It Happened One Season

by Stephanie Laurens

  Soon, after many turns through the grid of pathways, the pretty lanterns hanging from trees had become more sparse, and the paths darker as a result. Philippa experienced an odd fluttering in her stomach, and lower. She was almost certain she was going to be kissed for the first time in her life.

  Nat turned down a dark path to the left. There were no other people on this particular path, as far as she could see. And no more lanterns. They were quite alone and in the dark.

  “Should I be worried, sir, that we seem to have lost our way in the darkness?” She sent him a smile that told him she was not in the least worried.

  He stopped and leaned back against a tree, tugging her close up against him. “I promised your family that I would bring you back uninjured. I did not, however, mention other sorts of dangers that may lurk in the darkness. I—”

  A sudden explosion rent the air and brilliant light filled the sky.

  And Philippa was thrown to the ground.

  Breathless and more than a little stunned, Philippa found herself crushed beneath Nat’s formidable weight. At the sound of exploding fireworks directly overhead, he had moved instinctively to cover her, to shelter her with his own body. When he lifted his head and looked down at her, his eyes shone with the ferocity of a soldier on alert. At the next explosion, he shifted to cover her head with his shoulders.

  His breath came in shallow gasps and his body trembled. He had not yet shaken off the sense of danger. His focus was elsewhere, someplace beyond her, beyond now.

  She had not been wrong in the assessment of his character that she had given her mother on that first day: he would indeed protect her at all costs, even when the threat to her was unrealized, and he most definitely had not yet shaken off the horrors of war. Ah, Nat. And now, no doubt he would be embarrassed at his overreaction to the noise, at the uncharacteristic display of vulnerability.

  Philippa was almost overcome with tenderness for him. She wanted nothing more than to comfort Nat, to show him that she was pleased at how quick he was to protect her, and that there was no actual danger. “Nat.” She spoke against his shoulder. “It’s only fireworks, nothing more.” She reached up and touched the back of his head, threading her fingers through the soft hair at his nape. “Nat. Nat.”

  The sound of his name seemed to bring him back to earth. He raised his head and shoulders and gazed down at her with a bewildered expression, followed almost instantly by a look of sheer horror. He quickly rolled off her. “Good God.” He rose to his knees beside her and his assessing gaze swept up and down her body. “Are you all right? Have I hurt you? Is your hip injured?”

  She looked up at him, her eyes filled with concern. “I am fine. Perhaps a grass stain or two, but nothing more.”

  “Damnation. What have I done?” He was mortified, and more than a little frightened. He’d heard what his weakened brain had believed to be artillery fire and had reacted without conscious thought. It did not occur to him that he was in the middle of London a year after the French defeat. All he’d known was that there was someone he had to protect. Someone precious. His soldier’s reflexes had taken over, throwing his body into action. For the merest instant—at least he hoped to God it was only an instant—he was no longer at Vauxhall but was on another battlefield, reaching for the sword that should have been at his side but was not.

  He’d had similar episodes in the past, but had never before put a woman in danger. A lame woman. He’d pushed a defenseless lame woman to the ground, for God’s sake. Over a bloody fireworks display.

  He ought to be shot.

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her up to a sitting position. He’d never been more mortified in his life. “I am so sorry, Philippa. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “I know. And you didn’t. Truly, I am fine.”

  “It was an unconscionable thing to do. Do you really have grass stains on your dress? Dammit all, your mother will kill me. And I will deserve it.”

  Philippa examined her skirts. “I do not think there are any stains. Just a few leaves.”

  He helped her to brush them off. She gave a little squeak of alarm and Nat thought he’d hurt her, but saw her eyes fixed on a rather large spider that crawled up her skirts. He flicked it off along with the leaves, and she uttered a sigh of relief. How odd that she seemed more afraid of a spider than the brute who’d just thrown her to the ground.

  “If we’d been seen,” he said. “I could have been arrested for assault. Thank heaven we were not on a more public path.”

  She looked up and smiled. She actually smiled at him after he’d just knocked her down. “I’ve always heard the dark paths at Vauxhall can be quite dangerous.”

  “I don’t believe being knocked to the ground by a maniac is the sort of danger normally encountered here. God, Philippa. What must you think of me?”

  She reached out and placed her fingers against his cheek in a gesture so tender it was enough to make a hardened man weep. “I think you are a good man born to protect those around him. Your reaction was perfectly logical for a soldier accustomed to taking cover at the sound of gunfire. I ought to have warned you about the fireworks, but I assumed you knew. You are not to be faulted for trying to protect me. In fact, if we are to be married, I will depend upon it.”

  “Ha. You cannot still want to marry me now that you have seen firsthand that I might not be entirely sane.”

  “Of course you are sane. Just a bit battle worn. And yes, I do still want to marry you.”

  “But what if this happens again and I really do hurt you? I don’t know if you should feel safe around me. You ought to be afraid.”

  “I’m not afraid of you, Nat. How could I be? You would never hurt me.”

  “Not deliberately.”

  “Not at all.”

  He took her hand away from his face, turned it, and kissed the palm. “I do not deserve you, Philippa.”

  “No, you deserve much more.”

  He pulled her to her feet, a bit awkwardly due to her bad hip, then leaned back against the tree he’d used earlier when he was about to kiss her. After making such a fool of himself, he had no right to kiss her now. But he still wanted it. He wanted her.

  He needed her.

  He gathered her close and put his lips to hers.

  Philippa’s heart raced. It was all that she’d expected, and more. His lips were surprisingly soft and supple. And constantly moving, as he seemed to explore her mouth, first from one direction, then another. She had not expected that. She’d assumed a kiss was two mouths latching onto each other in a firm, possessive hold. This gentle exploration was more sensuous than she could ever have imagined. He reached around her waist, holding her close and steady, so she would not sink bonelessly to the ground, as she feared she might.

  Her fingers threaded through his beautiful golden hair, relishing the silky softness of it. He deepened the kiss, pulling her closer, moving one arm down, down, over the curve of her bottom and below, finally lifting her slightly so she was pressed tightly against him, against the hardness that both shocked and excited her.

  His lips slid away from hers and trailed down her jaw and throat, finding sensitive spots she’d never known she had. Boldly, she arched her neck to give him better access.

  Philippa breathed deeply as his mouth worked miracles, taking in the masculine scent of him: hints of bay rum, leather, horse, linen starch, and something warm and musky and uniquely Nat. She would be able to close her eyes and know him anywhere.

  Finally, he pulled back slightly and looked down into her eyes. “I am sorry, Philippa. After such an ignominious display, I ought not to have done that. But I have wanted to kiss you so badly for so long. After … what happened, I couldn’t stop myself.”

  “Please do not apologize, Nat. I wanted it, too. I have never been kissed before, you know.”

  “No, I did not know.” He ran the backs of his fingers along her cheek. “But now that the first kiss is over, all the next ones should be easier, less frightening
.”

  “I was not frightened. I wanted you to kiss me, Nat, and I enjoyed it. In fact, if you would like to do it again, I would not object.”

  He grinned boyishly, and her heart turned over in her chest. “Let’s see if the second kiss is better than the first.”

  And it was. So was the third, and the fourth, and the fifth.

  Lord Dearne’s villa in Richmond was in fact a rather grand estate, at least to Philippa’s eyes. Nat told her it was a Palladian villa in the Roman style, built by a former earl who’d been inspired by his Grand Tour in Italy. She could not imagine what the earl’s country seat must be like, if it was considered to be even more grand. Her own family was not without a degree of wealth, but she suspected it could not compare to the fortunes of an earl.

  She was glad to be marrying a younger son, which was much less intimidating. But then she remembered that Nat was the earl’s heir. Philippa might one day be a countess. And this estate, and others, might be hers. It was a heady notion, but one she would not dwell on. As Nat had told her brother, the earl was young and in good health. There would be no inheritance for many, many years. Which was perfectly agreeable to Philippa. She was not ready to be a countess.

  The gathering was not quite as cozy as she’d expected. Besides her own family—Mamma, William and his wife, and her younger brother Edgar—there were several of Nat’s sisters. Lady Thorpe, Lady Sutcliffe, Lady Hilliard, and their husbands. Other friends of the family had also been invited. Lord and Lady Marchdon and their daughter, Lady Camilla. Lord and Lady Randolph and their daughter, Lady Serena. And, much to Philippa’s delight, Lillian Faulkner and her parents had been invited. Lady Dearne said she wanted Philippa to have at least one friend among the guests, and hoped she would enjoy the company of the other young ladies as well. She was, as Nat said, an excellent hostess.

  Despite her efforts to make the party perfect, Lady Dearne could not control the weather. They had all hoped the sun would come out after so many weeks of chilly gloom and rain, but they were not to be so fortunate. The skies darkened and the heavens opened up during the first afternoon of the party. Lady Dearne despaired of having to cancel picnics and riverside breakfasts, but Philippa did not mind. It was pleasant just to spend time with Nat, away from the bustle of Town, in a setting more comfortable for him.

  Over the last few weeks, Philippa had seen his forbidding demeanor begin to soften, ever so slightly. He still, she knew, disliked ton events with their endless insipid conversations and false flattery and forced gaiety, for he commented on it privately to her often enough, and would say as much, bluntly, to anyone who happened to ask him. But he was also somewhat less stiff and uncomfortable than he’d been when she first met him. Nat would probably never enjoy being out in society, which he found frivolous and artificial, but he was apparently becoming more accustomed to it. As long as she was at his side. He seemed to treat her like an anchor, never wanting to be too far from her. Others no doubt thought he was overly protective of her because of her lameness. But Philippa knew he wanted her nearby for his own sake, not hers.

  “You ground me,” he’d said to her after a particularly tedious party. “Without you by my side, or at least nearby, I would lose my temper a thousand times at one of these curst events.”

  She did not understand how she provided him with that security, or why he needed it, but she was glad she was able to help him make his way back into the world.

  In spite of the incessant gloom, she and Nat took long walks along the river and through the estate gardens. Philippa’s family fussed and complained that he was overtiring her, or that the damp air would cause her hip to ache. Even Lady Dearne and Lady Sutcliffe joined in the general concern for her health. It was only Lady Thorpe who seemed to understand, as Nat did, that she did not need or want to be so cosseted.

  On the third day in Richmond, when it appeared there would be only more gloom but no rain, Nat invited Philippa to go for a walk along the riverside. As usual, her mother objected.

  “I am sorry, Captain, but I cannot agree to it. You are forcing our Philippa into too much exercise and exertion. You forget, I think, that she is lame.”

  Dear God, but Philippa was tired of this same conversation every time Nat wanted to do anything outdoors with her. He repeated his usual assurances, but Mamma was relentless in her objection. It might rain. She might slip and fall. She might catch a chill. The damp might cause her hip to seize up. She might overtire herself and be forced to take to her bed.

  Philippa could not take it anymore.

  “Really, Mamma, I am not an invalid.” The anger in her voice surprised her, but she had been pushed too far. “I know what I can and cannot do. So does the captain. He does not overtire me. In fact, I have never enjoyed myself so much as I have this Season since meeting him. Please do not ruin it for me.” It was unlike her to speak up like this, to question her mother’s solicitude. But she felt she had to take a stand. “I am sorry, Mamma, but you must trust me not only to know my limitations, but also to know what I can do. I am not stupid. I have no wish to cause myself harm. If any of those things you worry about does happen to me, it will be my fault and I will suffer the consequences. But the risk is worth it, Mamma. Please, let me decide.”

  Her mother was apparently struck dumb. She stared at Philippa as if she did not recognize her. Finally, with a parting glower at Nat, she said, “Do as you wish, then.”

  And so they set out along the river. “Well done,” Nat said.

  But Philippa was secretly ashamed. Her mother loved her and only wanted to protect her. “No, it was not well done. I should not have lashed out at her like that, especially in front of Lady Dearne and the other guests. I will apologize to her when we return.”

  “You are kindhearted, Philippa, but do not be sorry for standing up for yourself. When we are married, I will expect you to stand up to me. I will probably try to dominate you because I am so accustomed to command. But you must never fear to put me in my place. If I ever become overbearing, I expect you to tell me so.”

  Philippa offered a smart salute. “Yes sir, Captain, sir.”

  During the course of their river walk, they came across a fallen tree that provided a comfortable bench, and they sat and watched the river traffic. Conversation turned to the various party guests, and Nat expressed pleasure that she had her friend Lillian at hand. “She does not patronize you like everyone else does,” he said. “That is no doubt why she is your close friend.”

  “That’s exactly right. We’ve been friends since we were schoolgirls. I can be open and frank with her. She knows how I feel about having my lameness be the center of attention. She knows that I am more than a girl with a limp. As you do.”

  “You are much more than that,” he said. “You are a beautiful woman, Philippa. A beautiful, desirable woman.”

  He took her in his arms and kissed her.

  It was not like the other kisses, gentle and exploring. This time, it was urgent and ruthless and heated. He coaxed her lips open and set up a dance with her tongue that sent her mind reeling with shock. It was a ravishment of her mouth, inside and out. Dear heaven, she’d never imagined a kiss could be like this. She gave herself up to his mastery, submitting to this new intimacy, allowing him to plunder her depths as she sank into a sea of sensation.

  After long moments, he rested his forehead against hers. “God, Philippa, you do not know what you do to me. I had no idea I was entering into a bargain with a firebrand when we met behind that absurd orange tree.”

  “I hope you are not disappointed, sir.”

  He smiled and nipped her ear. “Silly girl. I could not be more pleased with you. And to think, I found you after only thirty minutes into my first ball. I must have been born under a lucky star after all.”

  And he kissed her again.

  “He is certainly an attractive man.”

  Philippa pulled her gaze away from Nat—heavens, she really must try to stop staring so obviously—and turned to Lillian
, who sat beside her on the terrace while they watched the gentlemen play a game of cricket on the lawn. She could not watch him now without recalling his lips and his hands and how he made her feel. Unable to suppress a delighted grin, she said, “He is gorgeous, isn’t he?”

  And he was hers. This golden god with the silvery eyes had pledged himself to her. He displayed strength and grace on the makeshift playing field, put together at a moment’s notice when the sun deigned to peek through the clouds for a moment. Watching all that masculine vigor and health made Philippa wonder if it was fair that he should be saddled with a small women with a bent hip. He really ought to have someone as strong and healthy as he was.

  These tiny doubts had begun to niggle at her conscience during the stay in Richmond. There were so many pretty young women here to remind her of how unworthy she was to have a man like Nat.

  But then there were his kisses, which had become like a potent drug to her. A man would not kiss a girl like that if he felt her unworthy, would he?

  “Yes, he is handsome,” Lillian said. “But is he not a bit too … aloof? Even stern? Mamma says he has been in seclusion in the country this past year and there are rumors that he might have suffered some sort of … injury at Waterloo.”

  “No need to worry, Lillian. He was not injured. His regiment was important to the final victory but suffered few casualties. All his parts are intact, I assure you.” At least she assumed they were. She had no reason to believe otherwise.