gold ivy patterns. Even the bed hangings, a rich brocade of dark gold, matched the coverlet and sheets.
After the footman left, Barnaby set about putting away his master’s clothes in a large wardrobe. By the way his valet sighed wistfully, he knew the young man missed having real furnishings as much as he did.
Barnaby approached the shaving stand, where hot water stood ready in a pristine blue-and-white basin. Clean clothes and face towels were neatly folded next to a bar of expensive milled soap. The valet turned back to him, a little streak of guilt flashing in his brown eyes.
“Perhaps the country isn’t as bad as you remember?” Vaughn said with a rueful smile.
“No, my lord.” Barnaby’s face turned red, and he hastily resumed his work.
Vaughn leaned back against the bed and sighed. Part of him still couldn’t believe he was here. But he truly was desperate enough to accept Perdita’s offer of a false engagement, because he knew he could seduce her into wanting a real one. Women were quite easy to woo, after all, so long as they weren’t in love with another, as Alexandra had been. Of course, should Perdita deny her own desires for him, he would at least still have the meeting with Lennox to help secure his future.
Vaughn straightened as a worried thought streaked through his mind. Was it possible that Perdita already loved another? Surely if she did, she would have convinced that man to participate in this game, not him. With a low growl, Vaughn retrieved the ring and tucked the box into a drawer in one of the night tables by the bed.
He turned at a soft knock upon the bedroom door.
“Enter.”
The door opened, and Perdita slipped inside, followed by a footman with a tray.
“Lord Darlington, I wanted to make sure you
’ve been properly seen to. Set the tray on the table, please, Hensley.” She gestured to the mahogany fireside table. The footman set the tray down before departing.
Vaughn was momentarily distracted by the sight of the covered dishes. His nose picked up the scents of soup, fresh bread, roast beef, potatoes, and peas. He even glimpsed a berry tart on a small plate. God bless the woman—real food was just what he needed after his long journey.
He forced his thoughts away from the food for a moment, no matter how much his stomach grumbled about it. He approached a fine Chinese lacquer commode in the corner of the room, which contained decanters of brandy and whisky.
“Care for a drink?” he offered, hoping she would sit with him in the two leather chairs facing the fire.
“No, thank you,” she replied. Perdita played with her skirts, and the nervous movement almost made him smile. Her dress was blue, with Van Dyke sleeves trimmed with Belgian lace. Her bodice and hem were dusted with silver embroidery, and a lock of her dark hair dangled loose upon the creamy skin of her neck. The woman looked positively edible, like Christmas pudding and a glass of sherry.
“Perdita.” He spoke her name, unsure what else to say before he asked the question that was now plaguing him.
She inclined her head. “Vaughn.” There was a long silence between them before he approached her.
“There is no other man, is there?” he asked, his heart pounding as he waited for her to reassure him this entire charade wasn’t a fool’s errand.
Her brows knit in confusion. “Other man?”
“Yes. One you love, who for some reason isn’t riding in here on a bloody white charger to save you from Samuel Milburn.”
She paled and her fists clenched. A blush replaced the pallor in her cheeks. “No, of course there isn’t another. If there was, I would be engaged, not begging someone like you to help me.”
He tilted his head. “Someone like me? What, pray tell, makes me the fortunate man for this situation?”
Perdita glared at him. “Because… Wait, why are you asking me this now? I thought we’d agreed to this…” The look of anger faded to panic, and for some reason that cut into the thick wall around his frozen heart, warming it ever so slightly.
“I did agree,” he said. “I merely wish to make sure that I’m not doing this when someone else should be. If there’s another who loves you, he should be here. Not me.”
Perdita blew out a breath. “No. There’s no one. It’s why I need you.”
Bloody hell, that shouldn’t have aroused him, yet it did. The thought of her needing him, even in this way, was enough to fill his head with wicked thoughts that would send her running if she could only read his mind at that moment. He wanted to make her need him in a thousand other ways, until her body could no longer bear the touch of another because only his would satisfy her. He pushed the rush of hungry thoughts aside and focused on their conversation.
“And here I am, minus the white horse, in my rusted armor.” He gave her a mocking bow.
She curtseyed elegantly in return. “I suppose that makes me a damsel in a dire state of distress? Good heavens, I’m the heroine of a gothic novel.”
“So it would seem.” He caught her hand, lifting it to his lips. “I should love to see you fleeing down some darkened corridor, your hair unbound, your body clad only in the flimsiest of nightgowns, clutching a candelabra as you flee from a dark stranger. I would take you into my arms and rescue you. Then, of course, I would make mad passionate love to you so that all worries of dark strangers would be forgotten.”
Her pupils widened as he spoke. He took a moment to caress the back of her hand with his fingertips as he watched, drinking in every minute expression of hers.
She seemed torn between laughter and consternation. “That’s what I am rewarded with? You coming here just to seduce me? I waited a fortnight for you, made sure the cook prepared the best supper fresh for you, and—”
* * *
Vaughn didn’t let her finish. It had always been his policy to silence a chattering woman the most pleasurable way he knew how. He pulled one arm around her waist and tugged her into his arms. She gasped against his lips, and he couldn’t resist smiling.
Lord, she tasted divine. She shivered against him, and he slid one hand through her hair, tugging lightly on the strands. Perdita whimpered and curled an arm around his neck, kissing him back harder.
Seducing her was going to be easy.
He slid his other hand down her body, cupping her backside, then gave it a playful smack. She jolted, and he winced when her teeth sank into his lip.
“Ow!” He pulled back, letting her go as he touched where his lip stung. Perdita steadied herself against the nearest chair, brushing her loosened hair back from her face. He had ruined her coiffure, and she looked as though she’d been thoroughly tumbled in bed. It was a good look for her—soft, vulnerable, and a bit mussed. He licked his sore lip and grinned.
“You don’t want a bit of compromise with your engagement? I am ready to offer all of my services, not just my reputation.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.
“You struck me!”
He flashed a crooked smile. “I spanked you, darling. There’s quite a difference. Tell me you didn’t feel the jolt when I did.” He knew she’d deny it, and he was going to enjoy proving her wrong over the next several days.
“I felt nothing!” she snapped.
“Then why are you complaining if you felt nothing?” he teased, twisting her words.
She spun on her heel and headed for the door. “Oh!”
He caught her from behind and pulled her back as he closed the door, trapping her in his arms. “Perdy, wait.”
“Do not call me Perdy,” she growled and turned to look over her shoulder at him. Their noses brushed, and her eyes flashed with a beautiful fire. It made him hot all over.
“Why not? I know Alexandra calls you that.” He smiled as his gaze lowered to her lips. She turned to face him, smacking his chest with her hand.
“Because she is my friend. Friends call me Perdy, but not you.” He had to bite back a groan of hunger seeing the fire in her eyes just then. When had a woman’s eyes ever been so captivating? He couldn’t recall a time before this when he was so fascinated by a woman’s gaze.
“We aren’t friends,” he agreed. “But we are affianced, aren’t we?” He caught one of her wrists and brought her hand to his lips, kissing her palm.
“What are you doing?” But she was staring at him as he kissed her palm. Then he began to work kisses up her arm, inch by inch.
“Reminding you”—he paused to kiss her between each set of words—“that we…need to get…more comfortable…with each other…and that means…more of…this.” He tilted her head up and pressed a slow kiss to her stunned lips.
He could hear the little growl she made and felt it as it rumbled from her chest. There was nothing more delightful than proving a woman wrong about her desires. It wasn’t about force, but about slow, thoughtful seduction. Not only of the body, but of the mind and heart as well.
He kissed her for another long moment, waiting until he felt her melting into him, and then he released her. She stood there, eyes glazed with desire, lips swollen, hair delightfully mussed, and her skirts wrinkled where he’d clenched the fabric tight to keep his own frayed control in check.
“I have something for you.” He walked to the night table and retrieved the ring. Perdita was pale again, her eyes fixed on the little velvet box.
“Vaughn, you didn’t need to—”
“I did and I wanted to. Even if this engagement is false, I would still provide my bride with a token of my affection.” He held the box out. He did not kneel, nor did he present it with any fanfare. That simply wasn’t the sort of man he was. If she couldn’t see what he was offering her and understand the sacrifice he had made, then she wasn’t the woman he had thought she was.
She took the box from him, their hands meeting briefly, yet still causing a spar
k at their touch. He watched her face as she opened the box, memorizing every detail. The way her eyes darkened the moment she spied the ruby ring, the way she tilted her head, the loose curl bouncing against her neck and shoulders, and finally the way her lips parted on a soft gasp.
“Vaughn, no, this is too precious. You must not give me this. Not simply to further a charade.” She took a tiny step toward him, the open box held out. He reached up and clasped her hands, closing them over it.
He captured her eyes with his, letting her see how serious he was. “I insist.”
“But—”
“No,” he responded in a clipped tone. He knew what she intended to say—that he had so little to give as it was—but he needed her to have this, even if he could not bring himself to explain why. There were some things a man could not share with his intended bride.
Perdita opened the box again and looked at the ring. “It’s very lovely.” When she spoke there was a small catch in her voice, and it made his chest clench and his throat tighten.
This is all I can give you. The last of what I have left.
“You like it?” He felt like a fool, begging for scraps of her attention, needing to hear that the sacrifice of his grandfather’s pocket watch had not been in vain. She traced the ruby stone and the two small diamonds flanking it, bit her lip, and nodded.
“I do. I don’t believe I’ve ever owned anything so lovely.” She paused, and then with a radiant smile at him, she asked, “May I wear it now, or must I wait until Christmas?”
He cleared his throat, that strange tightness still there, making it hard to speak.
“Now is fine, quite fine,” he finally managed.
She plucked the ring from the box and slid it on her ring finger. It was almost a perfect fit, with just a bit of looseness, which could be easily remedied when she visited the jeweler in the village. The ruby gleamed in the firelight.
“Thank you.” Perdita stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him. The lingering sweet taste of her felt different from any other kiss. This wasn’t one of lust, desire, or anger. This was simply something else. It evoked a flutter of strange and unidentifiable emotions in him that he didn’t want to think about.
