A Viscount to Save Her Reputation

by Helen Dickson

  ‘Are you certain about that?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Had I not heard them together...’ she paused and blushed before continuing determinedly ‘...in her bedroom, I would not have believed it. But what can I do about it? I was so angry that I considered facing them with it, but I considered it prudent for the time being to keep what I witnessed to myself, to bide my time until Aunt Caroline comes back from France.’

  ‘You have heard nothing from her?’

  ‘No. She’s probably travelling. She did mention that she might go to Milan.’

  He was silent as he whirled her round in the dance. Seeing an opening in the tall French windows, he deftly waltzed her through them on to a terrace that dropped down into a lantern-lit garden. Lucy stood beside a stone balustrade, breathing heavily from her exertions and appreciating the feel of the cool air on her face. Budding jasmine and honeysuckle climbing the walls around the garden gave off a heady and intoxicating scent. Warning bells began ringing inside her head, telling her of the impropriety of being on the terrace alone with this man, but she felt safe for the first time since she’d left the academy, and far too happy just being with him to listen to them.

  Her companion was so utterly relaxed, so confident. Most women would have felt a thrill of anticipation were he to gaze at them as he gazed at her now. ‘I don’t know what you hope to achieve by waltzing me out here in the middle of a dance—unless it is to catch your breath.’ With his hands clasped behind his back, he stood looking down at her. Despite her firm resolve to remain calm and unmoved by him, Lucy felt her heart give a sudden leap on being alone with him.

  ‘Oh, I can think of plenty of things that would interest me, Miss Walsh, and catching my breath is certainly not one of them.’ He boldly stared his appreciation until Lucy had the distinct feeling that his imagination went further than the material of her gown. A treacherous warmth was slowly beginning to seep up her arms and down her legs and she fought the weakness with all her might.

  She stood quite still when he reached out and traced her cheek and along her jaw with his finger. ‘But I did want to speak to you privately,’ he said on a more serious note. ‘It’s Mr Barrington and your stepmother that concerns me right now. They are up to no good. You have to get away from them.’

  ‘I know, but I am quite helpless. I won’t be bargained off like a piece of merchandise. I hate him. I hate them both.’ The words burst from her and she did not try to stop them. She looked at his face and something in its hard expression made her draw in her breath sharply. His eyes darkened and his expression tightened in a way that left her in no doubt of the anger he himself felt towards Mr Barrington. ‘What has he done to cause such ill feeling between the two of you?’

  ‘It’s a long and terribly sad tale, but I knew that one day, when I got my hands on him, I would make him wish he had never been born.’

  There was a note in his voice that Lucy had not heard before and it sent a cold shiver down her spine. ‘Why, what is he guilty of?’

  Staring straight ahead, he thought for a moment and then shook his head. ‘I’d rather not say—at least not now.’ Sighing deeply he turned to her. ‘I’d much rather talk of something else. I’d much rather talk about you,’ he said quietly.

  Lucy asked herself why she suddenly felt nervous standing alone with Captain Wilding and, to her consternation, found the answer. It was because he encroached too closely upon her and because she was afraid he would come even closer.

  ‘You are flushed,’ he said softly. ‘Are you all right? Not too warm?’

  She stared up at him and shook her head. She wasn’t sure she could speak without betraying the emotions that filled her with a sweet, unfamiliar torment. She wanted nothing more than to melt against him and assuage the feelings consuming her. She was unable to believe her reaction to this man. With always something to say for herself, she was now as awkward and inarticulate as the adolescent girl she was.

  They stood in silence for a moment and she knew he was as aware as she was of the combustible nature of their relationship. It was disturbing, an awareness that was uncomfortable. He was standing perfectly still, watching her. Those hooded, seductive eyes glowed darkly and told her things she had only ever been able to dream of. Something in his expression made her catch her breath and the spell was broken, but the effect of that warmly intimate look in his eyes was vibrantly, alarmingly alive, and the full import of the risk she was taking by being alone with him made her begin to quake inside. This was only the third time they had met and already Captain Wilding had established himself in her mind and she was troubled by her own susceptibility.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ he asked after a moment.

  ‘I was thinking how lovely both the night and the scent coming from the flowers in the garden are,’ she answered truthfully.

  ‘And you are enjoying the ball—which, I assume, is your first.’

  ‘Yes, it is and I am enjoying the experience.’

  ‘You will enjoy many more balls in the future.’ He paused, looking at her appraisingly as she gazed into the garden. ‘Have you any idea how lovely you look tonight?’ he murmured.

  There was a soft, caressing note in his voice which should have caused Lucy to take flight, but instead she merely looked at him enquiringly and smiled. ‘If I do, then it is more to do with the expertise of my maid than anything else. Believe me, I am exactly the same person you met at the fair.’

  He laughed, his strong white teeth flashing in the dim light, and Lucy realised that when he did that he seemed much younger than his twenty-eight or thirty years.

  ‘Of course you are and you were just as lovely then—and I remember how it felt when I saved you from that stampeding horse and held you in my arms.’

  A warm flush crept over Lucy’s cheeks and through her veins when she remembered how he had held her close, his warm breath on her neck. ‘I think you recall too much,’ she chided gently, smiling up at him obliquely.

  ‘Where you are concerned, Miss Walsh, I cannot help it.’ A lazy smile swept over his handsome face and the force of that white smile did treacherous things to Lucy’s heart rate. ‘Come, admit it. You like being out here with me.’

  ‘I do?’ He nodded. Lucy looked at him, despite her desire not to, not for the first time finding herself at a loss to understand him.

  ‘Admit it, Miss Walsh. Admit that you are here with me because you want to be. Because you find yourself irresistibly drawn to me—as I am to you.’

  With slightly raised eyebrows he glanced down at her, his gaze and his crooked smile drenching her in its sexuality and bringing an attractive flush to her cheeks. ‘I don’t know what it is or how you do it, but you make me feel uneasy when you speak to me like this and look at me the way you are doing now. There is nothing between us.’

  ‘There isn’t?’

  ‘No—and I have given you no reason to suppose there is.’ She looked at him helplessly. ‘I don’t understand you. I don’t understand what it is you want.’

  Lucy was too innocent and naive not to let her emotions show on her face. For a long moment Captain Wilding’s gaze held hers with penetrating intensity, not having missed the emotions flitting over her expressive features. The clear silver-grey of his eyes were as enigmatic as they were silently challenging and unexpectedly Lucy felt an answering thrill of excitement. The darkening in Captain Wilding’s eyes warned her he was aware of that brief response.

  ‘I think you do, Lucy,’ he said softly.

  The music, the scent of the flowers, quickened her heartbeat as a thick, ready awareness heated the air between them. For a moment Lucy was thrown into such a panic she could not think coherently. He was standing so very close that she suddenly wanted to escape, to return to the dancing. Yet, at the same time, she could not move and allowed Captain Wilding to draw her against his chest, her eyes wide open as he bent his head and placed his mouth o
ver her own, plucking the breath from between her parted lips, his mouth warm and searching. She sighed against him, sweet splendour blossoming inside.

  They both felt the sudden excitement of physical contact. Lucy had never been kissed in her life and she could not have imagined how pleasurable it could be. Too innocent and naive to know how to hide her feelings, she followed his lead and instinctively yielded her mouth to his. The moment Captain Wilding felt her response his arms tightened around her, circling and possessive, desire, primitive and potent, pouring through his veins.

  His lips left her mouth and trailed a path across her cheek to her ear, bushing back and forth, then his tongue touched the lobe and began delicately tracing each curve, slowly probing each crevice, until Lucy shivered with the waves of tension shooting through her.

  ‘Don’t be afraid,’ he murmured, his lips against hers. ‘I’ll stop whenever you tell me to.’

  Imprisoned by his protective embrace and reassured by his words, Lucy allowed him to take her lips once more. The sweet offering drew a half-groan from him and his lips seized hers in a kiss of melting hunger that deepened to scorching demand. Lucy felt a glorious ache inside her that slowly spread and she found herself sliding into a dark abyss of desire. He pressed his hips to hers and she could feel the hardness of his body. She trembled against him as waves of pleasure shot through her. Raising his hand, he caressed the nape of her neck, his lips leaving hers and tracing a line down the column of her throat, his hands warm on her flesh, before finding her lips once more and tasting their champagne-flavoured softness.

  To Lucy, absolutely seduced by his kiss, what he was doing to her was like being wrapped in a cocoon of dangerous, pleasurable sensuality, where she had no control over anything. When Captain Wilding at last removed his mouth from hers he drew a long, shuddering breath, meeting her gaze and seeing that her eyes were naked and defenceless. His tanned features were hard with desire, and, aware that someone could appear at any moment, he knew he must keep their passion under control.

  Lucy trembled in the aftermath of his kiss, unable to believe what had happened or that she desperately wanted him to repeat the kiss that had stunned her senses with its wild sweetness. Captain Wilding was still holding her gaze and she looked with longing at his lips.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that unless you want me to kiss you again, Lucy,’ he murmured huskily, his eyes dark with passion.

  With her heart beating hard against her ribs, slowly she raised her eyes to his and, leaning towards him, again boldly touched his mouth with her own. Unable to resist what she was so generously offering, he clamped his mouth on to hers once more, causing the blood to pound in her head and her senses to reel as her mind retreated down an unknown, forbidden path, plunging her into an oblivion that was dark and exquisitely sensual. The kiss went on longer than the first.

  Out of sheer self-preservation, an eternity later Captain Wilding lifted his head.

  ‘Don’t, Lucy,’ he said when she swayed against him. ‘We have to stop now. Someone might come on to the terrace and then where would we be?’

  Bemused, Lucy looked up at him, her eyes large and luminous. As reality began to return and she became aware of her surroundings, with the sound of the music and laughter in her ears, she was shocked by the explosion of passion between them, shocked by what she had done. She stepped back, her knees weak.

  ‘This—this is madness. We should not be doing this. We—we must go back inside.’

  Captain Wilding stopped her, putting his hand on her arm as she was about to pass him, seeing her lovely eyes were apprehensive and deceptively innocent. ‘Wait,’ he said gently. ‘Take a moment to calm down. Don’t let anyone see you like this.’

  ‘Why? What do I look like?’

  ‘Your eyes are aglow with passion and your cheeks flushed.’ He smiled down at her and touched her cheek.

  ‘Everyone will think I’ve been dancing.’

  ‘If dancing makes you look like this, then you should dance more often.’

  ‘Then it is your fault. You should not have kissed me. Do you enjoy inducing feelings in me that make me so confused that I can’t think straight, feelings that can come to nothing?’ Glancing around, she saw that other couples had ventured out on to the terrace and were curiously glancing in their direction. Feeling terribly self-conscious, she stepped away from her companion. ‘See, we have drawn attention. Now I must insist on returning to the dancing. Sofia will be looking for me.’

  They returned to the ballroom as the dance was about to end, but their appearance from the terrace had not gone unobserved. Unaware of the attention, Christopher took Lucy in his arms and danced her to the edge of the floor where he stopped and looked down at her. When he spoke, his voice was serious once more.

  ‘No matter what happens, I will help you get away. I know Barrington. He’s a dangerous individual—and I believe you to be in grave danger. Do you still wish to leave?’

  Hope shone in her eyes. ‘More than ever. You will take me to France?’

  ‘No—not to France. But I will take you to a place where you will be safe until your godmother returns to London. Can you get away?’

  ‘I—I don’t know,’ she said, seeing Sofia bearing down on them, her face like thunder. ‘They tend to watch me all the time. I suppose I could tell them I would like to visit Emma—but she lives in Kent. She should be home now and it would not be an unreasonable request.’

  ‘If you leave London, send a note to me at my address if it’s possible. If not, I’ll find a way of contacting you.’ Taking a step back when Sofia reached them, he bowed and smiled, showing a flash of white teeth.

  ‘You are enjoying the dancing, Lucy?’ she said, her eyes snapping to her partner. Her fan shut with a click and her fingers tightened on it so viciously that the fragile ivory sticks were in danger of snapping.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Sofia. This is Captain Wilding—Captain Wilding, my stepmother, Sofia Walsh.’

  ‘I am charmed to meet you, Mrs Walsh, but I must correct you, Miss Walsh,’ he said, addressing Lucy. ‘I am here tonight under my official title, that of Viscount Rockley of Rockwood Park in Surrey.’

  Lucy stared at him in astonishment. ‘Oh—I—I had no idea...’

  He grinned down at her. ‘Of course you hadn’t. Now please excuse me,’ he said, inclining his head to them both. ‘Mrs Walsh, Miss Walsh.’

  Sofia drew her aside. ‘Where have you been? When I didn’t see you I thought you’d gone to the ladies’ rest room, then I see you coming in from the terrace with Captain Wilding—or perhaps I should say Viscount Rockley.’

  Lucy was totally confused by Captain Wilding’s disclosure that he was a peer of the realm. ‘He—he asked me to dance—so I did. It was very warm so we stepped outside. We cannot have been gone longer that a few minutes.’

  ‘Nevertheless, you should not have done that. People see these things—they talk. A young lady’s reputation can be ruined by such thoughtlessness. Now come along. We’ll get some refreshment from the buffet and then we’ll go and find Mark.’

  * * *

  As the night wore on and there was no sign of Mr Barrington, after eating a light meal from the buffet with an agitated Sofia, they went in search of him. Sofia seemed to know exactly where he would be. The rooms set aside for those who favoured a game of cards or dice were well attended. Lucy tried not to appear shocked at finding herself among gamblers. But while the moralist in her disapproved of this kind of behaviour, her rebellious Bohemian instinct was inquisitive.

  The room was hot, crowded and noisy. Ignoring the admiring glances of some of the gentlemen, she followed Sofia further into the room and into another where the noise was curiously muted so as not to detract the more hardened players. Green baize tables for dice, whist, French Hazard and other games that took the guests’ fancy had been set up. Lucy’s eyes scanned the groups of people clustered
around them, where several games were in progress. The players were obscured from view.

  Sofia went to speak to a gentleman Lucy had seen Mr Barrington with earlier. The two had seemed to know each other well.

  ‘Where is he?’ Sofia asked. ‘Where is Mark? I know he’s in here.’

  The gentleman, Sir Simon Bucklow, turned and looked at her. ‘He will not be pleased to see you here. You know what he’s like when he’s in the thick of a game.’

  ‘All too well. I will speak to him. He will listen to me.’

  ‘He is determined. He will not listen to you.’ Sir Simon placed a restraining hand on her arm. ‘Leave him. It might surprise you to know that he is winning. He will not thank you for interfering.’

  Sofia worked her fan vigorously. ‘Very well, but if he wins the game then he must leave the table.’

  ‘He won’t do that and you know it, Sofia. We’ve both seen him in this mood before when he thinks everything is going his way—and I have to tell you that the liquor he’s consumed has increased his habitual readiness to take risks to a point of madness.’

  Through a gap around the card table where Sir Simon’s attention was focused, Lucy pushed her way through to see Mr Barrington engaged in a serious game. His full face was flushed and his cravat drooping. Anger flared in his eyes when he saw Lucy and his lips curled with disapproval, but he did not allow himself to become sidetracked from the game in hand. He looked disappointed when his partner got up from the table, having lost the game and reluctant to play on. Another man came and sat opposite, shuffling and cutting one of the two packs of cards on the green cloth with slender, flexible fingers as they prepared to begin a game of piquet. It was a game for two people which offered excellent scope for both intelligence and judgement, something Mr Barrington would have risen to had his brain not been fogged with the fumes of alcohol.