Pursued By The Viscount (4 page)

“It was not a suggestion,” Brooketon assured her firmly. “And it is the reason I proposed arriving at Shaw House at eight o’clock this evening. It will allow an hour or so before we leave for you to…grow accustomed to both me and my touch.”

Rachel swallowed, her heart beating loudly in her chest. “I do not see how?”

Lucien took two steps toward her, stopping before he came too close, as he saw the way in which her eyes had become almost black with apprehension. Respected member of the government or no, if Shaw had been alive today, then Lucien would have taken delight in confronting him with his ill treatment of his wife. As it was, Lucien now intended doing everything within his power to ensure the safety of both Rachel, her reputation, and her son’s future.

“We will deal with the details once I arrive at Shaw House,” he dismissed vaguely, having some ideas but reluctant to alarm her with them as yet. “Allow me to show you your friend Fliss’s trust in me to assist you, as much as you will let me, was not misplaced?” Lucien had every intention of seeing Rachel safely through this mess, now that he was fully aware of her situation. He detested bullies, and her vulnerability, and his newfound liking and respect for her, appealed to every protective instinct he possessed.

Her tension eased slightly. “I believe you to be an honorable man.”

“If a haughty one,” he said self-derisively.

“And arrogant,” she reminded dryly. “But you carry them both so well.” She attempted some of the teasing nature she showed to Society.

Lucien gave a genuine smile at her humor. “I do believe I am looking forward to this evening.”
 

Strangely enough, so was Rachel.

Chapter 4

“Will you tell me the name of your blackmailer?”

“No.”

“Then we will try again.”

By “trying again,” Brooketon intended for the two of them to dance a waltz together in the confines of Rachel’s drawing room. A dance Rachel had chosen never to indulge in because of the close proximity of the two participants.

A dance that had so far proven impossible for the two of them, when Rachel shied away every time the viscount attempted to take her in his arms. She was so tense this evening at the thought of attending the Walker ball on the arm of Viscount Brooketon, of possibly seeing her blackmailer again, she could not even pretend it was otherwise.

As arranged, the viscount had arrived at Shaw House at precisely eight o’clock and been shown into the drawing room. Rachel had lingered upstairs in the nursery for several minutes after being informed of Brooketon’s arrival, to watch William as he slept.

She had loved her son from the moment he was born, and that love had only grown stronger and fiercer as the years passed. At four years of age, William Charles Shaw held the whole of her heart in his tiny hand. Rachel had done, and would continue to do, anything to ensure his happiness.

Including accepting Brooketon’s protection, even if she still refused, for his sake, to tell him the name of the man she needed protecting from? She had not thought of it before visiting Brooketon earlier today, but now fully appreciated, because of his forceful nature, telling him the name of her blackmailer could possibly put Brooketon in danger. She could not bear it if he confronted this other man on her behalf, and came to harm in the process. She doubted their mutual friends would forgive her either.
 

But Brooketon’s protection, in the form of escorting her to a ball? Yes, that she could accept.
 

Brooketon’s close proximity as the two of them danced a waltz together was another matter entirely.

Her aversion to physical intimacy was not the only reason Rachel shied away from having the viscount’s arm about her waist, her hand on his shoulder, her other hand firmly clasped in his.

This evening, Brooketon looked resplendently male in his perfectly tailored black evening clothes and snowy white linen, a diamond pin adorning his perfectly arranged neck cloth. His hair shone blue-black in the candlelight, his handsome face naturally austere.

And yet…

There was a warmth in those sapphire-blue eyes when he looked at her tonight. A softening of those stern features, even a slight smile curving his sculpted lips. And he smelled divine. Of citrus and spice and something else Rachel believed to be totally Lucien Brooke. Something which sent a tingling sensation down the length of her spine and caused her breath to catch and the bodice of her gown to feel unnaturally tight.

In awareness of this handsome and vibrant man?

Never having felt the least physical attraction to any man, Rachel had no idea if that was the case. She felt…strange. As if a part of her wished to have Brooketon’s arm about her and her hand held in his, while that other part of her, beaten and afraid, still shied away from the intimacy.
 

“Did you know that Blackmoor once danced with Lady Thea in this same way?”

That tingle down Rachel’s spine turned to a shiver at the deepened intimacy of Brooketon’s tone. “I am sure Thea and Blackmoor will have danced together many times,” she dismissed.

“No, I mean they danced together in private like this before they were married. In the empty ballroom at Latham House.”

As it happened, Rachel did know. She also knew, from talking with Thea, how intimate that dance had become. “Blackmoor told you this?”

“Not exactly,” Brooketon drawled. “But his temper the following day was such that we—several of his close friends—were able to guess what had happened. Or rather, not happened.”

Rachel’s gaze was quizzical. “Not happened?”

“It is not important.”

“But— Oh.” She grimaced. “I may have no personal knowledge of physical pleasure, my lord, but neither am I unaware of its existence in the marriages of my friends. Thea is very lucky in her husband, as is Sally, and now Fliss.” She smiled sadly. “I have no doubt the duke’s temper that day was because he and Thea had not…consummated their attraction for each other.”

Lucien could not help but hear how formally she spoke of the attraction she had never experienced. As he was aware of how carefully he must proceed with this particular woman. Of the fine line between helping to take down Rachel’s barriers in regard to being touched and causing her to recoil if he went too far, too fast.

The longer he was alone in her company, the more he
wanted
to touch her.

Having been allowed to see behind her mask, Lucien could no longer dismiss Rachel as that tease and social butterfly. And she looked so very beautiful this evening. Her golden tresses were secured at her crown with two diamond pins, with several enticing tendrils at her temples and nape. Her silk gown was the color of the leaves of a copper beech in autumn and perfectly complemented her delicate ivory skin. Its fashionable style revealed the soft swell of her breasts and shoulders, and the slender elegance of her arms above elbow-length cream lace gloves.

Patience had never been one of Lucien’s virtues, and Rachel’s appearance this evening, along with his new knowledge of her true nature, had raised his physical awareness of her to an almost unbearable degree.

So much so that if they ever succeeded in dancing the waltz together, Lucien had no doubt she would be made aware of his current—and totally inappropriate—state of arousal.

He straightened abruptly. “Perhaps you will feel differently about us dancing together once we are at the Walkers’ ball.”

She looked at him curiously. “You are admitting defeat in our current endeavor?”

Lucien
never
admitted defeat. Over anything. Nor would he do so where his newly discovered attraction to Rachel was concerned.

His physical relationships with women, usually mature and experienced women, were never of more than a few weeks duration, and none of them anything more than the satisfying of a physical itch. For either party. Lucien knew he must marry one day, but for now he had no interest in establishing a long-term relationship. At seven and thirty, there was still plenty of time for him to produce the grandson his father, the Earl of Stonewall, so often hinted at.

As it happened, Lucien was not currently in one of those relationships, and he had now realized how much he wanted Rachel. Nothing and no one—not even Rachel herself—would make him back down from fulfilling that desire. He fully intended to be the man to introduce this beautiful woman to how enjoyable lovemaking could be with the right man.

Where Rachel was concerned, he fully intended to be that man.

“Did I not tell you our being here together would cause gossip?” Rachel could not resist teasing the scowl darkening Brooketon’s brow. Or the way he looked down his haughty nose at any of the
ton
who dared to glance their way as the two of them stood together in the Walkers’ ballroom.

“Having an ‘I told you so’ attitude is not an attractive trait,” he answered distractedly as his sharp gaze moved analytically about the room.

Rachel burst out laughing, which caused even more heads to turn in their direction. Viscount Brooketon was more generally known for his air of disdain than inducing laughter in those around him.

“They should all attend to their own business,” he added scathingly.

“For most of these women, gossip is all they have to amuse them.” Rachel sighed. “Do you have any idea how tedious the days can be for a woman, with nothing to occupy her time but approving the following day’s menu, her embroidery, or reading?”

“Which is why, no doubt, so many of them take a lover?”

“No doubt,” Rachel confirmed stiffly.

“I was not referring to you.” Lucien deliberately placed his hand on her forearm, feeling her tension as she tried to move away. That tension slowly eased when he refused to withdraw his hand. The sooner Rachel came to accept his touch, the better. “Are your own days spent so dully?”

“No.” She smiled. “I enjoy spending much of my time in the nursery with William,” she explained.

Lucien could probably count on one hand the number of days his own mother had spent with him when he was a child, in or out of the nursery. Rachel obviously adored her son and enjoyed spending time with him.

He really had misjudged her to date, and badly. “Is he here?”

“Is who— Oh. No.” Her lashes lowered, hiding the expression in her eyes.

“Do you think he will be?”

“I have no idea. What on earth—”

“They are playing a waltz.” He had recognized with satisfaction as the musicians began playing another set, giving Rachel no time to protest as he swept her into his arms and onto the dance floor. He was careful not to allow his hand to touch the bareness of her flesh revealed by the low neckline at the back of the gown.

But he could feel her tension against his arm firmly about her waist and his hand resting low down on her spine, and the way her fingers gripped his own so tightly.

“Try to relax into the music,” he encouraged softly.

How could Rachel possibly relax when Brooketon was holding her so tightly and so close, twirling her so expertly about the ballroom that he had quite put their previous conversation from her mind. Which had perhaps been his intention.

“Breathe,” he added ruefully.

Oh dear God, how could Lucien’s proximity have caused her to forget something as natural as breathing?

“It would not do to have you swoon in my arms,” he added teasingly. “Think how the gossips would love that.”

Rachel was finding it hard to think at all with Brooketon so overwhelmingly close. Closer than anyone had been to her, apart from William, for many years.

There was no threat in his proximity, she realized as she slowly began to relax and enjoy the dance. At least not in the brutish manner she so dreaded and feared.

Brooketon’s danger was of a completely different kind, as she once again became aware of the heat of his body and the smell of his cologne. The steady strength of his hand against her spine. The firm and yet unthreatening grip of her hand in his.

Warmth entered her cheeks as her body began to respond to his closeness, like the closed petals of a flower unfurling. That tight feeling in her breasts had returned. In arousal? The nipples certainly felt full and sensitive against her chemise. There was also an unaccustomed heat between her thighs. A dampness, which soaked uncomfortably into her drawers. Rachel could feel a throbbing down there too, one that sent tingles of pleasure pulsing through the whole of her body and increased that ache in her breasts.

“Brooketon?” She voiced her uncertainty of these unfamiliar feelings.

“Lucien,” he encouraged, totally aware of Rachel’s response to him. He could
smell
the sweet and seductive perfume of her arousal.

As he could feel the way his own body was responding in kind. Dear God, if the two of them did not shortly remove themselves from this crowded ballroom, he feared he was in danger of leaving a damp patch on the front of his pantaloons.

Lucien could not remember the last time he had responded this fiercely to any woman. Perhaps during his years at university, when he was young and inexperienced, but certainly not for the past fifteen years or so. The desire he felt for Rachel had him so primed, he was ready to explode.