Defying the Earl Read online

  Valerian tugged at the hem of his waistcoat, relieved the tailor had had an adequate sample available when he’d placed his conservative order. He held no desire to be noticed and preferred the pretense of a more determined force from the shadows. The charcoal grey wool presented a respectable image, one innocuous, forgettable, and conducive to his goal. It was pure serendipity when he arrived at the same moment as Leonard Rigby. Valerian made haste to fall in step with his old acquaintance as he walked up the gravel drive.

  “Rigby, is that you? It’s been some time.” Valerian extended his hand and offered a cordial welcome.

  “Dash, this is a surprise and yes, it’s been years. I recall seeing your brother about town a few weeks ago, but I never anticipated your company. You’ve kept a low profile, although at times I too favor the countryside instead of the city.”

  An odd moment passed as each gentleman knew the main reason Valerian avoided London. Memories of Caroline were too fresh at first. Every event, invitation, and stroll in the park served as cutting suggestion of what might have been, not to mention the public humiliation of enduring the flaming gossip of one’s fiancé being caught in flagrante delicto during the season’s most well attended gathering.

  Worse, it forced one to engage an introspective examination of why such humiliation was perpetrated. Surely his intentions and emotions had been honest. Yet what had they been worth? The question evoked a wry smile. Caroline had measured his value in pounds and banknotes, not to be swayed by loyalty, devotion or something so trifling as love.

  It had made for an easy choice. Returning to the security of somewhere dependable and comforting proved the best decision and Kirby Park had not disappointed. His well-loved childhood home provided seclusion and quiet; the perfect atmosphere to lick his wounds and forget – attempt to forget – Caroline’s infidelity.

  Unexpectedly, country life grew on Val, like moss on a tree, one needing the other for survival until the thought of returning to London with its crowded streets and constant aristocratic demands paled greatly to the rolling green hills outside his window. His decision proved timely with the decline of his father soon after his return. He would never forgive himself if he hadn’t been there to tend his father during those final days.

  Surely Leonard knew it by half.

  “Responsibility, nothing more.” He answered the question and ignored the sharp twist in his heart.

  “My condolences on your father’s passing.” Rigby’s words were sincerely spoken.

  “Thank you. He is greatly missed.” Determined to take full advantage of his opportune arrival, Valerian inquired of the event as they approached the main entry. “I’m a bit out of practice. I don’t suppose you’d abide company until we are well underway?”

  Rigby, in a noticeable hurry, didn’t allow the question to deflect his purpose. He indicated the main entry with a flick of his pointer finger and showed no hesitation. “Come along then.”

  A servant dressed in Collingsworth livery opened the mahogany door and ushered them inside. “Let’s dispense of this mood and forge into the drawing room. You’re not on the hunt for a wife, are you, Dash?” Rigby hardly paused to hear his answer. “This season offers ladies aplenty.”

  “Nothing so valiant, I assure you.” He resisted the urge to chuckle at the irony of it all. From his point of view, he remained emotionally numb to romantic relationships and all the better for it.

  “Then I’ve no need to stand guard against the lady who’s stolen my heart. I’ll immerse you in the festivities by way of introduction. It’s the least I can do after initiating such somber conversation earlier. Grab yourself a drink and follow me.”

  Valerian did as he was told although his brother’s words, of Lady Fiona possessing the same characteristics as a church-bell and his rebuttal in favor of Leonard’s vociferous tendency, rang with clarity. He lifted a snifter of brandy from a passing servant’s tray and followed Leonard into the fray. The room was crowded and served him well as he melded into the background and surveyed the best manner to proceed. Matchbreaking was not something he’d ever attempted before and, coupled with Leonard’s brimming anticipation at seeing Lady Fiona, his conscious needed a firm reminder of his dire financial straits. He took a long swallow from his glass, savoring the liquor he couldn’t afford in his own home, and maneuvered through the crowd with purpose. When Rigby stopped, Valerian sidled near the small grouping in a far corner of the room.

  Two women stood cooing over an open book while a third female, a petite miss in a muted lavender-colored gown, had her back to the room as she faced the far shelf. Valerian watched as the woman traced a gloved finger down the spine of a tall volume, pausing as if considering her selection with great deliberation, before moving on to repeat the action with each subsequent volume. Her lingering stroke down each title caused his heart to tighten and his groin to heat, the visceral reaction catching him off guard. Perhaps the brandy impaired his reasoning.

  Otherwise, there existed no rationalization for the quickening of his pulse and the innate level on which his body responded to the stretch of her palm tipping the binding, the subtle caress of her fingertip as it traced the gold lettering, and surprising most of all, her intense deliberation, though sight unseen, as she made a final decision and selected a volume from the shelves lining the back wall. He shook his head to extinguish the absurd fascination and forced his attention to the conversation underway.

  Leonard launched into proper introductions but Valerian heard little, temporarily distracted as the petite miss turned, a cascade of wavy hair the exact color of burnt honey falling over her shoulder with the action. Before him stood the winsome miss who’d pulled him into a mud puddle the day before. Her eyes flared with recognition and he stifled the immediate chuckle that danced on his tongue. Oh, but the evening would prove interesting.

  How could it be? Wilhelmina held her breath as introductions concluded, but the maddened beat of her heart drowned out all voices and words. Before her, impeccably dressed in fine grey wool, stood the mysterious tyrant who assisted her from the wheel ruts after she’d met with Lady Rigby on Oxford Street. His memory invaded her daydreams ever since, but her musings had been wrong, her assumptions incorrect. He was not devilishly handsome, his eyes not entrancing in the least. He was more. Much more. Her brain sputtered to produce some adjective that applied but all paled in consideration.

  Good heavens, she would appear a bird-wit.

  Wilhelmina extended her hand as he reached forward, only to drop the book she’d just claimed. With increasing mortification, she knelt to retrieve the volume and he did in kind. They bumped heads effectively on the way down to the carpet. His velvet murmur of amusement warmed her to the core, tracing over her skin and settling deep in her belly with a joyful fluttering.

  “Now this is a surprise.”

  There they crouched, two adults at knee level among the gowns and suits of a crowded drawing room affair. The filtered candlelight cast his chiseled features in shadow and all she could see clearly was the sharp angle of his nose, the dark slash of his brows. Wilhelmina’s heart stopped beating. She raised her eyes to his as someone adjusted their position above, allowing a fleeting sliver of light within their shadowed rendezvous. When his eyes met hers, midnight blue pierced her soul. Dragging a ragged breath, she failed to produce words, flippant, eloquent or otherwise.

  “It would appear, my sweet, you have it in your mind to extinguish my existence; first by drowning in a mud puddle, and now by a rap to the head.”

  If only something charming came to mind, but she felt a stuttering loss. Would her sharp tongue suddenly fail her when she needed it most? This disruptive grip of nervousness was his fault. He unsettled her to the core.

  His lips, that delightful cleft in his strong chin, were but a whisper away, so close she could feel the heat of his exhale across her cheek, and his pervasive fragrance, a mixture of neroli and cloves, filled her nostrils and drenched her soul. What would it feel like
to be kissed by such a dashing gentleman? She could only wonder, the intimacy unfamiliar, although that fluttering renewed in her belly…and other places too.

  She swallowed hard as good sense forced a reply past her lips. “The fault is all mine.” With no wish to draw attention to their prone forms the words whispered from her lips as if an illicit proposition instead of an innocent plea for pardon. A sketch of a smile tilted his mouth and their gazes locked.

  “Very well then, I claim no harm.” He clasped the book more firmly and placed a gloved hand below her elbow, bringing them once again to eye level. His arm brushed against hers as they re-entered the circle and his muscles, hard through the cloth of his waistcoat, caused her breath to catch and her brain to question the sudden and uncomfortable awareness of his body so near to hers.

  Then he did the unspeakable, and reached forward to tap the front of her temple, his bare fingertip brushing through the wisps of her hair. “I presume the knock did not so much rattle your brain as your constitution. I assure you no one knows of the blunder beyond this congenial circle of friends.”

  How dare he be charming and make mortifying matters worse? She’d never be able to converse, to engage Leonard and Fiona in flirtatious interplay, if he stood nearby watching, breathing. She cleared her throat and steadied her nerves.

  Conversation had resumed when someone lifted the volume of poems from his grasp, and flipped it open to a random page. Wilhelmina gathered her wits and forced a smile. Best she ignore Lord No Name and carry on as if he didn’t exist.

  But her vow proved impossible as he plucked the volume from Lord Rigby’s hand next and began reciting poetry in a delicious tenor that caused `flesh to prick her skin, no matter layers of clothing protected her heart. Her cheeks warmed and, all of a sudden discomfited, she could only focus on his voice reciting one of her favorite Byron poems. It was as if she was hearing it for the first time, his exacting enunciation and emotional intonation spoken in the most wonderful tones until he uttered the last syllable. Her heart beat a rapid applause.

  “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a romantic, Dashwood.” Leonard Rigby nabbed the volume at the poem’s end and darted a glance in Fiona’s direction.

  “Public presentation must be a family trait. Your brother and Lord Beaufort were walking through Mayfair last night reciting a Shakespearean sonnet.” Lady Childs twittered after the confession. “Or at least I believe it’s what the gentlemen attempted. Your brother keeps lively company while in town, does he not, Lord Dashwood?”

  “Jasper and I are as salt and pepper, naturally paired, yet drastically different depending upon one’s taste.” His witty reply caused a ripple of laughter in the conversation while the ladies offered fawning eyes in his direction.

  Lord Dashwood. At least now she had a name. And a brother named Jasper. Younger, perhaps, from the protective note buried in his flippant retort. She glanced in his direction as he conversed with Lady Childs, the lady seemingly delighted with his attention and blatantly flirting beneath lowered lashes. Some unreasonable emotion made Wilhelmina urge to disrupt the moment, but then distracted by Lord Dashwood’s fine profile, she lost the objective.

  “I have always favored Byron, although I am fond of most poetry. The harmony of each verse and the fluidity of the words never fail to bring serenity to my soul. Who do you prefer, Lord Rigby?” Lady Fiona fluttered her fan and sent a coy glance in Leonard’s direction.

  The action jolted Wilhelmina’s awareness to her purpose. Enough of pondering Lord Dashwood. His presence was more nuisance than aid. Here lay the perfect opportunity to fortify her effort and bring the matched couple together.

  “I’ve always believed the same. By all means, let me begin.” Leonard Rigby cleared his voice and slanted his body as if reciting for Fiona alone. Wilhelmina admired his devotion.

  “Rigby? Poetry? If my memory serves, at university you categorized prose as senseless drivel unworthy of the page unless the goal was set at seduc—”

  “Indeed!” Lady Pridley interjected with a sharp rap of her fan to Dashwood’s forearm. “One does not point out a change in opinion, most especially when the lady prefers it otherwise.”

  Wilhelmina snorted at the reprimand. Four sets of eyes swung in her direction and she camouflaged her delight with a cough. Lord Dashwood was proving entertaining if nothing else. She did not need his interference when things were proceeding so swimmingly between Fiona and Leonard. If their love match proved this simple, Wilhelmina’s payment was in reach before month’s end. The very idea brought a smile to her face, a balm to any lingering fears.

  “Perhaps you misunderstood.” Leonard attempted to erase the abashed look on Fiona’s face at hearing Dashwood’s comment, but the dinner bell rang and the group dispersed. Wilhelmina watched closely as Fiona accepted Leonard’s escort into supper. She was left standing near the bookcase and that suited, as her equilibrium remained off kilter from her exchange with Lord Dashwood.

  Aunt Kate came to claim her arm while Wilhelmina contemplated his irritating presence. One did not purposely expose another’s inconsistencies. It just wasn’t done. Despite her earlier enchantment, Wilhelmina wondered at the man’s fickle charms. He had displayed equally curious emotions when they collided in the roadway. Best she push the matter aside. Lord Dashwood fitted nowhere in her plan to match Leonard and Fiona, his presence mattering little in the larger scheme of things. Wilhelmina planned to see Leonard and Fiona happily paired despite whatever periphery nonsense her heart incited.

  Chapter Six

  Well, that was not well done of him. The disparaging glares cast in his direction when he contradicted Rigby’s announcement of a fondness for poetry were more unsettling than the notion of destitution. Well, almost. Surely poverty would offer him the opportunity for equal censure if he did not have a care. Nearsightedness as it pertained to conversation would do little to ingratiate his company if he abandoned finesse. His focus may be solely on destroying Leonard’s affection toward Fiona, but it would not be achieved in a heavy-handed manner, the likely approach employed by Leonard’s father.

  Curse Jasper and his lack-witted idea. A more sensible policy would provide his brother stop gambling, wasting funds, and idling away time, as Valerian had warned him to do years ago. Instead Valerian was forced into a role of falsity, trussed up like a holiday goose in an uncomfortable sample ensemble. He clenched his teeth and revised his approach. Although the dinner bell had rung, several couples still milled in the hallway while others conversed near the windows. Time held firm for an alternate plan.

  “Lady Collingsworth, may I beg a word?” He executed a polite bow and called forth his most charming smile for the evening’s hostess.

  “Lord Dashwood, such a delight.” The older woman, fanning her face madly, offered him complete attention with a grin, the effusive scent of orchids floating around her person. “I’m so pleased you chose to attend. You’re looking well. I’d venture to say this return to London is quite timely as I rarely entertain once the season is in full swing.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed it.” Not for five thousand pounds. He exhaled deeply, gathering his makeshift plan close to heart and producing another smile.

  “Have you tried the curried shrimp? My cook prepared an exquisite menu and the appetizers are merely a taste.” She inclined her head to compensate for the loud conversation as the crowd moved toward the dining room. Her expression shifted from pride to question.

  He returned her enthusiasm. “Everything has been lovely. Beyond my expectations, but may I inquire of the seating this evening? Would it pose an imposition for a slight realignment in regard to the meal’s dining arrangement?”

  “Aah, romance.” An expression of slight misgiving, then realization dawned. “You have your eye on a particular lady, you scoundrel? And to think I believed your brother the rabblerouser in your family.” Her cheeks took on a crimson glow as if she spoke from experience rather than assumption. “Consider it done. Never would I sta
nd in the way of blossoming affection, most especially when you’ve been absent from the social scene. It’s a genuine pleasure to have you at the table. Feel free to rearrange the cards to ensure you converse with the lady who has captured your interest. Good luck with your chase.” She fluttered her satin-gloved hand in the direction of the dinner table as if to encourage him to interfere with her meticulous planning.

  “You flatter me, Lady Collingsworth, when it is I who should thank you for your gracious invitation on such short notice. I appreciate your agreeability.” He took a few steps to the right, anxious to reach the place cards before guests advanced to their seats.

  “Nonsense, the pleasure is mine. Now you should be about your plan before my guests descend on the table and you’ll have no choice but to watch some other lucky gentleman woo the woman who’s turned your head.” She withdrew as she spoke. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to oversee dinner service.”

  Three strides took him nearer the table but his steps slowed as he noticed Lady Montgomery intent on the same direction, her head bowed in the similar manner as when she’d found her way into a roadway ditch. He watched, bemused, as candlelight danced on the silky strands of her hair, hues of brandy and mahogany swept in a lovely style and pinned behind her neck with an ornate clip. Her eyes darted right and left as if ensuring no one noticed her purposeful presence, but how could one ignore her? There was nothing singularly unique about the gown, nor the coiffure or jewelry, yet her grace was natural, her beauty pure; as if she alone was the sole lady in the room.