Finally, Lillian said, “I will do so… but in private. Perhaps, my lord, we could retreat briefly to the drawing room?”
“Oh, heavens no,” he offered drolly. “Not if you want privacy. Every servant in the house will be camped outside the door! The garden? No, not with your ankle. I suppose the terrace might be the best option. It’s not too cold, I think.”
He spoke as if they were planning a typical outing or considering a turn about the room. The man was insufferable.
“Very well,” Lillian agreed and rose to her feet. The walking stick he’d provided earlier was on the floor beside her and a footman rushed forward to pick it up for her. No doubt, he was hedging his bets on the off chance that an upstart like her would actually marry into the family. Still wearing her shawl and leaning heavily on the cane like some sort of aged aunt, she limped toward the terrace doors, Viscount Seaburn in her wake.
Once outside, she turned to him immediately. “Why did you do it?” She couldn’t even effectively categorize her response to all of it. Anger, puzzlement, even mild amusement all warred within her.
He shrugged. “They aren’t wrong. I need a wife. I need one who isn’t overly concerned about what society might think of her.”
“And because of my low upbringing, social aspiration is beyond me?” she demanded, offended by him perhaps for the first time.
His eyebrows arched upward in obvious surprise. “Not at all. You have no social aspirations, Miss Burkhart, because you see through all the artifice of it to the ridiculousness, the pettiness and ugliness that lurk beneath its surface. Your lack of social aspiration is a mark in your favor as a human being and not a black mark against your upbringing.”
“And will my upbringing—daughter of a whore and a so-called gentleman who deserves the term bastard far more than any of his illegitimate children—what will that do to your social standing?” she demanded of him. Her coarse language had been a strategy. She wanted to shock him, to make him see how ridiculous such a match would be between them and precisely what it might cost him in the long term.
He shrugged, as if it mattered not at all. “My social standing, as you put it, is teetering like a house of cards already. My own actions, and there are reasons for them, Miss Burkhart, are partially to blame. But I don’t play deep at the tables because I like it, because I crave it, or because I cannot stop myself. It is part of my job. Information flows freely there and there are certain areas of the government and the military who benefit greatly from what I glean in such places.”
Lillian looked at him then, noting the tightness of his jaw, the muscles clenched so tightly that it was a wonder they did not snap. This was no dissipated drunkard trying to shock his family or rebel against their expectations. There was a hint of steel in him there that she had not seen to that point. “And what have you gleaned that will see your family so utterly destroyed?”
“It may not come to pass,” he said. “If I marry… and if I prevent Elsworth from being written into my grandmother’s will with the expectation of considerable fortune, then perhaps I can stop all of this before it begins.”
“I require more explanation that that. You said the government wanted information that you gleaned at the tables and—good heavens. You’re ferreting out treasonous plots, aren’t you?”
“There isn’t much ferreting. Just observation,” he replied.
“He’s a traitor,” she surmised. It was the only thing that made sense. What else could fell such a powerful and respected family? Murder and treason were the only crimes that a man of Elsworth Somers’ standing need ever fear consequences for.
“Not yet, he isn’t. At the moment, he’s made questionable choices but done nothing he cannot be pulled back from. But if he goes deeper into business with the individuals in question… on credit with his expectations as collateral, it will be too late for all of us. In order to stop it, his expectations must be dashed and in a very public manner. So, in point of fact, Miss Burkhart, it’s your duty as a citizen of the Crown to marry me.”
Lillian laughed at that. “The Crown? What has it ever done for me except perpetuate a class system where I will always be seen as less because of the sins of my parents? No, my lord, if you truly wish to wed me, you will be forced to argue the case on your own merits.”
“I have a fine house,” he said.
“In which I already reside,” she fired back with triumph.
“True,” he agreed. “But not in luxury. You live in a tiny room fit only for servants. And you, Miss Burkhart, were never meant to be a servant.”
She considered his response for a moment. “I’d argue that you do not understand luxury because you’ve never had to share a chamber with others. But I will concede the point as there are certainly chambers more fashionably appointed in the house than my own.”
“How very just of you, Miss Burkhart,” he said, smiling in a way that indicated he found her answers to be greatly amusing and was attempting to hide his response. “The second point in my favor is that you’d no longer have to do everything my grandmother says.”
“Yes, I most certainly would. Heaven knows you do,” she shot back. “That woman barks and the entire family scrambles like she’s a rabid dog. And I’ll thank you never to tell her I said so.”
He grinned in the darkness, a flash of white teeth that sent a shiver racing through her. “True again, and you have my promise of discretion in relation to your analogy. So allow me to put a finer point on my argument. You might still have to do as she says, but you would get to choose your own clothes.”
Lillian looked down at the drab green silk that not even moonlight could render flattering. “Go on. You have my attention now.”
He stepped closer to her, as close as he had been that morning when he carried her through the park. She could feel the heat that emanated from the broad expanse of his chest, and even over the cloying scent of the hundreds of roses that bloomed nearby, she could smell the sandalwood of his shaving soap. It was a heady combination—moonlight and a wicked, dangerous man.
“There are other benefits to being married to me, Miss Burkhart, but I can’t really tell you what those are. With your permission, I would demonstrate at least one.”
“I suppose that’s fair,” she said, hating that her voice sounded breathless and even giddy. Sophisticated women did not get giddy at the prospect of a kiss. But then, she wasn’t a sophisticated woman, was she? She was a cynical virgin with a rather unflattering impression of the male sex. It was hardly the same thing at all.
His hands settled on her shoulders and with only the lightest of pressure, prompted her to turn to face him. He stood nearly a head taller than her, so much so that he blocked out all the light from the moon above and most that filtered out from the dining room. They existed, in that moment, in a world of velvet shadow. Then he was leaning in, his head dipping low, and his lips settled over hers.
It was not at all what she had expected. Slow, languorous, soft—this was not at all like the fumbling advances of the son of her previous employer who’d shoved her against a wall and mashed his mouth against hers while trying to shove his tongue between her lips. This was something altogether different. It promised not sweetness, that was too mild a term for it. No, that kiss promised surrender. Both hers and his. His hand came up to cup her cheek, angling her head back ever so slightly, deepening the contact between them. And when his tongue played along the seam of her lips, it was an instinct as natural as breathing to open for him, to invite him inside.
There was a rhythm to the kiss, like a waltz. It was both dizzyingly exciting and terrifyingly intimate. He laid her bare with it and, all the while, he’d done nothing more than touch his lips to hers and place his hand on her cheek. It begged the very dangerous question, what else could he do?
After a moment, he stepped back from her, breaking the kiss and dropping his hand from her face, only to reach for her hand and hold it firmly in his. It was as if he, too, were reluctant to cease
contact.
“I will marry you, Viscount Seaburn,” she said, struggling to make her voice sound like she had not been at all affected by his kiss. “But I have conditions of my own. Though we’ve been out here far too long already. We will have to discuss them tomorrow.”
He smiled at her. “We will marry by special license, or would you prefer to have the banns posted?”
“By special license, I think… assuming I decide to go through with it and not cry off. It’s easier to explain why my side of the church would be empty then.”
“Another kiss to seal the bargain?”
“No,” she said. “And for the record, I’m only agreeing because I want to burn this rag I’m wearing and never again look at a piece of olive silk as long as I live.”
She didn’t exactly sail past him into the drawing room, given her limp and dependence on the walking stick, but she did so with as much dignity as she could muster.
*
Val watched her go, and he only just managed to keep himself from dragging her back. He’d thought kissing her, seducing her into agreement would simply save them both time. But as he stood there on the terrace, his body achingly hard and utterly seduced by the sweetest and clearly most virginal kiss in history, it was obvious to him that Miss Lillian Burkhart had once more turned the tables on him. One kiss, from an untutored girl, and he was as breathless and dizzy as if he were the damned virgin.
“Bloody, blasted, everlasting hell,” he said. “So much for simplifying matters.”
Wincing as he adjusted himself behind the fall of his breeches, he returned to the dining room in her wake and faced down his grandmother and cousin. If ever anything could wither arousal, it would be those two.
“I am happy to inform you,” Miss Burkhart said, “that I have accepted his lordship’s proposal. We will be married as soon as a license can be obtained.”
Both Elsworth and Val’s grandmother looked at her as if she had grown two heads. “And I could not be happier,” he said, falling in to stand beside her. “I know you both wish us well. Don’t you?”
Miss Burkhart had a surprisingly pointy elbow for such a curvaceous woman. He could attest to it without any question as said pointy elbow had just assaulted his ribs. Trying not to wince openly lest it result in someone questioning their status as a happily betrothed couple, he simply grinned through the pain.
“Of course, Cousin. What could possibly go wrong?” Elsworth asked. “You’re marrying the bastard daughter of a lord’s younger son and whose mother I can only assume was a woman of ill repute. Not to mention your betrothed also happens to be in the employ of our grandmother. That will create no scandal, at all. Why, the ton, known as they are for their forgiving nature and the warm welcome they provide to one and all whatever the nature of their birth, will no doubt greet her with open arms… perhaps even a parade.”
Val leveled a hard, cold stare at his cousin. “Speak of my future wife in such a disparaging manner again and, cousin or not, they’ll be the last words you ever utter.”
“You’re only doing this to embarrass us! This,” Elsworth sneered, waving a hand in Lillian Burkhart’s direction, “is the equivalent of a childish tantrum!”
“You’d bloody well know about tantrums, wouldn’t you, Elsworth?” Val challenged. “You’ve done nothing but moan and whine about your fate as the spare rather than the heir since we were boys! You forget yourself, Cousin!”
The dowager duchess rose and placed her hand on Val’s arm. Turning slightly, she said, “Hush, Elsworth. You’ve said quite enough already. Both of you have. I’ll not have this family, meager as it is, torn apart by the posturing of angry young men who’ve had too much wine and brandy.” Angling her head slightly, the dowager duchess fixed her keen gaze on the woman who had been her companion. “Miss Burkhart, please allow me to welcome you to our family.”
Val looked at his grandmother and, suddenly, he saw all of it. The lot of it began to fall into place. Not their meeting, of course. That, he knew, had been chance. But his summons to the family home, his grandmother’s insistence on his taking a bride, and her hiring a companion who was beyond doubt one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen and then trying to hide her beauty in hideous cast-off clothing that would only serve to draw the eyes to her instead of making her disappear. She’d done it all with one goal in mind. That vicious old bird had intended from the outset for him to wed her companion. Indeed, had they not met by accident, she would no doubt have put Lillian Burkhart in his path in some utterly ridiculous manner. All her posturing that morning about not having that kind of household and avoiding her companion at all costs had been naught but manipulation and misdirection. And he’d taken the bait. He’d fallen right in line with what had been her plan all along. It was quite laughable actually.
As their eyes met, it was obvious from her victorious expression that his grandmother knew he’d sussed her out. She raised her glass and offered him a triumphant smile. But then he caught a glimpse of Lillian Burkhart’s exquisite profile. Managed or not, he couldn’t be angry about it.
As he reached for his own glass, he met his grandmother’s gaze. “You’re rather proud of yourself, aren’t you?”
She simply smiled. “I will be. Once I see you actually wed and know that you haven’t managed to wriggle out of it, I’ll be utterly thrilled. Socially, of course, there could be better connections. But she’s intelligent, beautiful, and will not tolerate any nonsense from you. There are more important things than one’s pedigree, after all. Don’t you think?”
“I’m beginning to think you enjoy thumbing your nose at society more than I do,” Val replied.
“I’m old enough not to have to suffer their nonsense for too much longer,” she replied. “Why shouldn’t I see them all set on their ears before I shuffle off this mortal coil?”
Why indeed? Val looked across the table at his betrothed. However it had happened, he wouldn’t be sorry for it. At least not in the short term. The long term remained to be seen.
Chapter Six
As a betrothed couple, it was perfectly acceptable for them to drive in the park together. To that end, Val had sent a note to Miss Burkhart the morning after their grand announcement and when she replied via the same scullery maid turned messenger, he’d arranged to have the phaeton brought around. As she made her way down the stairs, he noted she leaned less heavily on the walking stick.
“I see you’re starting to mend. Good morning… Lillian,” he said. He waited for her to take umbrage at his use of her given name, but she was a practical girl. Rather than give in to temper or spite, she simply arched one eyebrow at his taking such a liberty.
“Good morning, Valentine,” she answered in a mirroring tone.
“Oh, good lord, no. Not that. Don’t ever call me that. I hear it enough from my grandmother. You may call me Somers, Seaburn, Val… you may call me the very devil, but I beg you, do not call me Valentine,” he said as the butler opened the door for them and they stepped out toward the waiting vehicle.
“Very well. If we’re confessing our hatred of our given names, I detest Lillian. My half-sister and my friends call me Lilly,” she said.
“Lilly. It suits you,” he said.
“Surely you don’t mean to wax poetic and compare me to what I’ve always found to be a rather smelly flower,” she demanded, her voice ringing with disdain.
He smirked in response, amused by her forthcoming nature and her wit, not to mention her truly horrified tone at the prospect of such a ridiculous ode to her beauty. “Hardly. I comment only on the simplicity and straightforward nature of the name itself and not the flora that inspired it.”
“Thank goodness for that. I’m perfectly willing to go through with this—”
“Thank you for making the prospect of marriage to me sound comparable to an unpleasant chore,” he said, helping her up into the phaeton. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your efforts to keep my vanity in check.”
Her
lips pursed in disapproval. “I said nothing of the sort. But you must admit, we are embarking on a rather impetuous scheme… and I intend to see it through. But I’d prefer, at least when it is only the two of us, not to pretend that this is anything more than what it is.”
“And what is that precisely?” Val posed the question as he climbed up and took his seat beside her, looping the reins securely in his hand.
“You are marrying me as a means to an end and, for better or worse, I am marrying you for the same reason.”
“To escape your servitude to my dragon of a grandmother?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Well, not entirely, at any rate. When I was coming home yesterday and had my unfortunate accident in the park—”
“You mean that bit where you recklessly climbed a tree and nearly broke your neck?” He felt it was an important distinction.
Her lips pursed again, a clear indication of her degree of annoyance with him. “Fine. Yes. That. At any rate, as I told you, I had been returning from a meeting with a solicitor. Despite how far my mother had fallen, she came from a family that had both wealth and connections. With the marriage of Willa to Lord Deveril, one of my mother’s relatives—her aunt—discovered my general direction and made inquiries at the Darrow School as to where I might be found. The woman is on her deathbed. Indeed, the solicitor said that even if I were to set out now to meet her, I would likely not reach her in time. But she’s arranged a bequest for me that can only be released if I marry. And I know you don’t understand, having never been without wealth or family in your life, but it’s very important to me that such a bequest be claimed. It’s the only connection I have to family on my mother’s side. In truth, it’s the only evidence that they cared for her and, thusly, me at all.”
That effectively set him on his heels. “I am sorry for what you have gone through. You must miss your mother terribly.”
Barefoot in Hyde Park (The Hellion Club Book 2) Page 5
