Swept Away By a Kiss (22 page)

He lifted the biscuit toward his mouth.

“Épée,” Michaels replied. “March is fixing the roster now. Will you have a go at it with me?”

Steven grinned at the eager young nobleman. “The books at Brooke’s and Waiter’s account you the best swordsman in London.”

“Not at White’s? I suppose Hannsley has that honor, the old stiff rump.”

Miss Pierce giggled. Michaels cast the girl a pleased look. Steven felt Valerie’s gaze upon him like a caress.

“Whatever the case may be”—he gestured with the ginger man—“you are a renowned blade. Why would I voluntarily place myself at your mercy?” The heat upon his skin where Valerie stared at him sank deeper. If he allowed himself to look, her eyes would be luminous sapphires full of question and rebuke.

“Oh, well,” Michaels demurred with a grin. “You’ve practiced sword craft with masters all over the world. A man like you is bound to have secrets none of us here know about.”

The baron’s words seemed to echo through the kitchen chamber. Steven had to look at her. He simply could not resist.

Her sea-blue eyes did not question, no hint of censure coloring them. Instead they sparkled, radiant with heat, and perfectly aware.

He had to leave. Or eat the blasted biscuit.

“How have the ginger men turned out, my lord?” she asked, her voice deceptively light.

He allowed himself a smile. But he played with fire. He had to leave more than the kitchen. He should leave Castlemarch. He should complete his business and get as far away from Valerie Monroe as possible. He wanted it to be a game with her, a game they both won. But it could never be. Her gaze laughed and sought, a miracle by all accounts considering how he had treated her. But she could face real danger if the smallest detail of his plan went awry, if his enemy merely suspected her involvement, even as slight and unbeknownst to her as it was.

Steven simply could not allow that. He had spent nearly his entire life saving people he did not even know. He could not bear it if, because of him, harm came to the one he—

The one.

His heart stilled, his breath failing as he looked into her shining eyes. He placed the biscuit upon the table.

“If you seek a partner, Michaels, I am honored to oblige,” he said, turning toward the door as Penny appeared from the pantry, tin in hand. He smiled, bowed, and took it from her. “Only avoid killing me by accident, will you?” he added over his shoulder, struggling not to look at Valerie again. “I have a strong desire to continue living.”

More and more each day.

Valerie escaped. It was cowardly and not at all like her. But the encounter in the kitchen had nearly undone her. Lord Michaels made that comment about secrets, and she practically choked upon her elation.

He was still her secret. He knew it too. His eyes told her. At the very moment his cold foolery surfaced and she rushed to harden herself to it, he looked at her so directly, his amber gaze warm with meaning and shared memory, and Valerie had felt like singing.

But he was a liar, he hurt her intentionally, and she betrayed all her convictions when she let herself feel something other than indifference for him. It was all far too confusing and raw. She could not bear another encounter like that in one day.

Eschewing luncheon, she dragged her maid from a cozy gossip above stairs, tied on the new half boots she had bought in London, and set out on the long wooded walk to the village. By the time they arrived, her toes ached and her heels sported blisters from the stiff shoes. But the winter sun shone warm on the soggy high street as she limped along. It could be worse. Steven Ashford could still be casting her expressive, bewildering glances.

A mounted party clattered onto the high street. Valerie turned toward it and her stomach flopped over. Grabbing Mabel’s arm, she pulled her into the nearest shop.

“Are we purchasing chocolates today, milady?”

“Hush, Mabel.” Valerie drew her maid to the back of the confectioner’s shop. She smiled at the proprietor and pretended to admire the colorful displays. But her attention fixed upon the front window.

The party from the castle dismounted directly across the street. Viscount Ashford, with Mr. Flemming at his side, encouraged their companions to walk on ahead. The two men moved close to each other, a quick change coming over each as they spoke. As Mr. Flemming’s stance grew stiffer and his mouth moved more quickly, the viscount seemed to relax. Finally Flemming’s face reddened and his fists clenched at his sides. He pivoted away and strode across the narrow street toward the tavern.

Ashford turned toward the confectioner’s window. Valerie darted deeper into the shop. Peeking around a display of Christmas marzipan, she waited until he sauntered out of sight. Then she hurried Mabel down to the church. A squat little Norman construction, barrel vaulted, silent as a tomb, and smelling of beeswax, it seemed the safest hiding place. Valerie took a seat in a wooden pew with Mabel at her side, and sat stunned and slightly trembling, the irony of hiding in a church from a man who pretended to be a priest not lost upon her.

When she finally felt certain the party from the castle must have left the village, she woke Mabel. They set out toward home, Valerie hobbling down the path through the woods, their boots crunching upon the thin layer of snow atop musty needles of pine and spruce.

“I didn’t mind visiting the church, milady,” Mabel said, covering a yawn, “though we stayed quite a long time, didn’t we?” She cast Valerie a curious look.

Valerie pursed her lips. “You are impertinent, Mabel.” Probably the reason they suited.

“Yes, mum,” the girl said lightly.

Valerie allowed herself a smile and relaxed her brow.

“You will not convince me our stop in the chocolatier’s disappointed you.”

Mabel bobbed a curtsy in mid-stride. “That Mr. Flemming, he is a queer fish, though, isn’t he? What d’you think he and milord Ashford were arguing about?”

“I am sure it is none of our concern.” Valerie’s tone lacked conviction. She’d spent the entire time at the church wondering the same thing. Ashford and Flemming were childhood friends, raised nearly as brothers. But Flemming’s animosity had seemed so strong just now, and his bitter words about his old friend during the skating party came back to her.

Laughter and hoofbeats resounded through the woods behind. Valerie moved to the side of the path, heart racing as a half-dozen horses cantered into view around a bend in the wide path. In the lead, Alethea’s father was the first to see her and Mabel. He reined in his mount.

“Good afternoon, Lady Valerie,” he greeted as the others slowed to a halt in his wake. “We have just been to the village to complete our gift gathering.”

Beside him, Cassandra gave Valerie a gentle smile. Her pale pink skirts flowed gracefully over her mare’s haunches.

“I wish you had been with us, Valerie. Alethea refused to give me her opinion on the ribbons I found for Anna. I know you would not have been so stingy.”

Alethea cast an arch look at Cassandra as she pulled up, reaching out a hand to clasp Valerie’s.

“Fortunately your brother happened into the shop while we were there, and he was happy to help. It seems the sunshine has driven everyone to the village today. Why didn’t we see you?”

“Perhaps the lady had your gift in hand when we arrived, Miss Pierce.” Viscount Ashford’s voice sounded smooth from atop his rangy bay. His gaze narrowed. “I suspect she hid so that you would not discover the chocolates she purchased on your behalf.”

Alethea laughed, but Valerie knew why he said it. He wanted her to know he had seen her watching his conversation with Mr. Flemming. He enjoyed taunting her, making her feel uncomfortable around her friends. He wanted her to be unhappy. She stroked the horse’s neck to steady her nerves.

“You have ruined my surprise, my lord. Now I must eat the chocolates myself and contrive something else for my friend.”

“Oh, don’t, Valerie,” Alethea exclaimed, “or I will never forgive you or Lord Ashford.” Her horse danced atop the white-powdered needles.

“Daughter,” Mr. Pierce chided, “if you do not take care, that animal will have your neck, and Lady Valerie’s as well.”

“Yes, yes,” Valerie said in relief. “You should not remain here any longer upon my account.”

Mr. Pierce nodded and spurred his mount ahead. Alethea and Cassandra waved as Lord Michaels and Mr. Fenton urged them forward, tipping their hats to Valerie. Only the Viscount of Ashford remained. His mount stood tranquilly, taking cue from his master’s calm.

Valerie returned his stare coolly. She’d frozen her bottom and sore feet hiding in the church, but she was through with that. The recollection of Mr. Flemming’s anger sparked hers again. How this man treated her, or what he thought about her, or even what they had shared were all inconsequential. He had hurt her intentionally, just as he continued to try hurting her. It didn’t matter that for a moment in the kitchen Valerie thought she spied something familiar, something of the man he had revealed aboard ship. If given the opportunity he would be cruel again.

She simply would not allow him that. She dug her hands into the sleeves of her cloak and squared her shoulders.

“Why don’t you go as well?”

His mouth lifted at one side, nearly undoing her brittle composure. “So direct.”

She took a hard breath and set off up the path. The horse fell in beside her.

“How did you like the church, my lady? Were you suitably impressed with its eleventh-century pilings and gallicized vaults?”

He wanted to put her off guard again by telling her he knew she had hidden from him. Despite what he’d said in the library about not caring what she did, her confusion pleased him. Dull anguish bloomed in Valerie’s belly, fanning her anger.

“I was impressed,” she clipped. “The French had a way with beauty and elegance.” She paused. “At one time.”

“I have no such loyalties, Valerie. You have missed your mark.”

Sweet tension rippled through her. He said her name as he used to on board ship, with French intonation, smooth and intimate.

“If you intended that as a pun,” she managed, “it was poorly done.”

“I am almost ashamed I did not.”

“Do you also not intend to plague me? If so, you should be ashamed at your failure at that too.”

“Plague you? Why, that sounds positively medieval.”

Valerie couldn’t bear it any longer. She did not wish to trade mild insults with this man, not for another minute and certainly not for another fortnight. She wanted nothing from him.

No. Now she lied to herself. She wanted everything.

She halted, wincing as her boots pinched. He drew his horse to a halt.

“Why don’t you hurry along?” she demanded. “You are not wanted here, and you will lose the way home if you do not keep up with your party.”

“It is unlikely. I misspent the better part of my childhood in this wood, you know.”

“How on earth could I know that? You haven’t told me a jot of truth about yourself since the moment we met. You are probably lying now.”

“Nonetheless, I appreciate your concern for my welfare,” he continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “But the others are more likely to miss you than me. I would be nobler to loan you my mount for the return.”

“Oh, no, my lord.” The words formed themselves upon her tongue without effort. “Nothing could possibly succeed at ennobling you, whatever exalted title you bear.”

His gaze hardened. Valerie’s breath failed. Alarm wrapped around her.

“Now whose gibe is poorly executed?” His voice pitched low.

“Does it bother you to have your noble worth challenged?” she said, grasping at words as a buffer from the cold seeping into her veins. “You didn’t seem to have a care for it last summer.”

“I hadn’t a care for much of anything then.”

Valerie gasped, but she bit back her protest. He had cared for her. She had seen it in the priest’s compassionate gaze, felt it in his touch, and again in the kitchen, the something that kept her dwelling upon him. Rage boiled beneath her skin, directed at herself now for wanting him despite his heartlessness.

“Leave me be.” She turned and set off swiftly along the path.

“Mabel? That is your name, isn’t it?”

Valerie swung around. He had dismounted and approached her maid. Mabel curtsied. Beneath the force of the nobleman’s golden gaze, the girl seemed speechless.