Swept Away By a Kiss (23 page)

“Mabel, dear girl,” he said, taking her hands and pressing an object into them. “Be your mistress’s and my own greatest friend and allow us some distance to speak privately. Do not, however, take your eyes off her.” He smiled conspiratorially. “A gentleman needs a chaperone when in the presence of such a beautiful lady.”

Valerie watched dumbstruck as Mabel curtsied again, grinned at the coin in her palm, and walked in the direction of the village a dozen yards.

She rounded upon him. “What do you hope to accomplish with this?” Her heart raced as he moved toward her.

“I hope to encourage you to accept the offer of my mount,” he said, drawing the horse forward. He glanced at her feet, hidden beneath the hem of her gown. “You seem uncomfortable.”

Valerie’s heart turned over.

“Thank you for your inelegant concern, but a few blisters will not kill me,” she said, infuriated at how shaky her voice sounded. “My God, you must think I am an absolute fool. Oh, how stupid of me. I know you think I am a fool. You have already made that clear.”

“Valerie.”

“Don’t say my name.” She shuddered. It was too achingly familiar. “You have not earned the privilege.”

“Then what should I call you? ‘My lady’ suits every woman in that drawing room. It is common.” His golden eyes shone bright and sharp. She didn’t understand his meaning. He narrowed the space between them and Valerie sensed his heat, his scent, everything she had longed for, for so many months.

“What are you doing?” She should move away. “What is this game you are playing now? Is it new, or simply part of the old game, more deceit and pretense?”

She gasped as he slipped his hands beneath her cloak and around her waist. Ready for her body’s trembling betrayal, she did not anticipate her heart’s tight lurch. His hands upon her felt like heaven. Like coming home.

“No pretense,” he said, his grip firm. “Only what I have said very clearly.” In one smooth movement he lifted her onto his horse’s back. Valerie wavered, then grabbed onto the beast’s mane. His hands dropped from her waist and he moved to his mount’s head.

“Tristan is not a pretty fellow, but he is gentle. He will treat you well.” He extended the reins to her.

Valerie stared, bewildered. No emotion colored the man’s amber eyes, nothing she could read or understand, not even mockery. He had shuttered his thoughts.

She grabbed up the leather straps and gripped the saddle bow. He curved his gloved fingers around the horse’s bridle ring and started them down the path. The animal’s gait proved smooth, like his master’s lies. Silence filled the chilly air, disturbed only by the sounds of boots and hooves upon the hard path and the calls of winter birds, the air crisp with pine and sun.

“You hurt me.” The words popped through her lips.

“Your defenses were inadequate.” He did not turn, his shoulders rigid.

“I never thought I would need any.”

“Ever the excuse of the aggressor.”

Valerie’s insides quavered. Why had she told him the painful truth? He must know it already.

“I was frightened.”

“I would wager gold upon the certainty, madam, that you have not been frightened a day in your life.”

Valerie could insist that she had been consumed with fear every moment aboard ship. But it would be a lie as bold as his. She had not been frightened with him.

“You let me believe a lie,” she persisted. “You knew I was torn with guilt.”

He turned, drawing the horse to a halt. His eyes shone like polished crystal.

“I had no idea of your guilt, only your opportunism. As that was—by your own admission—your usual style of action, I didn’t pay it any attention.”

Valerie couldn’t breathe, and she could not believe her foolishness. She was still searching for the man she knew briefly at sea, hoping and yearning for him. But this man with the cold eyes and sharp tongue was a stranger. She released the saddle and pushed herself off the horse’s back. Ashford moved swiftly and his hands cinched around her waist as she dropped.

“You have nearly a mile to walk to the castle yet,” he said. “You do not appreciate my gallantry with sufficient grace, I think.” His hold upon her tightened. Valerie’s body flooded with heat. His strength and rigid reserve burned into her through his touch.

“Take your hands off me,” she said, her words coming out like a breath. “Take them off now.”

His beautiful lips curved up at one edge. Mocking again, it seemed, but she stood too close to be certain, to even think. He did not release her.

“Why are you taunting me?” She tried to make her voice firm, but inside she foundered. If he asked, she would give herself to him, however he wanted her and for however long, let her reputation be damned a final, irredeemable time. She had wanted him for so many months, yearned for him when she thought she could not have him. Now her need was beyond measure.

“What do you hope to gain from this?” she said in a strangled whisper, tears prickling in her throat.

Slowly the hardness slid away from his eyes, replaced by something else, something familiar. Warm, deep, and real. Valerie’s universe stilled.

“You are the same man.”

Steven slipped his hand up along the gentle slope of Valerie’s waist. Her sigh mingled with the whirlwind in his head, telling him to take her now, to answer the hunger in her sea-clouded eyes.

He wanted to. Dear God, how he wanted her, far more than he had wanted any woman. Just as he wanted her while aboard his ship, from the first moment he saw her, with a yearning greater than physical need. It had only grown with each encounter, her sincerity and passion for life delving into him like dagger thrusts.

He trailed his hand along her neck, reveling in the sweet curves of her body as he cupped her lovely face. Her lips parted, exquisite. He could already taste her, remembering her flavor and the eager caress of her mouth so well. For six months he had dreamed of kissing her again, this time to feel her mouth upon his body, to fall deep into her ocean eyes and allow himself to remain there.

He brushed his thumb across her lower lip. Frozen air curled between them.

She was wrong. This moment was a ruse, but not to trick her. To fool himself. He needed to be with her, to linger in her presence. To feel fully alive. To make this his reality.

He released her and backed away. She gasped, stunned. But she did not speak or challenge him, and that proved worse than his frustrated need.

Unable to look at her longer, he took up the reins again.

“No doubt you wish to call your maid,” he made himself say in his most insouciant aristocrat’s voice, as though his blood weren’t rushing like a tidal wave bent upon destruction. He put his foot in the stirrup and vaulted atop Tristan’s back.

“I asked you what you hope to gain from this.” Her voice was taut. “At least tell me that, so I can understand for once.”

“Why, dearest Lady Valerie,” he drawled, readjusting his hat as though its positioning were of utmost importance, “my own amusement, of course.”

He glanced behind him, making certain her maid approached. With a touch of his fingers to the brim, he spurred his horse forward, back to the house, to warmth and camaraderie and all the inanities he cared nothing about as he left his heart upon the path behind.

Chapter 22

V
alerie, your fingers are drilling a hole in that chair arm. Lady March will not appreciate needing to have it mended.” The Earl of Alverston’s voice came across the sunlit parlor in a mellow rumble.

Valerie snapped her gaze from the fire to her brother. He reclined in a chair, sunshine spilling through the paneled window onto him. His eyes were closed, hands clasped around a journal propped upon his chest.

Valerie pursed her lips. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I was asleep until you woke me with that drum honor. It lacks only a fife to make me long to stand and march.” He didn’t even flicker an eyelid.

Valerie grinned. She’d joined him to avoid playing cards with the other guests in the drawing room. The day was frigid, so she had to scotch her plan to avoid the Viscount of Ashford by taking her horse out. When Valentine announced he would eschew more party games in favor of stealing off to read
The Times
in Lady March’s little blue parlor on the opposite side of the castle, Valerie went along.

Her brother fell asleep within minutes. He and the other gentlemen, it seemed, had lingered late at billiards the night before. Valerie knew this because she knew everything the gentlemen did if the Viscount of Ashford was part of the group. She was dying to ask Valentine if he had spoken to Ashford. But if she asked, he would wonder about her interest. Valerie would not be able to tell him, because she did not know.

Her body burned each time he came near, and his touch in the woods left her trembling for the remainder of the day. It was as though he could not help but touch her, as she longed to be touched. He haunted her thoughts, her very blood and bones. Her mind and heart were a chaos.

“Why don’t you go practice, sister dear?” Valentine mumbled. “I hear Margaret keeps a fine pianoforte in the music room.”

Valerie glanced at her nervous fingers. She wasn’t overly fond of playing. But at least it would give her mind and anxious hands something to dwell upon other than the mercurial Lord Ashford and his changeable, fire-flecked eyes.

She stood up. “Do you plan to fence this afternoon? Lord March scheduled the tourney for after luncheon.”

“Mm-mnh.”

Valerie walked over to her brother and dropped a light kiss upon his brow. He grunted, and she patted him upon the shoulder.

“I am off to practice, then.”

A footman directed her toward the castle’s west end and Valerie discovered the passageway to the music room. Raised voices issued from an open door.

“I do not wish to speak to Ashford, Alistair.” The Marquess of Hannsley’s deep tones carried into the corridor. “I am under no obligation to you, and I have no wish for any commerce with him.”

Valerie stepped toward the wall and pretended to study a small painting there. She had to stretch to hear Mr. Flemming’s voice, quiet and conciliating in tone.

“You may find that he has a proposition to tempt you, Clifford. Since the law changed, you cannot be so satisfied with business affairs to pass up such an opportunity.”

“My business affairs are none of yours,” Lord Hannsley countered. “How is it that I have never heard of Ashford’s illicit activities before this?”

Valerie’s eyes flew wide. Mr. Flemming’s voice seemed to shrug in response.

“Perhaps you don’t know everything there is to know about the trade, after all, cousin. He has rather widespread interests. You limit yourself to too narrow a field. The East has a great deal to offer, and Ashford’s business puts him upon coasts that are nearly untapped. Unpatrolled waters . . .” Mr. Flemming uttered the final words rather too casually.

Valerie waited.

“What do you know of Ashford’s ships?” Lord Hannsley finally asked.

“I have access to some papers, and maps as well. They would be of no interest to you, of course, a man whose business is already so successful.”

Footfalls approached the door. Valerie jumped back. But Lord Hannsley’s words halted Mr. Flemming.

“What do you want for it, Alistair? And understand that if you agree to this it will not go well for you if you play me false. I will expect to learn everything.”

Valerie held her breath through the long pause.

“Five thousand. I have too much at stake to risk it for less.”

Lord Hannsley chuckled derisively. “You are a fool, Alistair. You will have your paltry five thousand when you have delivered me Ashford’s interests.”

“Upon a silver platter, Clifford.”

Valerie didn’t stay to be discovered, ducking past the door and running the rest of the way to the music room. She spent the next hour moving her hands across the keyboard, but whether she played she didn’t know.

Mr. Flemming clearly planned to act as a spy against the viscount and as an informer to Lord Hannsley. Flemming had meant his words of entreaty only to whet Lord Hannsley’s appetite for acquisition, not partnership as he initially suggested. He was double-dealing, and the marquess agreed to it.