“No. That’s impossible! It isn’t far,” she insisted. “I’m sure I’ll be able to hobble along well enough.”
“Then allow me to at least assist you to your destination. It is the least I can do,” he replied, his tone firm and brooking no argument. The girl was trying the last of his patience, his earlier enjoyment of the situation all but forgotten. It didn’t help that, for him, in his current predicament, patience was at a premium.
“My employer will be most displeased,” she said.
“I daresay your employer will be more displeased if you attempt to hobble there and injure yourself further, thus limiting your usefulness for the next few days,” Val pointed out.
She opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, and when it closed the second time, her full lips compressed into a firm and quite obviously irritated line. He took immense satisfaction in that. He didn’t know why, but he did.
“Very well, sir,” she relented. “I thank you for both your wisdom and your assistance… belated as it was.”
“Yes,” he said, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice. “But please, restrain yourself, Miss. You’ll put me to blush with the effusiveness of your gratitude.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
Val shrugged. “I rather thought I was making fun of us both… now tell me, do you have footwear? Or has some woodland creature absconded with that, as well?”
“They’re tucked under that bush over there,” she said, pointing in the direction.
Val moved away from her long enough to retrieve the simple, kid walking boots and stockings. “Put them on your uninjured foot. But I would not put them on the other if I were you.”
“I cannot return with one foot covered and one foot bare!”
She would argue that it was the sky which was green and the grass which was blue. “Fine. Put it on then… the process will no doubt be terribly painful. And by the time we arrive at your destination, the swelling in your ankle will have progressed to the point that the boot will likely have to be cut off. And while it may be crass of me to make presumptions, I imagine that replacing those boots would be somewhat difficult for you in your current position.”
“Turn around, please,” she said. “I cannot don my stocking with you watching me.”
Val sighed, but dutifully turned his back while she rolled on the discarded stocking and donned a single boot. After a suitable amount of time had passed, he turned back to her. “Now, what is your direction?”
“Number Ten, South Audley Street,” the girl replied.
Val felt his gut clench. “And you are employed by the Dowager Duchess of Templeton, are you not?”
Her eyes widened. “How do you know that?”
“It appears we are headed in the same direction, Miss. Your employer, my grandmother, has summoned me.”
“Seaburn,” the girl said with horror.
“Quite right. Lord Valentine Somers, Viscount Seaburn, at your service.”
Chapter Two
Well that was the end of it, Lilly thought. She’d be sacked and turned out without recommendation. Not even being a graduate of the Darrow School would get her an interview now, not having been let go from two positions without a reference. The first one was not at all her fault. But this one, well, she couldn’t exactly call herself blameless in it. Running barefoot in Hyde Park like some sort of feral creature, showing her ankles and heaven knew what else to some man who turned out to be her employer’s grandson? She’d be sacked for certain and it was absolutely her own fault. Perhaps she could work for her sister as a nanny? Not in a paying capacity, but trading room and board and living off the generosity of her sister’s new husband like the poor relation she was. It wasn’t such an ignoble existence, was it? Yes. Yes, it was. The very idea of being the poor relation, even if that was an accurate description, raised her hackles.
“Let’s get you on your feet and see if there is any hope of you walking,” he offered helpfully as he held out his hand to her.
Lilly placed her hand in his and immediately wished to withdraw it. His hand was strong and warm, his fingers lightly callused, from what she could not imagine. Men of his standing did not have callused hands. Yet he did. But it wasn’t those out of character calluses which caused her to draw back. It was that frisson of something else, a jolt of something she could not name nor fathom, that arced through her rather like the electricity machine that Lady Daschel had brought in as entertainment during her house party. It wasn’t necessarily unpleasant, but it did leave her feeling unsettled.
He pulled her up almost effortlessly. Standing only on her uninjured foot, she tentatively tried to bear weight on her other leg. A sharp hiss of pain escaped her and she stumbled. She likely would have fallen had he not caught her once more. Only this time, she wasn’t so overcome with fear that she didn’t notice how firm his chest was where it pressed against her own much softer form, nor could she ignore the strange warmth that suffused her at having his arms wrapped about her thusly. Oh, dear. It was all so very wrong. She knew what all of those things meant, of course, even if she had not experienced them personally. And until the very moment Lord Valentine Somers, Viscount Seaburn, had crossed her path, Lilly had thought herself immune to lust. But she was not. And the man she lusted for was quite possibly the one most forbidden to her in all of England. The grandson—the titled grandson, no less—of her employer.
“I’ll carry you to the gate and get a cab for us,” he said. “You cannot possibly walk, nor hobble, for such a distance.” The last was offered with gentle amusement.
“I’m very appreciative of your assistance, my lord,” Lillian replied. And she meant it. She was grateful to him, but she had the distinct impression that she might have been better off if she’d simply fallen and breathed her last beneath that blasted tree.
Lillian had thought she was prepared. But the moment when he swept her up into his arms, she realized she could not possibly have been prepared for what it would feel like. He carried her as bridegroom carried his bride, nestled in his arms, close to his chest. So close, in fact, that she could see the faint shadow of whiskers beneath his skin, though it was just after noon. His profile was perfection—forehead high and straight, a nose as sharp as the edge of a knife, and a stubborn chin that jutted forward ever so slightly with a hint of cleft in it. Only the sweep of long, dark lashes and the fullness of his lips hinted at any softness at all, and those features fascinated her far more than they should have. Certainly more than she could afford for them to given how disparate their stations were. This was not some governess becoming infatuated with a solicitor or even an under butler. He was the heir to a dukedom, after all.
“Just hang on,” he said. “We’ll have it all sorted out in no time.”
Whether those cheery words were intended to make her feel better or if they were solely for his own benefit, as she’d essentially ruined his afternoon, she couldn’t say. So, Lilly only smiled and nodded. “I’m certain we shall.” Lies. They were just rolling off her tongue one after another. There was no sorting anything out. There was her packing her things and hobbling away on some crutch procured from a passing peddler when the dowager duchess tossed her out on her ear for her unbecoming conduct.
“Not to be impertinent, but if I’m going to carry you into my grandmother’s house, it might help if I actually knew your name.”
Of course. Now, in addition to being a hoyden, a clumsy fool, and a complete harpy, she was also addlebrained. “Miss Lillian Burkhart, my lord.”
“Miss Burkhart,” he said. “I can tell you that it has been a most singular pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Hardly that. I’ve been a nuisance and an inconvenience from the very outset!” she said. There was no point in trying to deny any of it.
“But I haven’t been bored,” he replied with a wicked grin. “And that, Miss Burkhart, makes you more than worth the trouble.”
“I doubt your grandmother will agree,” L
illy said with a heavy sigh. “I’m already on my very last hope with her. No doubt, she’ll send me packing!”
“Why? Because a hackney traveling much too fast nearly ran you down? It was a terrible shame that you were injured by the carelessness of others, Miss Burkhart! How fortuitous it was that we were both heading in the same direction and I witnessed the incident. I was very heroic when I rushed to your rescue, wasn’t I?”
As he uttered that Banbury tale, his full lips, framed so perfectly by the dark shadow of his beard, curved upward in such a way that no woman looking at him could possibly resist his allure.
“You needn’t lie on my account, my lord,” Lilly said. “You do not appear to be especially good at it and your grandmother will not be pleased.”
“I’ve lied for much less worthy causes, Miss Burkhart, than that of keeping you gainfully employed. But tell me, how did such a—” He broke off, clearly uncertain how to describe her without it being an insult.
“Hoyden? Hellion? Scapegrace?” she offered helpfully.
“Woman of irrepressible spirt,” he corrected, “come to be employed by my always proper, often dull, and deeply boring grandmother?”
“I had been working as a governess,” Lilly confessed. It was a mistake to tell the sordid tale, but she didn’t seem to be able to keep it all in. She wanted to keep talking because she wanted him to continue looking at her. And also, as long as she was talking, she wouldn’t do something impossibly foolish like attempting to kiss him only to startle them both and wind up in the Serpentine.
“Governess and companion are not such disparate professions,” he offered.
“No, they are not. I was working for a family, not quite the first stare, but wealthy enough and well respected. They moved in society though not in the thick of it. I tended to the two youngest girls. The oldest was set to make her debut and then there was the oldest son… he’d been sent down from school for infractions I was not to know about.”
He grew very still. “Go on, Miss Burkhart.”
“He made some rather aggressive advances which I successfully spurned,” she said. She didn’t want him thinking she was some sort of weakling who couldn’t defend herself. “At any rate, in the process, I blackened his eye and then his mother walked in. He told her that I’d become angry, lost my mind with temper, and struck him because I fancied myself in love with him and he didn’t return my affections. Frankly, as horrid as it makes me sound, he was rather hideously ugly and only a mother would have believed any reasonably attractive woman had fancied herself in love with such a whey-faced little toad.”
“So you were turned out without a reference because of a lying, whey-faced little toad?”
“Quite so,” she agreed with a nod. “And my friend who helps with placements for those who have graduated from her academy suggested that being a companion, specifically to someone of an age where there were unlikely to be young men in the house, might be better suited to someone of my appea—to me,”
He eyed her speculatively. “You started to say your appearance, did you not?”
“I did,” she admitted.
“But you did not. Why?”
“I didn’t wish to appear vain, my lord.”
He nodded at that, another smile tugging at his lips. “Are you vain, Miss Burkhart?”
There really was no point in lying, Lilly thought. They’d never see one another again, so what did it matter if he knew another of her horrid character flaws? “Terribly. And I detest this hideous bonnet as much as you do. But your grandmother insists upon it. She says I need to look as dowdy as possible to prevent men from noticing me.”
His steps slowed and he looked at her with his slashing black brows arching upward in shock and amusement. “My grandmother is a dunderhead, Miss Burkhart. Trust me when I say that it would take far more than just an ugly bonnet to render you invisible to the opposite sex.”
That sounded suspiciously like a compliment and Lilly found that she rather liked the notion of getting such a compliment from him, even if it was terribly unwise. “What would it take, then, my lord?” She didn’t mean to sound flirtatious, not really. Nor did she mean to look up at him through her lashes in such a way that he might believe flirtation was her intent. But she did anyway.
He looked at her and then shook his head with something akin to resignation. “Quite simply, Miss Burkhart, the Lord Almighty would have to strike us all blind.”
*
And even then he would be able to smell her—all sunshine, lemons and honeysuckle.
It had not escaped Val’s notice that they were flirting. Well, he was flirting. She, simply, was flirtation. With her heavy-lidded eyes, full lips and lushly-curved figure, everything about her screamed flirtation. It also screamed other things that, as a gentleman, he should not listen to at all. She could sit stone silent before him and it would still seem an invitation, primarily because—like all men—he’d want it to be one. The difference, of course, was that if she ever told him she did not wish his flirtations, he would cease. Unlike the arrogant pup of her former employers. Val made a mental note to find out who it was and exact a bit of revenge for Miss Burkhart.
“Your friend’s academy helps with job placement for young women?” he queried, hoping to get them onto a different topic that didn’t require him thinking of just how pretty she was.
“I’m a graduate of the Darrow School, my lord.”
The words were uttered with no small amount of pride. It was something easily understood. The Darrow School had an excellent reputation. It was also an open secret that the majority of students enrolled there were the illegitimate daughters of the aristocracy. So, Miss Burkhart might have been born on the wrong side of the blanket. The question was, who was the owner of that blanket?
“The Hellion Club,” he said.
She shrugged. “Some call it that. We’re not hellions… well, most of us aren’t. It’s funny the names men call women simply because they dare to make their own way in the world rather than be dependent on the male species. And most of the women who attend or who have graduated from the Hellion Club, as you put it, have little enough reason to put their faith in a man’s ability to care for them.”
It was impossible to miss the bitterness in her voice. “Many men call themselves gentlemen, Miss Burkhart, and fail to behave as such. I’m sorry you’ve encountered so many in your short life.”
Her eyes narrowed and she fixed him with a surprisingly shrewd gaze. “You’re not one of them, are you? I’ve heard of you, you know? Haunting the gaming hells and bawdy houses to watch for the sharps that would take advantage of country mice with more money than sense. Is that why you do it? To be a gentleman?”
He did it because if a man was so lacking in honor that he’d cheat at cards, he often engaged in other nefarious activities. Including treason. “That’s certainly one reason.”
She stiffened in his arms immediately. “That’s the first lie you’ve actually told me.”
“It isn’t a lie,” he protested.
“But neither is it the entire truth… omission is worse than an outright lie. People lie impulsively, they fear consequences and rattle off some half-cocked story to avoid them. A lie of omission is one of calculation,” she pointed out. “You lied to me and you’ve lied to others in the same manner and it was premeditated.”
“I’ve told you all the truth on that score that I am permitted to,” he answered. That was as honest with her as he could be on the subject. “There are people to whom I answer that limit the amount of information I can divulge.”
They’d reached the main gate, and he’d been so caught up in speaking to her that he didn’t even notice the curious stares of those around them until he settled her on a small bench. Luckily, it was not a fashionable hour for riding or driving in the park and most of those present appeared to be nursemaids and governesses with their charges in tow. Rising to his full height, he doffed his hat to her. “Please wait here and I will obtain tran
sportation for us. It isn’t so very far to my grandmother’s home from here, but I think we’ve created enough of a stir.”
“Hopefully not such a stir that it reaches your grandmother’s ears,” she said. “Else your carefully concocted story will be for naught.”
That was a complication. “We’ll work out the particulars on our way there.”
Chapter Three
The hansom cab rolled over the cobbled street, a luxury for residents of Mayfair that much of London lacked. “Tell me, Miss Burkhart, what had you in the park today? And so deeply in thought?” Val asked.
“I had requested the morning off because I had an appointment of a personal nature. And I was alone in the park, deep in thought, because I was trying to determine what I ought to do about the information I learned during my appointment.”
Val frowned. “Are you in some sort of trouble, Miss Burkhart?”
“No. Not as such, really. My mother died when I was very young and I didn’t know her family. She sent me to my father, William Satterly, who promptly put me in a terrible school. A few years later, my half-sister, Wilhelmina, was also placed there. And then together, we were discovered by Miss Euphemia Darrow and it was with us as her first pupils that the Darrow School was formed.”
“And this appointment had something to do with your mother’s family, I take it?” he asked. He couldn’t help but feel there was more to the story than she had offered, that perhaps she was glossing over the more damaging details of it. But he supposed she was entitled to her secrets.
Barefoot in Hyde Park (The Hellion Club Book 2) Page 2
