Suzanne Robinson (12 page)

“Do call me Aunt, my dear. After all, we’ll soon be family.”

“Dear Aunt, do you know what Valin has just told me? In a few weeks when the guests are gone, he wants to return to London and celebrate our engagement with a wonderful finish to the Season. Lots and lots of balls and dinners and parties and musicals. He wants you to plan as many as possible, with hundreds of guests.”

North dropped her hand. “What!”

“Oh, my.” Ottoline stared at her nephew with wonder and gratitude. “How marvelous, Valin. I’m so pleased you’re going to allow me to help you introduce your fiancée in this manner. You and Emily will be the toast of London if I have anything to do with it. Now let me see. We’ll open with a ball, and we’ll see if we can’t persuade the Queen and Prince Albert to come, although they almost never do.”

While Ottoline chattered Emmie pretended to listen, beaming at Valin.

North was shaking his head. “Now, Aunt, I’m not sure—”

“Don’t worry about a thing, my dear,” Ottoline said. “I’ll do all the planning. Oh, I shall be of use to you at last.”

North’s lips stretched, revealing white teeth in
what was supposed to be a pleased smile and ended up resembling the grimace of an enraged lion.

“How generous of you, Aunt. And now if you’ll excuse us, I promised Emily I’d take her for a walk in the gardens. She wanted to see the maze in moonlight.”

“No, I don’t,” Emily said quickly.

“Nonsense, my dear. Aunt won’t mind at all, and it’s proper now that we’re to be married.”

Emmie felt his hand grip her arm hard, and she was steered outside through the tall French windows that opened onto a stone terrace. Once they were out of sight of the salon, North sped up and dragged her after him as he went down the long flight of stairs to the Elizabethan maze. Tall yews had been cut in a complex pattern in which guests were continually losing themselves. Emmie trotted after her captor, pulling back only to be yanked forward as they darted into the labyrinth. After a few twists and turns, she was lost in the darkness.

She grabbed a thick branch and dug in her heels. “Release me.”

North turned, plucked her hand from the branch, and tugged her after him without a word. Suddenly the yews opened and they were in a court lit with moonbeams.

Emmie tried to pry North’s fingers from her wrist, but without warning he dragged her against
him, capturing her arms and lifting her until her eyes were level with his.

“You broke your promise, Emily No-name. And I’m grateful, because now I can show you what happens to a naughty lady adventuress who doesn’t keep her word.”

Valin felt Emily de Winter tremble as he drew her closer. The shivering penetrated his arms. No, no, it was he who was shivering! Valin stopped trying to pull the struggling young woman to him as he realized how little mastery he had over himself. When he stopped, she quit fighting him and remained still, catching her breath. She was close enough for him to see her softly curved face bathed in silver moonlight, and he forgot his ire.

“Peace?” he whispered. She said nothing.

For long moments they stayed as they were, each waiting for the other to do something. Valin watched the patterns of moonbeam and shadow formed by the yews play over her face and illuminate the pearls in her hair. The distraction didn’t help him in his fight for control. Somehow he
found himself bending toward her. She watched him warily, but didn’t move.

He was closing the space between them, but it seemed to take him hours. Every second he expected her to bolt. Even when his lips touched hers he expected her to push him back, but her body melted into his, and he wrapped his arms around her as he explored her mouth.

In spite of the barrier of gown and corset he sensed when her breathing quickened and grew ragged. She caught him off guard when she responded to his kiss by hooking her arms around his neck and lifting herself to him, pressing her mouth to his and chasing his tongue with hers. Suddenly it was she who led and he who responded. On fire now, Valin slid his hand to the neck of her gown.

At this touch, Emily uttered a strangled cry deep in her throat, tore her lips from his, and sprang out of his grasp. As she moved she thrust him away. The abrupt change was a shock. Valin stumbled and caught himself before he fell, but Emily was already halfway across the court.

Desperate to mask his frustration and disappointment, Valin laughed. “Where are you going, Miss No-name? You don’t know the way out.”

“I’ve gotten out of plenty of rum spots, and this place doesn’t compare!”

He heard a swish of skirts, and she was gone. Valin allowed her a minute to get lost, then went
after her. This time his grin was anticipatory. He’d never had to literally chase a woman before, and it was exciting. Rushing out of the court, he hurried to the first dead end. She wasn’t there. He tried the next, but only startled a nightingale. Bursting into a run, he chased after a sound he thought was Emily. By the time he reached the next dead end, he was lost. It was too dark, and he hadn’t paid attention to where he was going.

“Damn.”

In answer to his exclamation he heard a light laugh, the rustle of silk, and the click of slipper heels as Miss Emily de Winter walked unhurriedly back to the house.

He called after her in a loud whisper. “Come back here at once.” He listened intently. “Emily? Dammit, woman, where are you?”

He heard her shut the terrace doors in response. She’d left him out here. Curse the girl. She knew he’d gotten turned around, and she’d left him to stumble about in the dark, the little beast.

With resignation, Valin began to backtrack, trying to find a familiar path among the yews. As he walked, he grinned to himself. Matching wits with Emily de Winter was much more fun than spending time with any other woman he’d known.

“Fun,” he said to himself.

He hardly ever used that word. It was an Acton word, a Courtland word, even, but not one of his
words. His words were duty, responsibility, honor. His days were filled with such words and their corresponding obligations. His responsibilities had been drilled into him as long as he could remember.

Once he’d known how to have fun. He could remember being young and in love with the feeling he got from climbing high in an ancient oak and allowing his body to be carried with the sway of the branches in the wind. He and Acton had played tricks on their governess, Miss Ickleton. Once they’d put a hedgehog into the foot of her bed beneath the covers. Another time he’d put a frog in the poor woman’s bonnet while it was hanging on a peg. Acton had rolled on the floor, weak with laughter at the sight of their dignified governess with a frog on her head. Luckily Miss Ickleton had possessed a sense of humor.

When had he given up fun? Not long after the frog incident, when he was eight, his father and mother began impressing upon him the nature of his duties and responsibilities as heir. From then on, all his actions, all his words were judged by those standards.

His mother’s favorite phrase became, “Such conduct is unworthy of your father’s heir.”

Father was more direct.

“A Marquess of Westfield does not whine, sir,” he would say. Or, “The Westfield heir knows how
to sit a horse, sir, and he doesn’t do it like a costermonger out for a country treat.”

Being heir had ruined fun, that was certain. No wonder Acton scoffed at him. No wonder laughing with Miss de Winter made him feel as if he was coming back to life after having been dead for twenty years.

Even more invigorating was her mysteriousness. Society had no members whose names were unknown, and he’d never met a woman of breeding with such a vocabulary. What epithets might she use if he made her truly angry? The prospect was intriguing, but he wasn’t going to gain Miss de Winter’s cooperation by making her furious. That much he learned tonight. Could he gain it by more subtle methods, more honey than horseradish?

Valin found the center court of the maze at last and began to retrace the way out. Perhaps he’d find out more about his fiancée by making her his friend and ally. He didn’t want a repeat of her behavior this evening, that was certain. There was no telling what misery she might cause him if he made her angry enough. Already he was committed to returning to London to finish the Season. The thought was enough to make him want to howl at the moon.

Stepping out of the maze, Valin caught a glimpse of Emily through the French doors. She
was laughing with Acton and Courtland in the center of a pool of golden light from a chandelier. For a brief moment she seemed a creature of enchantment—unreachable, ephemeral, elusive, casting spells upon all who came within her province. Then she turned her head and looked outside, and he could have sworn she knew he was there looking at her.

Was she so magical that she could sense him across such a distance? While others talked around her, she gazed into the night, a slight smile playing on her lips. He remained where he was, hoping urgently that she would leave his brothers and come to him and make this imaginary enchantment real.

The spell was broken when Acton bowed to her. Emily turned and allowed him to lead her away from the window. Valin let out his breath; he hadn’t realized he’d been holding it. He rolled his shoulders to rid them of the tension that had built up simply from beholding Miss Emily de Winter. This wouldn’t do. He had to break free of these foolish notions she put in his head merely by coming near him.

He would try to make peace with her. Perhaps they’d become friends. So mundane a relationship would banish these fancies. One didn’t lust after a friend. He couldn’t indulge in absurd imaginings
about someone he hardly knew, who was, after all, a common adventuress, however well mannered.

That was the answer. He and Emily would settle into a friendly arrangement that would allow her to tell him the truth about herself. Once the puzzle of Miss de Winter had been solved, he could get on with his search for a suitable wife. There would be no distraction of a young woman veiled in mystery. No longer would she intrigue him with her exotic behavior, her wildness, and her courage.

Valin nodded to himself. Once he knew her secrets, he would no longer want her so unbearably. He began to walk toward the house. Best start immediately, tomorrow morning. Before Miss de Winter had time to get him into more trouble than she already had.

The next morning Valin stayed behind when the rest of his gentlemen guests went shooting. He was on his way to the archery butts that had been set up on the lawn stretching between the gardens and the park behind Agincourt. He was hurrying down the terrace stairs when Acton called his name and came running after him from the house.

“I want to talk to you,” he said.

Valin waved him away. “I’ve already arranged to settle all your debts.”

“It’s not about that.”

Valin sighed and gazed over the balustrade that separated the next terrace from the formal gardens and the yew maze. It was a cool May morning that wore a coat of silver dew and new leaves. He was sure Acton would spoil it.

“About this engagement,” Acton said. “Are you mad?”

“What do you mean?”

“We know nothing of this Miss de Winter. We don’t know her parents.”

“They’re dead.” Valin could see the ladies aiming at the archery targets.

“Or her people.”

He couldn’t see Miss de Winter. “They live in France and in Northumberland.”

“And her face and fortune are mediocre,” Acton said.

Valin dragged his gaze from the archers to stare at his brother. “Are you maligning the young woman I’ve asked to be my wife?”

“I’m surprised, that’s all. And you have to admit there are dozens of girls much prettier and richer.”

“She has enough money to suit me, and I think she’s lovely. Of what possible interest could either matter be to you?” Valin narrowed his eyes and said quietly, “Ah, I see. You’d rather be marquess
yourself, but if I’m to be it, then you want me to marry someone whose fortune will serve as a reserve bank for you.”

Acton flushed. “That’s a damned lie.”

“Then you’re concerned for my future happiness? How touching.”