Defying the Earl (25 page)

“That is not true.” He rose from the chair and in a stride settled beside her on the modest settee. “Once I met you, Whimsy, everything changed. And I do mean everything.”

He gathered her hands within his and she allowed the familiarity.

“I became more interested in knowing you than instigating the destruction of Leonard’s romance. Financial ruin hovered over my existence as consistently as London’s cloud cover, but I found myself happily distracted by your smiles and your kisses, often neglecting the task I’d agreed to see done.”

“Still you didn’t cease your
matchbreaking
.”

“No, the distasteful plan that I’d undertaken had a way of resurfacing, metamorphosing and demanding attention when I least expected it to. To make matters more complicated, somehow during my managing the arrangement I’d committed, I discovered my purpose often placed me in your path and I enjoyed it. I wished to spend more time with you.”

“So that you could know what I was doing, and therefore spoil my efforts.”

“Listen to me, Wilhelmina. I am baring my soul.” He released one of her hands and lightly caressed her chin with his fingertip, turning her face so she matched his eyes, midnight blue and as intense as ever. “The evening of Leonard’s betrothal party when I looked across the room and saw you there, lovely and graceful, more beautiful than any flower or adornment at the gathering, I knew in my heart I could never continue. Yet at the same time, the weight of my father’s final wishes, the responsibility of the earldom and my brother’s future battered my resolve. I had no intention of committing anything heinous or damaging. It was Lord Rigby’s impatience and irrational actions that caused the upheaval.”

“I see.”

“Do you? Do you hear what I’m saying? I would never knowingly hurt you or damage your chances to provide Livie with a better future. Do you understand, Wilhelmina?” He released a long breath, as if deeply held within his soul. “I’ve fallen in love with you.”

She gasped, her eyes watery from his heartfelt confession, one teardrop overflowing and coursing down her cheek. He wiped it away with the pad of his thumb.

“Don’t cry, my love. I never meant to hurt you.”

He lowered his mouth to hers with infinitesimal care, as if he wasn’t sure whether she would allow the kiss, but there was no question.

He loved her.

The knowledge simmered within her heart, radiating to every point of sensitivity as if lightning trapped beneath her skin. She returned his kiss with fervor, anxious to say with affection what she hadn’t said aloud.

She loved him too
.

As though he’d read her mind, he leaned in, his palm sliding past her cheek to the nape of her neck, his other hand seeking her waist as if to anchor her to him. She vaguely heard the onslaught of rain striking the window glass, the thundering of her heart too loud in her ears. He kissed her with reverence but his homage lasted no more than a heartbeat as their kiss turned urgent and heated. She slid down the padded settee, lost in his delicious onslaught of kisses, anxious and aware of every delightful sensation skittering beneath her skin while held tight within his embrace.

The weight of his chest and strength of his arms, the hot pursuit of his mouth and tongue, left her breathless and invigorated, and she didn’t spare impropriety a niggling of consideration. On a sign of surrender, she answered the persistent rub of his tongue with equal caresses. His groan of appreciation reverberated from his chest to her heart. She threaded her fingers through his hair, a fantasy she’d kept secret since the moment she landed them in a mud puddle, and relished the silky softness glossing between her fingers, an erotic entreaty to explore more.

Valerian broke free, his kisses extended across her cheekbone, against her ear, where he whispered delicious words of temptation, his breath notching her desire tighter. She wriggled beneath him and relished the weight of his body, melting as he tasted the side of her neck, licking and nipping a path to her shoulder, her desire alive and anxious. She wanted nothing more than to feel the heat of his kiss on each part of her.

Had the butler not chosen that moment to interrupt, she might have allowed Valerian every advantage.

A strong knock intruded and Valerian narrowed his eyes as he withdrew, fixing his expression in a grim line of dissatisfaction as he shielded Wilhelmina and pivoted toward the door.

“What is it, Turner?” His sharp-edged tone could not be misconstrued.

“I apologize for the interruption, milord, but I knocked persistently to no avail and there is a situation that needs your immediate attention.”

“I’m sure it can wait.” The succinct directive left little room for discussion, yet Turner pursued the matter.

“It cannot.”

Valerian nodded his apologies to Wilhelmina, now reassembled and seated primly on the settee. He exited the room with the intent to strangle Turner if the interruption proved unnecessary although his servant had never shown poor judgment in the past.

“My apologies once again, milord, but as I prepared the fireplace in your study a drop of water struck my head, alerting me to an additional problem with the roof. As I investigated I found a large leak around the window casement where rain enters with a steady trickle. I’ve done my best to patch the problem, but I knew you would want to be made aware.”

“Of course.” Valerian huffed a frustrated sigh. “Let us assess the situation.” He thrust out his arm to allow Turner the lead and followed with a silent prayer the wounded estate could be staunched one more time. As he climbed the stairs, he avoided the loose floorboards midrise, their creak a sure sign of further impending repair.

A quick assessment of the leak lent him a portion of relief.

“Very good, Turner. You’ve done a wonderful job of patching this up. Have you checked the other rooms for similar disparity?”

“I did, milord. At present conditions appear dry, although the rain has intensified. I doubt this portion of the roof will withstand a slanting downpour without fail.”

Thunder and lightning chased Turner’s words as if promising the proclamation and they looked to the study ceiling as if awaiting the slightest evidence nature’s elements were forcing their way indoors.

Turner started to leave. “I will return downstairs and check the kitchen. The roof there has been completed and this weather will serve as testament to whether or not Cook’s brother’s work is reliable. He’ll be needed to attend this problem.”

“Indeed.” The butler left and Valerian flicked his eyes upward. Clear of further leakage and disappointment, his mind reeled to Wilhelmina and her safety. She’d need to leave straightaway if she hoped to return to London before the storm worsened. His conscience already argued the roadways would soon become unsafe. Were they to wash out, she’d be stranded with no means to find safety. She’d taken a hired hackney to Kirby Park. It was his responsibility to see her home.

The creaking floorboards of the stairway grabbed his attention and he headed toward the door, confident Turner knew the treads to avoid. He could never have harm come to Whimsy.

But he was too late. She stood at the top of the landing, her expression one of surprise and despair.

Embarrassment suffocated any remaining pride in his heart.

“Oh dear.” Her utterance, nothing more than a muted whisper, held a note of sadness above all else.

They stood in uncomfortable silence for longer than he would have liked.

At last, she spoke. “I thought to tell you I must leave. The weather is worsening and my aunt will be frantic with worry. I could never perpetuate her distress.”

“Yes, of course.” He forced his voice to remain steady.

His eyes followed hers as she scanned the bare walls, patched with plaster in odd places, the paint faded or discolored where pieces of art had been removed and sold. Earlier water damage had stained the ceiling near the upper corners and extended down the crease for a large portion of the wall. The brass wall fixtures stood empty and the carpet runner was nothing more than a threadbare shadow of its earlier extravagance, the nap almost transparent. Aside from a scarred lowboy holding a pair of blunt tallow candles, the corridor remained absent of furniture.

“Then we should go at once.” He broke the moment and strode toward the stairs, pausing as they descended to indicate where she should take his hand and overstep the loose treads.

Once in the foyer, he conferred with Turner to have Arcadia hitched to his carriage in the stable. He would drive the conveyance for the duration of the trip. There were no footmen to assist.

Shielding Wilhelmina from the worst of the elements, he handed her into the coach and mounted the driver’s box, a beaver hat pulled low on his brow, his greatcoat of little help for the increasing rain. They’d spoken few words since the humbling experience at the top of the hall, and now only Arcadia offered an objecting whicker in response to the weather. Valerian flicked the reins and they were off.

The roads remained passable for the first thirty minutes of their journey. Val could only imagine Wilhelmina’s thoughts within the interior. He’d confessed his affection and financial distress with as much pride as he could muster all the while sequestered in a room meant to display a modicum of hope. Then she’d wandered up the staircase and discovered the truth. Would she consider his feelings an equal sham and assume the worst? Pride was lonely. Pride was hollow. Pride felt shoddier than unrequited love. But Wilhelmina cared for him. He could tell despite she hadn’t voiced the words.

Had Turner not interrupted earlier, he would have kissed her senseless, her sensual sigh of pleasure enticing invitation. The memory of her face as he withdrew, wide-eyed with kiss-bruised lips, fired sexual tension through his veins that reverberated in his groin despite the dropping temperature. He slapped the reins to urge Arcadia up an approaching incline and cursed into the wind aware he wouldn’t be able to explain further until Whimsy was safely returned to London.

Still to be traveling at such brisk speed, while the storm drove hard against them, was a foolish endeavor. A sudden gust of wind captured his cap before he could react, the stinging pelt of cold rain striking his face in sharp retaliation. He wiped his brow free of water, slicked his hair back, and blinked several times to clear his vision as drops continued to pebble his attention.

Ahead the roadway had washed out. What usually stood as a shallow creek had overcome the flooded roadway with unclear depth, a rushing current of storm-driven water. Valerian yanked the reins and Arcadia reared, the momentum pushing the carriage backward at a precarious angle, the wheels slanting across the mud. Within seconds, the coach skidded in the opposite direction. Val snapped the leathers, anxious to set Arcadia into motion and avoid the impending danger of a jackknife over the steep embankment along the roadway’s edge, but his attempt was to no avail.

Despite Arcadia settled, the weight of the carriage remained vertiginous and combined with the slick conditions and mud-covered road, Valerian could not cease their slide. His eyes shot to the drop off, nearly twenty feet and steep enough to cause harm to Wilhelmina or Arcadia were they to fall into danger. The threat grew closer as he wasted moments.

With lightning speed, he jumped from the box and captured Arcadia’s harness. Hollering words of reassurance over the wind, he urged the horse forward regardless they sank knee deep in muddy water. The horse hesitated, snorting in protest and then at last complied, righting the carriage that had slipped nearly a yard over the embankment. Val worked quickly to untangle the reins, disconnecting Arcadia in the process so he could tighten the straps. His haste to leave Kirby Park provided poor adjustment to the harness and he paid bitterly for it now.

Between the wind and the rain, the task was difficult, yet with relentless determination he hurried, the wet swollen leather difficult to maneuver. At best, he struggled to refasten the buckles.

What could Whimsy be thinking inside the carriage? He needed to correct the harness and reassure her before they continued. As soon as he tightened Arcadia’s lines, he would speak to her and then rid them of this place toward London.

He never had the chance.

A sudden shot of lightning struck a nearby pine and spooked Arcadia into a full gallop. The reins, loosely held in his hand, sliced across his palm and the horse bolted free. Valerian gave chase, hardly able to keep balance as his boot heels slid on the sodden roadway. Admitting defeat and aware his horse had abandoned them, he whirled at the sound of a horrible crash amidst the howling storm. Had the pine come down? It stood too near the coach for safety.

Yet, no. To his horror, the carriage disappeared from sight, rolling backward over the embankment with Whimsy inside.

Chapter Twenty-One

Wilhelmina scrambled toward the window intent on discovering the commotion. The carriage slanted to the right gaining speed until with a harsh jolt, it dropped, caught for a timeless moment in midair. She barely had time to scream before she crushed hard against the interior wall, her forehead scraping against the brass lantern as she bounced to the opposite side and was thrust to the corner, the carriage landing with a sharp crack and objecting sway. The entire vehicle trembled as if threatening to break apart, but settled a moment later, the howling wind a dark reminder the elements meant to assault her safety.

“Valerian.” Her voice trembled on the four syllables and she blinked twice, aware her forehead ached. She shed her gloves and touched her fingertips to her brow. They came away damp with blood, a small welt and open cut the cause. Scrambling to gain perch she stopped abruptly as the action caused the carriage to shift and drop. Caught midway, she plummeted into the corner, tears blinding her eyes. For a moment she surrendered to emotion, allowing her fear to overcome better sense, but with swift determination, she wiped the tears aside and shook her head, replacing sentimentality with sensibility. Surely Valerian would help her. Patience was needed. The carriage seemed secure if she didn’t move about. She’d wait and he’d come to her rescue.