The Whispered Kiss

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “It seems you have an admirer,” he said.

  “An unwanted admirer, milord,” she said, her voice weak and quivering.

  “What behavior has he displayed toward you in the past that you would shrink from him so entirely?” Valor asked once he was assured they were alone on the veranda. Still, she did not attempt to disengage herself from him, and he could yet feel the trembling in her.

  “It is his expression…his very countenance. His thoughts toward women are not…not honorable,” she said, and suddenly she was in his arms, pressed tightly against him, her own arms wrapped around his waist, her hands fisting the fabric at the back of his coat.

  He could not help himself then and embraced her fully, holding her hard against his body, letting one hand rest at the back of her head as he pressed her face to his chest.

  “Most thoughts of men in regard to a woman of your beauty are not honorable,” he said, attempting to both teach and soothe her at once, but she did not sigh with relief or lessen her hold on him.

  “He has always frightened me, Valor,” she said, turning her lovely face up to gaze at him.

  He thrilled at the sound of his true name falling from her lips and could not muster the resilience to correct her this time. In fact, he was certain she was unaware she had addressed him thus.

  “He means nothing respectable toward me, I am sure.”

  “I am sure you are right,” he said, his eyes narrowing as he looked into her wide, frightened ones. “Still, he shall not discomfort you any further this evening. I will not leave you to endure his wonton inspections at any turn.” Still, she clung to him, and he wished for her to do so forever. Yet his passion for her was rising at an increasing and powerful rate, and he must distract her from her present endeavors at seeking protection, lest he lose himself and take her mouth to his there on Dickerson’s veranda.

  “He knows well not to vex me,” he added. “I would as soon slit his throat as look at him.” Still she did not release him, only clung to him, the sweet scent of her hair filling his nostrils, the warm softness of her body against his threatening to destroy his resolve. He was the dark Lord of Roanan! Lionhardt the Heartless! And it was she, the very woman in his arms, who had turned his heart to stone. He could not weaken now.

  Yet his mouth watered for want of hers, his powerful arms weakening as they held her. It wholly unnerved him. Another moment and he would be undone.

  Coquette held back her tears, tried not to panic as Valor took hold of her arms, pushing her from his embrace, looking down into her face as if trying to help a frightened child to bravery.

  “You are well enough then in the knowledge I will not tolerate his further discomforting you?” he asked.

  The softer intonation of his voice was gone now, in its place the firm, angry voice she had come to recognize as the voice of the Lord of Roanan’s. He had endured her fear, her physical assault on him, well enough and was now weary of it.

  How ridiculous she had been! Clinging to him like a frightened child—weak and fearful in his presence—in the presence of he who feared nothing and no one!

  “Forgive me, sire,” she said, looking from his handsome, angry face. “I am sorry to act so—”

  “Do you wish that we should take our leave? That I make an excuse?” he asked.

  Coquette shook her head. “No. No, milord. I would not have Lord and Lady Dickerson, your friends, offended because I have had a moment of cowardice.”

  “It is not cowardice to read ill-intent and avoid it,” Valor said.

  Coquette forced a smile and looked up into his frowning face. “I am well, milord. It was…it was only he startled me…to see him here. It…it was so unexpected.”

  She would reveal nothing more to him. She would not tell him of her past experience with the vile Lord Noah Springhill—the occasion one year previous when the monster had attempted to force his intentions upon her during a visit to her father. Valor so rarely socialized, and she could see he harbored a liking to Lord and Lady Dickerson. She would not give him reason to run from those who might help her in her quest to peel away the beastly cocoon and free Valor. Lord Springhill had failed in his attempts to seduce her before, in his attempts to force himself upon her, and with Valor as her husband, he would dare not attempt any inappropriate behavior. She would endure his presence at the dinner party—for Valor’s sake.

  “You are certain?” Valor asked.

  She read concern in his eyes, and it warmed her. “I am,” she told him. “What ill-intent can he have toward me now…with you here?”

  He slowly inhaled, a deep frown furrowing his brow as he studied her for a moment. “We will go at once,” he said then. “I will make my excuse to Dickerson and Juliann. I will tell them I am suddenly overcome with…with an aching in my head.”

  “The Lord of Roanan is never overcome with anything, milord,” Coquette said.

  He was championing her! It thrilled her nearly beyond her ability to keep from taking flight. Yet perhaps he only did so out of duty. She was his wife, after all. Perhaps he only felt obliged somehow. No matter the reason. Valor was willing to leave Lord Dickerson’s affair for her sake. It was enough—for the moment.

  “No. I am recovered from seeing Lord Springhill here. I will not see your friends’ evening tainted.”

  A deep sense of foreboding was slowly seeping into Valor’s flesh. Coquette seemed recovered, yes. Still, her initial reaction to seeing Springhill had been quite dramatic, severe. It concerned Valor, for he felt there was more she was not telling him. A woman’s intuition was sensitive and struck true nearly always. Yet Coquette’s reaction to seeing Springhill seemed beyond mere intuition. His heart told him to take hold of her, drag her from the place if needs be. But Valor knew his heart was cold, void of wisdom. He could not trust it. Suspicion had settled in his mind, a permanent fixture, and it was surely what attempted to drive him now. Springhill was a reptile, it was certain, but the description fit many men of Valor’s acquaintance. He did not want to disappoint Dickerson and Juliann. Further, he did not want to disappoint Coquette. She appeared so delighted to be out, to have met Dickerson’s wife. What harm could be in staying through the dinner, especially if he made certain Springhill had no further contact with Coquette?

  “Very well,” he agreed at last. “Then we should return. Juliann will want to seat us to dinner soon.”

  Coquette could not help but smile at Valor. She could see the conflict in his eyes, suspicion battling with a want to please. But please whom? Dickerson and Juliann—or herself? Valor offered his arm, and she accepted it, thrilled to be touching him again.

  Hope had been rising in Coquette. Every moment since the Lord of Roanan had been revealed to be Valor, hope had been rising. Certainly Coquette had experienced the depths of despair as well, yet always hope managed to find renewal in her and never so strong as it was in those moments. As Valor escorted her into the dining room, she nearly began to tremble with the renewed realization she walked with Valor. As if her father’s letter of the day before had freed her somehow, as if confirmation of Valor’s having been correct in his estimation of her father had released her from some sort of prison, she felt liberated, free to be Lady Lionhardt, free to fight the beast for Valor.

  And certainly her feelings of freedom and joy only increased as Valor did not leave her side for any moment or reason as the evening progressed. Ever he remained at her side, no matter to whom he was speaking. Coquette was warmed by his attention, his attempts to guard her from any further discomfort at Lord Springhill’s hand.

  Even as they dined, he sat closer than was expected, his strong arm brushing her shoulder now and then, giving her further reassurance, however unintentional.

  “Tell us then, my darling Lionhardt,” Juliann began as the third course commenced, “why have we not seen more of your lovely bride? It comes to my ears you have visited Roanan only once since being wed.”

  A sense of panic began to rise in Coquette. For all Valor�
��s heroism of the evening, would he yet reveal their marriage was a farce? She was certain he would not. Yet what answer could he give that would continue the appearance of all being well between them?

  “I…I pause to answer, milady,” Valor said. “Yet I will tell you my reasons are wholly selfish. I have not been willing to share the Lady Lionhardt with anyone. In truth, I am brutally jealous of even having to share her with you and your guests.” He looked at Coquette, smiling his dazzling smile, and she blushed under his gaze. “For I am selfish with her attention, wanting everything about her for my own. She has my heart in its entirety, and I cannot be parted from her even for a moment without anxiety washing over me as a cold spring rain.”

  Coquette’s blush deepened as she heard several of the women seated at the table giggle with delight.

  Even Juliann clapped her hands together, exclaiming, “I love it! I love it! It was doubtful, I was, Milady Lionhardt…doubtful that any woman would ever capture the heart of the Lord of Roanan. But you have done it. It is full obvious!”

  “Yet I say the brute endeavors to flatter you, Lady Dickerson,” Lord Springhill said.

  At the sound of his voice, every hair on Coquette’s head prickled with apprehension. She could not keep from leaning closer to Valor and was somewhat comforted when she felt his hand cover her own where it lay at her knee.

  “What do you mean, Lord Springhill?” Lord Dickerson asked.

  Coquette risked a glance to Juliann, who only rolled her eyes with obvious irritation at Lord Springhill’s remark.

  “We, all of us, have known Lionhardt these past three years, and what one of us has ever seen any woman capture his attention for any amount of time? Yet Coquette de Bellamont arrives, and he is smitten? I call you out, Lionhardt the Heartless!” Lord Springhill chuckled and drew his chalice to his lips as he looked at Coquette. “I say your heart has not been won yet, for you are as arrogant, as proper, and as hardhearted as ever you were.”

  “Careful, Springhill,” Lord Dickerson warned. “You endeavor to criticize my good friend.”

  Lord Springhill chuckled again. “There, there, Dickerson. Surely you know I only endeavor to jest with our newly wedded Lord of Roanan.”

  “What proof would you have me offer, Springhill?” Valor said, his hand tightening around Coquette’s.

  “You need offer no proof, my dearest Lionhardt,” Juliann said, “for I see it in your eyes. Your eyes are fairly ablaze with admiration for your lady.”

  “A woman’s answer,” Lord Springhill mumbled. “But until a man is willing to display his defeat, until a woman can prove she holds the heart and mind of a man in the palm of her hand…I do not believe the man is conquered.”

  “Conquered?” Dickerson asked.

  “By love, of course,” Springhill said. “For example, you, Dickerson, and your lovely lady—you, my friend, are conquered by love, for you fear no public display of affection, are not humiliated by tender endearments. Love has conquered you, Dickerson…conquered and in return heaped happiness upon you both. However, Lionhardt…well, he hardly seems conquered.”

  “You seek evidence I am conquered? Is that it, Springhill?” Valor asked. “Then who am I to deny it to you?”

  “He only teases to try and taunt you, Lionhardt,” Juliann said. “Lord Springhill is renowned for his lack of manners.”

  “Still, it vexes me he should doubt the conquering power of milady,” Valor said, and before Coquette could think what to do, Valor had pushed his chair from the table. Rising to his feet, she was certain he meant to do battle with Springhill. She gasped, however, when he instead took hold of the back of her chair, pulling it away from the table as well.

  “Oh, do not be so vexed as to leave us, our darling Lionhardt!” Juliann exclaimed, fairly leaping to her feet.

  “I am not so vexed as to leave you,” Valor said. “Only I feel the hero…that I must champion my lady before the breath of hell’s doubt.”

  Every woman at the table gasped then sighed as Valor dropped to one knee before Coquette then.

  “How can any man doubt her power over me…over my heart?” he said, reaching down and taking her foot in one hand.

  “What are you about, Valor?” Coquette scolded in a whisper.

  “If she but asked it of me, I would ever be her footstool,” he said, running one hand caressively over the top of her foot where her slipper did not cover it. “I would chain my wrists to this slight ankle, adhere my lips to this sweet knee with permanence if she asked it of me,” he added as his hand encircled her ankle, his head descending to place a lingering kiss on the fabric of her dress covering her knee.

  Coquette could hardly breathe! Valor knelt before her, spouting the words of a poet. She glanced to Juliann to find the lady smiling and biting her lip with pure enjoyment. Several other women smiled, hands at their bosoms as they watched. Save Springhill, the men all boasted approving smiles. Coquette wanted only to dash toward the nearest door and escape. What was Valor thinking? His actions were entirely scandalous!

  “Enough, Lionhardt,” Lord Springhill grumbled. “You’ve made your point of it.”

  “There is no point to be made,” Valor said, rising to his feet then, taking Coquette’s hands and pulling her to her feet as well. “Simply a public admission of being conquered by love…owned by the only woman to walk the earth who could own me.”

  Coquette drew in a quick breath, her eyes widening as she realized his intent then. He meant to kiss her! There! Before a room filled with titled men and noble women!

  “Valor?” she whispered as his head descended.

  “She merely whispers my name and I am undone,” Valor said, gathering Coquette into his arms as his mouth crushed against her own. The fire that instantly ignited in Coquette at the feel of his mouth to hers drove away all awareness of others being in the room. Warm and sweet, hot and spiced, his kiss led her heart to such swelling, her limbs to such weakness, she thought she might expire. In an instant she was returning his kiss, her hands lost in the soft mane of his hair.

  He only means to silence Springhill, she thought. Yet she cared not, for to be thus held by him, to receive his kiss, so moist, so passionate and driven, it was worth any price—even the price of deception.

  It was the applause that seemed to draw Valor’s attention from the kiss. Yet as he broke the seal of their lips, his gaze lingered on Coquette, the fire-amber in his eyes blazing triumphant.

  “Well done, my darling Lionhardt!” Juliann exclaimed as her small hands clapped approvingly. “Well done!”

  “Well done, indeed!” Dickerson chuckled.

  Valor released Coquette from his embrace, yet keeping hold of her arm as he assisted her to sit in her chair once more.

  “You, my Lord Springhill, have just been bested,” Juliann said, sighing as she returned to her meal.

  “In more ways than you know, Milady Dickerson,” Springhill said, raising his chalice to Valor a moment before drinking from it.

  Coquette sat trembling, trying to return the delighted smiles and approving nods of each woman in turn at the table. It was well she knew every woman seated in the room envied her, for no man had ever broken so completely with propriety in displaying his affections for his wife. Valor had far more than bested Lord Springhill: he’d bested every man in attendance. Still, no man, save Springhill, seemed irritated at the fact, and by comparison, the women were utterly enchanted. She looked to Valor, fancying he had just acted as only Valor would have. No beast would bury his pride to heighten a woman’s worth.

  “You are not one to ever suffer defeat,” Coquette ventured. She sat in the coach, across from Valor, studying him as he gazed out the coach window into the night.

  “No. I am not,” he said.

  “I am in utter astonishment at the lengths you will go to ensure you do not—” she began.

  “You must tell me if Springhill ever endeavors to speak to you again,” Valor interrupted. “He is not an honorable man, and I did not
like the manner in which he watched you this evening. Like a wolf watching prey, it was.”

  “He does not frighten me now,” Coquette said, unable to stop the smile spreading across her face. “He dare not meddle with you. And he thinks he would be meddling with you if he were ever to attempt to threaten me as he did in Bostchelan last autumn.”

  “What do you mean?” Valor nearly growled.

  “I mean, surely he knows…or at least he thinks you would never tolerate his attention to me—”

  “No! What do you mean he threatened you in Bostchelan last autumn?” he demanded.

  How she wished it were Valor her lover sitting with her in the coach and not the beast Lord of Roanan! Ever she must be wary of what she said to the beast.

  “I-I…” she stammered.

  “Tell me! At once!” he demanded, reaching forth and taking her shoulders between his hands. “And do not try to diminish any part of it…for I will know if you are hiding something from me.”

  “It is of no consequence now…nor then,” she said.

  “Tell me!” he growled.

  “He came to see Father,” she began. “At least I assume he came to see Father. I was in the south garden. Mother’s iris’s needed separating, and…and I did not trust them to anyone else. Lord Springhill came upon me then. He…he did not even pause to appear casual—simply took hold of me and…and forced a kiss and—”

  “Stop the coach! Stop!” Valor shouted, banging on the roof of the coach. Already his hand grasped the hilt of his sword, and as the coach lurched to a halt, he had already opened the door.

  “Milord!” Coquette cried, taking hold of his arm.

  “He’ll see his throat slit of it,” Valor growled.