More or Less a Countess

by Anna Bradley

  “Yes, very good. Accurate, that is. Almost as if you were standing right next to the watchman when you took it.” He studied the sketch again, his sharp gray eyes moving over every detail. “On what looks to be the corner of Bedford Street and Tottenham Court Road. At night. But that can’t be the case, because a sensible young lady like yourself would never risk her safety in such a foolish way, would she, Miss Somerset?”

  Violet blinked, confused once again. For a careless, reckless debaucher, Lord Dare had a surprisingly chivalrous turn. “It’s not a risk, my lord, when the young lady in question knows perfectly well how to take care of herself.”

  The eyebrow raised another notch. “Humph.”

  He set the sketch aside and picked up the first page of an essay she’d written entitled “Thief-Takers,” which was a lively but comprehensive history of crime, justice, and punishment in London, complete with a detailed account of several of London’s more famous Bow Street runners.

  Lord Dare went quiet again, and Violet, whose nerves were stretched to the last degree by such resounding silence, darted another glance at his face to find him studying the page with fixed attention.

  He read the entire essay, then gathered all the pages together, slid them carefully back into the portfolio, tied the string, and handed it back to Violet, his expression unreadable. “The Thames Police Office is in Wapping,” he offered, after Violet had squirmed through another endless silence.

  “Is it?” Her voice emerged in a high squeak.

  “It is. You’ll want to get a sketch of it while we’re there, I imagine.”

  “Yes.” She waited, but he didn’t offer anything more. “Ah, is that all?”

  He studied the flush on her cheeks, and a small smile teased at the corner of his mouth. “You look surprised, Miss Somerset. Did you expect something more?”

  Scorn. Ridicule. Mockery. In the worst case, blatant contempt. In short, she’d expected much more, all of it unpleasant, but none of those things seemed to be forthcoming.

  To her surprise, Violet found herself overwhelmed with an unfamiliar shyness, and she couldn’t quite meet his eyes. It was silly of her, of course. Was she going to fall into a girlish swoon just because he hadn’t laughed at her, or teased her? Had her expectations of aristocratic gentlemen truly sunk so low, or was it just her opinion of Lord Dare?

  Guilt threatened, but Violet pushed it aside. If she had underestimated him, it was his own fault. For pity’s sake, she’d witnessed him debauching Lady Uplands with her own eyes! He was a terrible rake, and that hadn’t changed simply because he hadn’t openly mocked her. No, it was best for all concerned if she regarded Lord Dare as a useful tool and nothing more. He appeared to be willing to take her to Wapping still, and that was all that mattered.

  “Shall we go, then?” She rose from the settee and began to move toward the drawing room door. “It’s early still, and it looks as though the weather might hold, so—”

  “Miss Somerset.” He grabbed her hand and drew her to a halt before she could take another step, and a tiny shiver tickled up her spine when his warm palm pressed against hers.

  “Yes?” She turned to him, and found those strange, silvery-gray eyes fixed on her with such intensity she looked away again at once, her heart pounding.

  “Your book, it’s…fascinating.”

  Violet went still, stunned at his praise, and then her eyes drifted closed.

  Fascinating.

  That word, the quiet admiration in his voice as he said it, his utter sincerity—Violet’s heart soared until it felt as if it would fly from her chest. Of all the things he could have said or done, nothing in the world could have pleased her more than that one word.

  She didn’t trust herself to speak, but she squeezed his hand before she let it go and led him from the drawing room.

  * * * *

  “Oh, dear. It’s high tide. I hadn’t thought of that.” Violet stood at the top of Wapping Old Stairs and frowned down at the water washing over the lower half of the staircase. “Well, I’m afraid the sketch won’t look like much—just a half-flooded stairway, really.”

  Lord Dare peered over her shoulder. “Better a half-flooded stairway than a half-dead body still twitching on the noose. Or worse, a bloated corpse. They don’t cut them down until three high tides have passed. I’ll wager you didn’t think of that, either.”

  No, she hadn’t, and Violet shuddered at the thought now. She’d worked hard to make her book as accurate and realistic as possible, but she drew the line at bloated corpses. “Well, it can’t be helped, I suppose. I’ll have to do without Execution Dock, and the lower half of the staircase.”

  She started to make her way down the stairs, but a large hand clamped down on her shoulder. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Violet turned to Lord Dare in surprise. “Why, down the stairs, of course. It will be a much better sketch if I stand closer to the bottom. The perspective is better looking up, and that way I can include part of the inn—”

  “No.”

  “No?” Violet gaped at him. “Why not?”

  He pointed down the staircase in front of them. “Because the stairs are wet, Miss Somerset, and likely slippery. You’ll lose your footing and tumble head over heels, and the next thing I know you’ll be underwater, and then I’ll have to come in after you.”

  “Oh, nonsense. I won’t fall, and even if I did, you won’t have to save me. I know how to swim.”

  Violet tried to make her way down the stairs a second time, but Lord Dare wrapped a hand around her elbow and stopped her. “That water is cold, and there’s no way you could manage that tide in heavy, sodden skirts. No, I’m afraid it’s out of the question. You’ll have to get your sketch from here.”

  Violet planted her hands on her hips. “Are you worried for me, or for yourself?”

  His lips curled in an unrepentant grin. “Myself, of course. I don’t care for a frolic in the Thames, or a soggy drive back to Bedford Square.”

  “Then stay where you are.” Violet pulled her arm from his grasp and began to pick her way down the stairs. “If I fall in, I’ll find my way back out without your assistance.”

  He grasped her arm again. “I know you think me a rogue, Miss Somerset, but I’m also a gentleman. I won’t allow a lady to sink to the bottom of the Thames before my very eyes without lifting a finger to help.”

  “Don’t think of me as a lady, Lord Dare. Think of me as a bluestocking. That should help to dampen your heroic instincts.”

  “Why can’t you be both at once?” He cocked his head to the side, considering her. “After all, if a rogue can be a gentleman, then a bluestocking can be a lady.”

  Violet didn’t recall ever having agreed a rogue could be a gentleman, but Lord Dare looked as if he’d relish a debate on the subject, and she wasn’t going to let him distract her. “Well, I’m more the first than the second, so you haven’t a thing to worry about, my lord.”

  Violet tugged free of him for the third time, the matter settled as far as she was concerned, but Lord Dare didn’t agree, because he caught her arm again. “I don’t see why that should make any difference. Why shouldn’t I wish to prevent a bluestocking from drowning?”

  She tugged at her arm, then glared at him when he refused to release her. “A bluestocking wouldn’t drown! Any self-respecting lady of knowledge has all she requires to save herself, Lord Dare.”

  “Does she, indeed? Well, forgive me, Miss Somerset, but you didn’t look as if you were on the verge of saving yourself when I found you at the mercy of that footpad last night.”

  “Do you see any footpads about, my lord?”

  “No. I see one small woman about four steps away from tumbling into the Thames River, and if it came down to a contest between you, I’d wager on the Thames.”

  Violet blew out an irritated breath. Goodness, he was stu
bborn—perhaps even more stubborn than she was, a state of affairs that would have shocked her grandmother. “Very well, my lord. What would you have me do, then?”

  “Take your sketch from the top of the staircase looking down, of course. Didn’t I already say so?”

  Violet glanced down the staircase again to get a sense of what the sketch might look like taken from that angle, and shook her head. “No. That won’t do. You’ll have to come up with something else.”

  “Oh, I already have. In another twenty seconds I’m going to throw you over my shoulder, toss you into my carriage, and drive you back to Bedford Square without any sketch at all.”

  Violet’s mouth fell open. “I—you wouldn’t dare!”

  He grinned at her outraged expression. “Oh, I assure you, I would. I may strive to be a gentleman, but in your case, Miss Somerset, I find the rogue is far more useful.”

  He said this with the most intriguingly boyish smile, but despite his playful grin, Violet knew without a doubt he wouldn’t hesitate to throw her over his shoulder and march her back to his carriage, and he’d do it without a word of argument or apology.

  “Five steps only, Lord Dare. I won’t be anywhere near the water that way, and it should bring me low enough to get the perspective I need.”

  He glanced behind her at the frothing water below, and shook his head. “Two steps.”

  It took all of Violet’s restraint not to roll her eyes. Confound the man! Whoever would have thought a careless rogue like Lord Dare could be so infuriatingly protective? “Three. Come now, my lord. You must be able to see I can’t make do with fewer than three.”

  He hesitated, then at last let out a beleaguered sigh. “Three steps, then.” He released her arm and pushed past her, down the stairs.

  Violet watched him, puzzled. “Where are you going?”

  “Down to the fourth step, of course.”

  For all his talk of slipperiness, Violet couldn’t help but notice his progress down the stairs was graceful and confident. “But why?”

  Another heavy sigh. “Why do you think? To block you from falling into the water if you slip. Here.” He held out his hand. “Give me your sketchbook before you come down, then take my hand.”

  Violet didn’t hand him her book, but clutched it to her chest in an instinctive movement, her breath hitching in a strange, suspended moment of exhilaration and panic. She stared down at him, at the sun catching in his hair, and for the first time she noticed the subtle auburn highlights in the dark waves.

  Thickly lashed gray eyes, silky dark hair, a hard chest, and a lean, taut body wrapped in a lovely scarlet waistcoat—it was more than enough to render any lady breathless. But Violet wasn’t any lady. Oh, she’d noticed how attractive he was, of course. She wasn’t blind, after all. And then he smelled so wonderful, and everyone knew scent was a vital component of personal attraction—one need look no further than Monsieur Floris’s perfumery in St. James’s Square for proof of that—but even all his attractions taken together weren’t enough to make Violet’s heart quicken with awareness.

  But this…this was kindness, a sincere concern for the safety of someone he believed needed his protection. Whether she did or not didn’t matter one whit. It was, at its very heart, true gentlemanliness—the sort every aristocrat pretended to, and so few of them possessed.

  She’d fallen in love with Lord Derrick because he was a true gentleman.

  But Lord Dare…

  She never would have dreamed he could pose a threat to her heart.

  “Aren’t you coming, Miss Somerset? Don’t tell me after all that fuss and bother you’ve changed your mind?”

  He was gazing up at her, his hand still extended to help her down, and Violet’s heart began to crash against her ribs as the tingle of exhilaration was swallowed by alarm. Oh, why did he have to be the only rogue in London who was a gentleman? She didn’t want him to be kind and sincere—not when he had such lovely gray eyes and such a sly, playful smile. Dear God, was it too much to ask he be nothing more than a dreadful rake, and stoop-shouldered and squinty-eyed into the bargain—

  “The tide is still rising, Miss Somerset. In another few minutes I’ll be up to my ankles in the filthy water of the Thames, so if it’s not too much trouble, would you mind—”

  “You don’t need to stand below me, my lord. I told you I won’t slip.”

  “If you won’t slip then I have nothing to fear, and in that case, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t stand here, is there?”

  “But if I should slip—that is, I won’t, of course—but if I should, then I’ll likely knock you in, and we’ll both get wet. What’s the sense in that?” Violet heard the thread of panic in her voice, and her cheeks heated with embarrassment.

  He gave her a curious look. “Knock me in? Unless you intend to take a run at me, I think it’s far more likely I’d catch you. In case it’s escaped your notice, Miss Somerset, I’m quite a bit larger and heavier than you are.”

  It hadn’t escaped her notice. Indeed, she became increasingly aware of his impressive musculature with every second she spent in his presence.

  “Well?” He waved his hand impatiently. “Are you coming, or not?”

  Violet handed him her sketchbook, but she didn’t take his hand. “I don’t need your help to get down.” It seemed imperative, somehow, that she not touch him.

  He simply raised an eyebrow at that, but the gesture said more clearly than words that she could take his hand and allow him to assist her, or return to the carriage at once.

  Violet took his hand.

  His warm fingers closed around hers, his fingertips grazing her palm. When Violet reached the step above his she steadied her stance, reached into her pocket for her pencil, and held out her hand for her sketchbook.

  He handed it to her, but he didn’t release her other hand.

  “You’ll have to let go of my hand, my lord, unless you imagine I can hold my sketchbook and draw with only one hand.” Violet, who’d begun to feel quite desperate as soon as his fingers wrapped around hers, gave an insistent little tug.

  Lord Dare glanced at the water behind him, which was close enough to splash his boots, then turned back to her with a wry smile. He released her hand, but before she could take a relieved breath, his hands slid around her waist.

  Violet froze, her breath catching in her throat as his warm fingers curled around her. “What…what are you doing, Lord Dare?”

  He slid his hands down until they rested on her hips, then he eased her back against him until her back was pressed against the hard, solid wall of his chest. “Keeping hold of you, in case you slip. Go on, then. You can take your sketch now.”

  Sketch? What sketch?

  Violet tried to gather her wits, but he was so close his lips were nearly touching her ear, and his voice…the low, husky rasp of it was…oh, dear God, had he just settled her hips more firmly against his?

  Violet fought not to let herself melt into a quivering mass of willing flesh at his feet. “You, ah…you don’t need to hold onto me, you know. I’ve got excellent balance.”

  He chuckled, and Violet shivered with pleasure as his warm breath stirred the loose strands of hair at her temple.

  “Of course you do. Indeed, Miss Somerset, at this point, what could possibly go wrong?”

  * * * *

  Quite a lot did go wrong, in fact, but it had nothing to do with the Thames and everything to do with the Marchioness of Huntington.

  It would have been awful enough if Iris had witnessed Lord Dare’s carriage exiting the drive, and it would have been worse still if she’d come upon Violet while she was bidding his lordship adieu. But either of those scenarios would have been preferable to what actually happened.

  Iris caught Violet before she’d bid adieu to Lord Dare.

  “Well, Hyacinth, here you are at last.”

>   Violet came to such a sudden halt in the drawing room doorway that Lord Dare slammed right into the back of her. “I beg your pardon, Miss—”

  “I’ve expected you in Grosvenor Square all afternoon.” Iris rose from the settee she’d been sitting on and dusted the crumbs from her hands. There was a tea tray on the table in front of her, and if one could judge from the number of empty plates, she’d been waiting for quite some time, and nibbling all the while.

  Iris had developed a fierce sweet tooth now that she was carrying a child, but unfortunately, the sweets didn’t have a sweetening effect on her temperament. She seemed to become crosser with every passing day, and now she sent Violet a dark look that was ominous, indeed.

  “Ah, yes, well, I—Lord Dare, may I present my elder sister, Lady Huntington.”

  Lord Dare bowed politely over Iris’s hand. “A pleasure, my lady.”

  Iris eyed him with ill-concealed suspicion. “Well, Lord Dare. How do you do? It’s very kind of you to escort my dear sister to…to…where have you and Lord Dare spent your afternoon, Hyacinth?”

  Violet glanced nervously at Lord Dare to see if he’d noticed the emphasis Iris had placed on that name, and found his brows drawn into a confused frown.

  He’d noticed.

  Oh, no. There was no telling what Iris would do when she was on a tear, and once she found out they’d been to—

  “We went on a drive to Wapping, Lady Huntington, so Miss Somerset could take a sketch of Execution Dock for her book.” Lord Dare chuckled. “It was nearly underwater by the time we arrived, however, and I’m afraid her slippers and my boots got rather wet.”

  “How unfortunate, but I’m certain Hyacinth will agree with me, my lord, when I say I can imagine many things far worse than a pair of wet slippers.”

  Lord Dare gave Iris an uncertain look. “Ah, yes, well, I suppose we could have tumbled headlong into the Thames.”

  “Hyacinth might yet find herself at the bottom of the Thames,” Iris snapped, ignoring Lord Dare’s frown and narrowing her gaze on Violet.

  “I’ve kept you far too long today, Lord Dare.” Violet turned to him with a stiff smile. “And I’m certain you wish to change your boots. I’ll just call Eddesley to show you out, shall I?”