Lady Beresford's Lover (23 page)

M
iss Punt had showed Rupert into a lighted room with a mirror. He pulled his shirt over his head, the fine linen grazing the exact places Vivian had kissed. Wasting no time, he donned the remainder of his clothing.

As long as she was with him, in his arms, he knew she was his. What would happen when she had time to think, he did not know, and that worried him. One thing was true, she was ready to bolt, and if she did, Vivian would discover just how swiftly he’d follow. It would rain in hell before he would let her go.

What Rupert experienced with Vivian was nothing he’d ever come close to feeling before. He knew now why his cousin and friends never allowed another gentleman to waltz with their wives. He didn’t even know if he could be civil if he had to watch another gentleman stand up with her for a country dance.

What he did know was that he would lay down his life and all his possessions if that was what it took for her to stay with him. He gave a mirthless laugh. It was a good thing Beresford had decided not to bother Vivian any longer. Rupert would have had to ensure the man left for the Season. No one and nothing would ever be allowed to injure her again. He couldn’t change her past, but he would guarantee her safety and happiness in the future.

A knock came on the door, and Miss Punt poked her head in. “We’re about ready to leave, but we’ll be walking.”

“I’ll be close behind. What happened to her carriage?”

“The coachman didn’t come.”

Damn the rascal
. “I’ll take care of it from now on. If he shows up to-morrow, tell him he is no longer needed.”

She gave him a satisfied nod. “Yes, my lord. It will be a pleasure.”

He went to a room overlooking the garden and waited until Vivian and her maid were almost to the back gate. Moving silently, he opened the back door, then closed and locked it, slipping the house key Punt had given him into his waistcoat. She had given him a key to the gate onto the mews as well, making his ingress and egress to the house less noticeable.

Once in the garden he lengthened his stride. There would still be a good deal of traffic, foot and carriage, this time of night, and he would not allow Vivian to travel the streets with only her maid as guard. Staying far enough away that she wouldn’t notice him, he trailed them through the maze of narrow mews housing horses and carriages for Mayfair’s town houses.

However, behind the Mount Street houses bordering the gardens, there was no mews. He closed the distance between Vivian and him as they entered the Mount Street Gardens. She and her maid quickened their pace, then made their way to a high brick wall and through the gate.

He’d almost breathed a sigh of relief when movement caught the corner of his eye. Ah, his old friend. “What are you doing here?”

The man held up his hands. “Nothin’, guv’nor. Nothin’ bad, leastwise. We’re patrolling. I picked this park ’cause not much goes on.”

Rupert flipped him a yellow bob. “Did you see those women?”

The man deftly caught the coin. “Couldn’t miss ’em.”

“Anytime you see a female come out of that gate, watch out for them and there’ll be more where that came from.”

The old soldier saluted. “Yes, sir, and thank you for pointing us to your friend.”

“Do the same for anyone who needs help and watch out for the ladies, and you’ll have repaid me.”

Rupert lingered until candle-light lit the windows of Lady Telford’s house before continuing on his way home. Since he’d met Vivian, she had taken over his sleeping and waking thoughts. Tonight his dreams would include a future as well.

 

Silvia had attended the evening’s entertainment with trepidation. She’d had the horrible feeling Lord Oliver was going to ask for her hand, and she did not want to even stand up with him. Yet, surprisingly, he was not present. Nick, though, was. God had never answered her prayers so quickly and with such accuracy.

After another long conversation with Cousin Clara and being completely honest with herself, Silvia had decided how to answer his proposal. There was only one waltz on her dance card, and after Nick was done complaining about stodgy old people, and making sure his name was on her dance card for the waltz, he had finally decided to ask for her remaining country dance.

Once they began the cotillion, Silvia decided she must not have been paying attention any of the other times she had performed the steps. Each time she came back to him, he grinned as if they were sharing a secret. Every time she twirled and caught his eye, Silvia wanted to shout with joy. How had she not known he danced so well? Surely other gentlemen not so practiced and athletic must be at a disadvantage. Even through their gloves, her hands tingled with his touch. She ended the dance breathless and happier than she had been in a very long time. “Take me outside. It’s stuffy in here.”

“Are you sure?” He gave her a quizzical look. “People might see us.”

“Let them talk. What can they say when they discover we are betrothed?”

He took her arm and almost dragged her out onto the terrace. In short order, her back was against an ivy-clad wall, his hand braced next to her head as he leaned in. “Don’t play with me, Silvia. If this is an attempt to get back at me—”

She grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him. “Do not be an idiot. I love you and I have for more years than I wanted to. Yes, I’ll marry you, but I will not have my father perform the ceremony.”

“Thank God.” He gathered her in his arms, and she threw her arms around his neck. “No one will ever take me from you again.”

“I know.” She laid her cheek against his chest. “It took a while for me to understand, but I know that now.”

Nick kissed her, long and deep, exploring her mouth in a way he hadn’t before. Someone cleared their throat, and he shielded her with his massive body, placing one finger over her lips.

“I shall keep my back to you,” Cousin Clara said. “But you must realize that when Beresford left the room with you in such a precipitous manner, tongues started to wag. May I assume that an announcement of marriage is imminent?”

Nick grinned at Silvia. “You may, ma’am. I am happy to be able to tell you that Miss Corbet has done me the great honor of agreeing to be my wife.”

“Oh, wonderful. That makes my job so much easier.” She gave an airy wave of her fingers. “Carry on. You have a few moments before the curious start to appear.”

He lowered his lips to Silvia’s with a ferocity he never had before. As if he had been starving and she was his manna. “I love you.”

“I love you, and I’ve never been happier.” Tears started in her eyes, and she blinked them away. “Although, I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive my father.”

Nick grunted. “Is that the reason you don’t want him to marry us?”

“Yes. If you do not mind, I’d like a small wedding by special license.”

“Silvia, in order to marry by special license, one of two things must occur. Either I have your father’s permission—”

“No. I forbid you to ask him.”

“Or,” he continued in that patient tone she used to hate, “you must have attained your majority.”

“But I—”

He placed a finger over her mouth. “Will have to wait three days and about one hour to become my wife and the Countess of Beresford.”

“It’s almost midnight,” Clara interjected dryly.

Silvia shook her head and giggled. “Three days and not a moment longer.”

“Agreed.” He held out his arm. “We should go back in before everyone comes looking for us and we are the Season’s latest scandal.”

They found Clara waiting near the door. When the three of them went in together, shoulders shrugged and eyes were no longer fixed on the entrance to the terrace. Nick winked at Silvia. How Cousin Clara had done it, Silvia did not understand. Although later, she had every intention of thanking Clara for her help.

The strains of a waltz caused a surge of movement toward the dance floor. Nick escorted Clara to a chair, and Silvia to where the other couples were taking their places. She felt lighter than she had in years, as if she was in one of those hot air balloons sailing through the clouds. If only she did not have to act as if she wasn’t dancing on the moon. “I’m happy.”

His larger hand engulfed hers, and he placed his palm on her waist. “That makes two of us. I’ll write your father informing him of our marriage upon our wedding day.”

“That would be best. I do not know if he would attempt to interfere again; after all, he did say you could ask me, but I no longer feel such loyalty after what he did. Even if it was for my sisters.”

“I don’t blame you at all, my love.”

Silvia wanted to cry for all the waltzes they had missed, and the years they had spent apart.

Once the set ended, Cousin Clara decided to sit with friends, no doubt to tell them about their pending nuptials, leaving Nick and Silvia to sup alone, or as alone as one could be with two hundred other guests.

Potted palms and other large plants separated the tables against the walls and punctuated the room, giving a feeling of privacy that was as false as it was welcome.

A high, peevish voice on the other side of the plants next to their table interrupted Silvia and Nick’s murmured conversation. “But why isn’t Lord Stanstead here? Even Papa is present, so there cannot be a political event this evening.”

“Cressida, keep your voice down,” a hushed but equally young voice answered. “I’m sure you will see him soon.”

Apparently unable or unwilling to lower her voice, Cressida continued, “I can’t marry him if I cannot get him alone.”

Nick raised a brow, tilting his head toward the plant. Silvia did the same. She’d had no trouble recognizing Miss Banks’s voice and, despite teachings to the contrary, Silvia did not feel the tiniest bit guilty for eavesdropping.

“Maybe he’s decided not to look for a wife this year after all.” The speaker must be Miss Woolerton. The two were almost inseparable.

“Nooo! I want to be his wife. Next Season might be too late.”

Silvia motioned to Nick for them to leave. As they passed by the table, the two young ladies were still in close conversation. “We must find a way to warn Lord Stanstead.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Nick said in a grim tone. “First one, now another.”

She didn’t understand him. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” he grumbled, “that I am going to be your shadow until you have signed the register making you my wife.”

A lovely shiver danced through her. “I cannot think of anything I’d like more.”

Finally, she had Nick’s complete attention when she wanted it, and they were going to be married. Her thoughts turned to Beresford and the abbey. “Nick?”

“Yes, my love.” He tugged her a bit closer.

“As you know, I am not an extravagant person.”

“Silvia.” He sighed. “Just tell me.”

“The abbey must be entirely refurbished.”

“What the dev . . . deuce made you think of that now?”

A slow heat rose up her neck. “Mrs. Raeford has horrible taste.”

“Ah.” He was silent for a few moments as they climbed the stairs back to the ballroom. “We shall make a brief visit, whereupon you may make notes, and give instructions for the changes to be accomplished on our honeymoon.”

Leave someone else to supervise the work? Was he mad? “But Nick—”

“No, we
will
have a wedding trip, and if the changes are not to your liking when we return, you’ll have to do it all over again.”

“Oh, I suppose that will work.”

He gave her a wicked grin. How her life had turned out so well, Silvia did not know. She supposed much of it was due to Nick, who had refused to give up on her. Unlike her father, with whom she would have a discussion when she returned home.

 

The following morning, Vivian stared down at the letter on the tray. It lay beside the stack of invitations, isolated and most definitely unwelcome. The writing was neat, almost feminine, and it belonged to her father’s secretary. She was half tempted to consign the missive, unread, to the fire. Father never wrote her about anything pleasant, at least not pleasant for her. Normally she received at least one piece of correspondence a week from her mother, but, now that she thought of it, she’d not received anything since being in Town. What could have prevented her mother from writing?

Praying Mama wasn’t ill or worse, Vivian tore open the note. Her eyes narrowed as she read down the sheet.
“Damn him to hell!”

“My lady, what on earth?” Punt rushed into the room. “In all the years I’ve served you, I’ve never heard you swear before.”

Vivian crumpled the letter, pitching it into the fire. Her hands clenched as the wadded ball blackened and shriveled. “I should have known he couldn’t let well enough alone.”

“Maybe I should ring for her ladyship?” Her maid tugged the bell-pull.

A chirruping sound caused her to glance down. Gisila stared up with unblinking yellow eyes. Vivian swept the cat into her arms. “Give me a moment to compose myself, and I’ll go to her.”

Punt nodded and left the room. Vivian sank onto a large French chair next to the fireplace, stroking the large furry beast as she forced her thoughts to focus on the problem at hand. With all her other troubles, she did not need to deal with her father’s interference in her life as well. Unfortunately, his meddling in her affairs was not unexpected. Although she had fooled herself into believing that since so much time had passed, he would leave her alone. Perhaps it was her fault Papa thought he could simply take it upon himself to arrange another match for her. Unlike Silvia, Vivian had never asserted herself with her father.

Nevertheless, legally, he could not force her to re-marry. Even if she hadn’t been of age, as a widow she was considered to have attained her majority. Yet while there was no legal force Papa could bring to bear, familial pressure was another matter. He might also be able to ruin her. If he and the other gentleman decided to tell their cronies or, heaven forbid, send a notice to the newssheet, she would, at the very least, appear ungrateful. At worst she would be labeled a jilt, and that would cause a scandal. The only positive aspect of this whole quandary was that she had full possession of her property. Thank God she had not yielded to her mother’s offer to go home.