Defying the Earl (15 page)

“There’s no reason to panic. The party’s in full swing and I doubt anyone noticed our absence. The front rooms were packed from floor to ceiling because the main presentation had just begun.”

“Byron.” Her single whisper expressed eternal dismay, but she shook the emotion away. “That doesn’t mean I’d choose to be trapped in a cellar with you, Lord Dashwood.”

“So formal, all of a sudden.” The hint of a smile played at his lips again and his voice held a velvety resonance. “My friends call me Dash or Valerian, if you prefer.”

“I’d prefer to be returned upstairs with my reputation untarnished.” Best she give him a taste of her tart tongue to dissuade the sudden thought of familiarities. “We hardly know each other besides a few coincidental social functions and a –”

“Kiss.”

Somehow he’d gotten much closer, his one word evoking a thousand emotions.

“You haven’t forgotten our kiss, have you? Do you need a reminder?”

For a breath and a half, her mind spun with the thrill of his question. Then she quickly reassembled. “We hardly know each other besides a few coincidental social functions and a ridiculous inconvenience such as this.” Her words trailed to a whisper as he continued to close the distance between them. Where once she’d felt gooseflesh prickle her skin, a sheen of anticipation replaced the sensation, while her heart beat a rapid dance of excitement and…
fear
? No, a long simmering desire blanketed any objection to be made. Good lord, what was she to do if he took the final steps to bring them nose to nose in the dim light of a few guttered candles?

“Valerian.”

“Aah, at last I hear my name in your voice.”

He’d leaned down, his words velvet against her ear and the vibration of each syllable sent a note of anticipation winging through her. Again his distinct scent, the mixture of cologne and masculinity, assailed her senses and rattled all better judgment. Her chin tipped upward to match his gaze,
not
to offer a clearer path to her mouth. He set the candle on the barrel near her hip, although how he managed to do so while never breaking their entrancing gaze convinced her more he was an apparition of sorts. Clearly this could not be happening.

He had no intention of kissing her. He’d admit feeling pleasantly delighted,
thrilled
really, when Wilhelmina entered his line of sight instead of Fiona, her incandescent features soft and beautiful in the muted candlelight. Still the insistent urge to kiss her, to pull Whimsy within his arms and taste her sweet mouth, manifested as if an unstoppable force, his body acting of its own volition. His heart overrode any objection his brain produced, his muscles tensed with anticipation and another part of him, the male part, perked to full attention. He folded his arms over his chest or else he would pull her into them.

Still she stood before him, looking exquisitely tempting, her chin tilted at the perfect angle, her soft pink lips poised in invitation, her breathing unsteady. He gazed at her mouth…all the deliciously wicked things he’d like to do with her mouth. Could she possibly hope for the same as he? Or should he produce the key and escape the trap he’d set to capture a different result?

And that proved a puzzle in itself. Why was the lady so intent on seeing Fiona and Leonard together? Could it be no more than a case of feminine friendship, or was there another impetus for her devious manipulation?

He should kiss her into confession. Draw her close and draw her out.
He should kiss her
.

Decision made, he took the final step to close the distance between them. “You know, Whimsy, you are entirely too trusting.” He had no idea from where that thought originated. His decision made, offering a reason why she should fight against his embrace seemed illogical at best.

“I haven’t much choice.” She flicked him an anxious stare. “We’re locked together in a wine cellar with no hope of immediate discovery. The recitation will last at least an hour.”

Fuel to the fire
. His mind ran through a series of suggestions worthy of sixty minutes. “You’re not going to scream, are you?”

“Do I look like a screamer?”

Pique colored her question and he swallowed the laughter daring to erupt at her adorable prim manner.

“Perhaps not.” A wave of bittersweet regret threatened to take hold. Were his situation not tenuous, his finances not dire, Whimsy would be the perfect life mate, the ideal lady-wife. Not only had she proven her kindness, but she possessed wit and intelligence in spades. She seemed to understand him and simultaneously intrigue him on a higher innate level. And the way one glimpse of her beauty heated his blood. He hadn’t experienced such powerful lust since…ever.

Still, the public humiliation of Caroline’s indiscretion and the hurtful rejection that had blanketed him months afterward warned emotional relationships were provocation to unnecessary heartache. Only a fool would volunteer for misery a second time.

No, he couldn’t have her. But he could have this kiss.

“The least I can do is offer a consolation prize.”

A slender brow rose in question.

“Had I not engineered Fiona and Leonard’s tête-à-tête, we’d not be locked away from the poetry presentation.” His conscience reminded the key to their freedom lay within his pocket, safe against his heart.

“Are you proposing you could recite a sonnet instead?” Laughter danced in her eyes and the urge to capture her mouth and kiss away her whimsy doubled in measure.

“Nothing of the sort.” His lips hovered over hers, a hair’s breadth away.

“Then what
are
you suggesting?”

Was there a note of flirtation in her voice? The minx. She had to know he meant to kiss her. Nothing but anticipation separated their mouths. His palm cupped her cheek with exquisite gentleness, his fingertips feathering to the back of her neck to draw her closer.

Would the same pulse of desire surge through him as he succumbed to another of her kisses? He lowered his lips, surrendering to inevitability and with infinite finesse, captured her rosy mouth. What was meant as a delicate exploration transformed into urgent hot need, no poetry necessary. Her gasp whispered between them as if a secret shared and he acted on the invitation, stroking his tongue against hers with ardent enthusiasm. She matched him measure for measure, more eloquent than any lyric verse recited upstairs, the pentameter of his heartbeat heavy and strong.

He tasted her, drinking from her kiss deep and long, his breath mingling in short exhales, his nose nudging hers aside to allow perfect alignment with her lips. She gave the sweetest little whimper in the back of her throat and it vibrated through him, settling in his groin where he grew hard with need and want. He couldn’t explain how thoroughly she affected him. Didn’t care. Every emotion he’d assumed apathetic and indifferent awakened in his soul, pricking desire to high riot and provoking a libidinous craving that demolished decorum’s boundaries. He pressed closer, ferociously hungry, his body tensed with anticipation and driven by the play of her tongue against his. She tasted fresh, like a new beginning, and as his heart kicked too fast, too hard, he realized he could hold nothing back.

He wanted her.

More of her.

All of her.

Desire took hold.

His palm skimmed her cheek and fell to her slender shoulder, his other hand braced against the wall at her back. If he did not rein in his passion, he’d have her flattened against the wine rack in the next breath; still passion urged him to drink in a little bit more. A tremor shimmered through her, as delicate as an angel’s wing, and something shifted in his chest.

Ignoring the unsettling emotion, he angled his mouth to better capture hers and wrapped his hold tight in a cherished embrace, one hand skimming the curve of her spine, further, over her bottom to thrust her closer to his groin. Pleasure hummed over his skin, permeating his body in a wash of raw sensuality. She fitted perfectly within his arms. He wanted to strip her bare and taste every inch of her skin.

That same troubling emotion knocked at the wall of his heart, begging, then demanding entry.

What was he doing?

If he crossed that line, no retreat existed.

With great effort he lifted his mouth from hers and withdrew, releasing her with abrupt necessity.

She gasped, more in surprise than displeasure, but the sound broke the moment. She appeared as disoriented as he and the realization was somewhat comforting. Her kiss, their kiss…it was as though they’d invented kissing. It felt so right and so good, newly born and incredibly powerful. The pressure of her mouth on his, the soft sweet sigh, barely a sound yet so heated it scorched his soul, the caress of her tongue timid, yet curious, her taste, her warmth, if he had a million descriptions they’d never be enough, nor would he ever have his fill of her magnificent kisses. His body, of most the hardest part, ached with unfulfilled need and warning. He inhaled sharply to clear his brain.

When their eyes met, there was no objection there, only question.

“Well, yes.” It was all he could manage at first. His mind spun in search of some innocuous topic to distract from their passionate embrace and calm his pounding heartbeat. “The reason we’re down here, a consolation…I could assist you in your effort to see Leonard and Fiona engaged. It shan’t be a difficult task. Anyone can see the two are besotted with each other.”

“You would do that for me?” Her incredulous tone brought ease to their private conversation and again he found a smile. “I could never repay the favor and it would surely put you in a precarious position, but you’d have my heartfelt gratitude. You would truly assist me in this?”

“Of course.” He’d no need to share it served his goal as well. “It would be my pleasure.”

“I am so grateful.” She smiled, her eyes liquid, her expression angelic. “You said you engineered this meeting. I’m not sure I understand, but I should tell you that joining the couple has meaning far beyond the bonds of friendship.” She paused as if choosing her words with care. “My sister Lavinia is in need of costly medical treatment and while my aunt has supported the burden of the expenditures and never mentions the financial impact, Livie and I feel strongly we’d like to contribute to relieve the strain on Aunt Kate’s accounts.”

She didn’t say more, but Valerian ascertained Whimsy would gain monetary reimbursement were Fiona and Leonard betrothed. Something in her eyes tugged at his heart. A smile threatened to surface. Fate must be laughing. How very ironic that earlier he’d sought the opposite result, but all the better now that he’d be able to align efforts and gain favor with Wilhelmina while also contributing to his pitiful savings.

“Then it is my honor to see this deed done. I wish only the best care for your sister.” He picked up the candle from where he’d placed it earlier. “Let me see if I can find us a way out of here.” He turned his back and finagled the key from his pocket. A whisper of temptation dared he risk another kiss, but he squashed the delicious suggestion and aimed at the door, purposely blocking the glow of the candle with his person as he reached toward the overhead molding. “Here we are. A spare key kept on the door frame.”

“How very clever of you!” Her delighted exclamation sent a jolt of pleasure through him.

“Yes, well there’s nothing to keep us here now.”

Except a dozen more blood-heating kisses
.

He stifled the thought, swung the door wide and stepped aside so she could pass, extending his arm so the candle would provide as much light as possible. “It would be best for you to return abovestairs and I’ll follow a bit later.” He smiled, a genuine expression, the like he hadn’t felt the need to share in ages.

“Thank you, Valerian.” She dared a sheepish glance. Then she slipped out the door before he was ready to see her go.

Left to stare after her in the flickering candlelight, he replaced the holder and key, then settled atop a barrel, alone with thoughts he hadn’t considered in longer than he could remember. Since Caroline.

Summoning her memory didn’t bring the rush of agony he’d expected or avoided for the last few years. No matter he relaxed in a dimly lit chamber, her image remained murky at best, the absence of emotion a welcomed boon.

He never loved her.

At one time he’d held deep affection, infatuation, but he could never use the word
love
. To label it would lend it false power and as time passed, it all came down to one realization. He’d been generous and she’d been selfish. He hadn’t read the signs; enamored of her beauty and attention, and fatally unwilling to accept she might have played him false for the attention of someone with a higher station and heavier purse.

Still, her infidelity had left him raw and barely recovered, scored to the bone while also grieving his father’s death. He’d sworn never to allow himself the emotional turmoil of another heartbreaking position, despite he had a wide streak of pride that often warred with clearheaded decision making.

Dismissing the memory, he stood and brushed his trousers free of dust as if discarding the ashes of his past. If circumstances were different he would consider the course of love with sincere determination and pursue Wilhelmina with honest emotion, but until financial recovery was within grasp, it proved a fool’s errand to spend any time on the notion, most especially upon learning her need for security. Never would he allow someone in his care to go without.

Valerian climbed the backstairs, strode up the hall, and vacated the premises without further delay.

Chapter Thirteen

At precisely nine o’clock the next morning, Wilhelmina entered The Serendipity Shop and walked to the counter of the narrow corner establishment situated near the outskirts of the commerce district on the banks of the Thames. No one occupied the vestibule except an overfed glaucous tabby cat who paid little mind to the customer waiting for attention. Wilhelmina laced her reticule strings in an act of distraction, unsure if she should leave or remain, the storefront quiet as an abandoned church though indecision gnawed at her from the inside out. In search of anyone to assist her, she skimmed her eyes across the interior, noting the odd collection of items on display.