The Dangers Of Deceiving A Viscount (15 page)

“You are extraordinary,” he said softly. “I beg your pardon, Phoebe. For my sister, I beg your pardon.” He leaned forward and touched his lips to the cheek he’d rubbed with the obsidian stone. Phoebe drew a shallow breath, but she did not move. “And for me, I beg your forgiveness,” he said, touching his lips to the other cheek. Her skin was warm and smooth; he detected the scent of lilac and felt himself shift closer.

It was amazing to him that as a man, he was capable of deflecting most physical threats to his person, but the power of a woman’s beauty could defeat him every time. He was a slave to it, could not resist the allure, and Will impulsively touched his lips to hers. She scarcely moved, but he could feel her come closer. He caressed her neck and shoulder as he kissed her, fighting the urge to grab her up in his arms and make love to her.

Her hand came up between them, and she pressed lightly against his chest. When he lifted his head, Phoebe stared up at him with those glittering eyes and asked quietly, “Would you now use this detestable occasion to seduce me?”

“Are you seduced by an honest apology?” he responded with another caress of her shoulder.

“No. I am fatigued by it.”

He should have been put off, but he was, inexplicably, spurred on. “I can put it to rights,” he said earnestly as his eyes moved over her face and he grasped her shoulders with his hands. “Allow me to put it to rights.”

“Allow me to go to bed. I want to sleep and forget what happened. I want to finish my work here as quickly as possible and return to London.”

The thought of her leaving for London jolted something deep inside Will. He was only now beginning to appreciate the treasure under his roof, each moment with her another revelation. Who was this seamstress? How had she, in such short order, captured his attention so completely? Was it merely a man’s base desire that held him by the bollocks, the need to bed a woman?

Whatever it was, it was driving him mad with desire at the moment. He wanted to kiss this woman fully, wanted to feel her slender body in his arms. He was painfully aware that such thoughts conflicted with his responsibilities and principles. He had his siblings and his father and the search for his bride to occupy his thoughts—he’d vowed to himself and his father to set everything to rights as soon as was possible.

Yet somewhere in the last week, he’d left his desire unattended, unchecked, and it had sprouted like weeds, choking the life from his good intentions and convictions. He hardly needed the complication of an affair with a servant, no matter how much he wanted it.

Phoebe was right—the sooner she finished her work and returned to London, the better for them both.

She must have read his thoughts—she reached up and curled delicate fingers around his wrist and pulled his hand off her shoulder. “Good night, my lord.”

Will reluctantly stepped back. “Good night, Phoebe,” he uttered. With one last look at the bruise on her face, he made himself shove his hands into his pockets to keep from touching her again. “Keep the stone,” he said. “Rub it on your cheek in the morning. The bruise will disappear.” And with that, he walked out of that room before he did something he would very much regret.

Will went directly to his father’s bedchamber as he did every night.

At the advice of doctors, the Earl of Bedford followed a strict routine every day. He was awakened at dawn, dressed, and, weather permitting, taken into the gardens for the morning sun. After breakfast, he was wheeled into the green salon, where he was situated before the windows and a book was placed in his lap.

After luncheon, his father had another turn about the gardens, and was then put in the orangery, which received a good bit of afternoon sun and was very cheerful and warm, what with the various plants and orange trees kept within. Will usually joined his father for tea at five o’clock and reviewed the day’s events with him. The physician did not believe that the earl understood him, but Will knew that he did. They had a method of communicating—his father lifted one finger for yes, and two fingers for no.

Moreover, the earl’s red-rimmed eyes followed Will’s every gesture. He understood Will.

At night, Will would look in on his father before he retired. Tonight, his father was seated before the hearth; Jacobs, the footman who attended him around the clock, was readying his bed.

“Good evening, Father,” Will said, and bent to kiss the pink top of his bald head before taking a seat across from him in one of the wingback chairs situated before the hearth. He followed his father’s gaze to the ends of the neckcloth that trailed carelessly down his chest. Will smiled and pulled the neckcloth free of the collar. “It’s been rather a trying evening.”

The earl lifted his eyes to Will’s face, and Will suddenly stood and moved to the mantel, avoiding his father’s curious look. “I’ve had a rough patch,” he said, and looked at the palm of his hand a moment. “On my honor, I don’t know how to reach my siblings,” he blurted, and looked helplessly at his father. “They seem intent on scandal and personal ruin.”

The old man’s eyes were on him, staring intently.

“I wish I knew how you managed with me, my lord. I know I must have been rather difficult—I wanted so badly to experience life, did I not? Had it not been for your wisdom and patience…”

That gave Will pause. He’d never thought of it quite like that. He suddenly realized his father had recognized the chafing at the constraints of his position when Will was a young man and had given him the outlet he needed. He would never forget what the earl had said the day he’d proposed the Grand Tour to Will: “Years of responsibility lie ahead, son. Take the opportunity while you have it.” Will had done precisely that, and when he’d returned to England, he’d been ready to assume the responsibilities of his title and his role as his father’s heir.

Perhaps his siblings experienced the same sort of chafing. Until he’d returned, they had been virtual prisoners at Wentworth Hall, with no one to guide them or put them out in the world. With no legal access to the family coffers, they’d rotted in their peculiar prison. When Will had returned, he’d certainly given them no relief. If anything, he had reined them in to the point they now seemed to be champing at the bit.

Will suddenly turned and smiled at his father. “You have convinced me that my idea of a house party is an excellent one,” he said. “Indeed, the best way to put them into society is to personally introduce them.” He would bring society to them for a fortnight and conclude the affair with a grand ball. He could keep a close watch on them, could help them mingle properly with the local aristocrats and gentry. He glanced at his father again. “I know for sure now what I must do.”

His father blinked.

The door opened; Jacobs entered. “Shall I help the earl to bed, milord?”

“Yes,” Will said, and moved to put his hand on his father’s shoulder. He squeezed fondly, feeling some relief after the horrendous events of the day. “I shall see you on the morrow, my lord, and tell you what I have planned. Good night.”

T he first time Caroline Fitzherbert laid eyes on Lord Summerfield, he’d just returned from Egypt. She knew at the first meeting that he was the man she would marry. He was handsome and wildly virile, and, if her mother’s reconnaissance was to be believed, quite wealthy. Rumors of the demise of the Darby family were just that—empty rumors. It seemed that a legal complexity had kept the younger Darbys from the family money. Their wealth, thank heavens, was intact.

Summerfield had led an exciting life thus far—far more exciting than that of any other gentleman in Bedfordshire, Caroline was quite certain.

But Caroline was shrewd—she knew very well that all the unmarried ladies in Bedfordshire were vying for the viscount’s attention much like swine vied for truffles. They made complete cakes of themselves as they tripped over one another to put themselves in his path.

Caroline, on the other hand, was playing her hand carefully.

When her father happily presented an opportunity for an introduction to the viscount, Caroline declined, clearly flustering her father. Shortly thereafter, her mother pleaded with her to be presented to Summerfield, laying out all the reasons he would be a perfect match for her—as if Caroline needed to have that explained. Still, she refused. She reasoned that if she were introduced to the viscount too early, she would be but another female face, another sow in search of a truffle.

Her introduction had to be timed just right—after Summerfield believed he’d seen all there was to see in Bedfordshire.

When Caroline was convinced there were no birds left to twitter about him, she conceded to being introduced. Her father gleefully made the obligatory call on Lord Summerfield. Lord Summerfield and his brother Joshua, the one with the brooding brown eyes, returned the call, inviting the family to luncheon. And today, at long last, Caroline and her parents were guests at Wentworth Hall.

Unfortunately, she had not counted on all of Summerfield’s awful siblings being present. She had insisted her parents leave her two young brothers at home, as they could be nothing but a distraction. She had rather hoped Alice and Jane had been dispatched to a convent to live out their miserable lives, but alas, they were seated politely on the settee, their hands in their laps, their gowns apparently new, as they were much more stylish than anything she had ever seen them wear. She was, remarkably, a bit covetous of Alice’s gown in particular.

Jane, Caroline could not help notice, was unabashedly loud and talkative. Alice was subdued, but then again, the whole county knew of her utterly inconceivable infatuation with Roland Hughes—not to mention her indecorous meetings with him before Summerfield came home and put a stop to it. Alice Darby was little more than a trollop. The brothers, Joshua and Roger, looked rather bored by the polite company. The only exception to that was when Caroline caught Joshua looking at her—so intently that it rather startled her.

Nevertheless, Caroline suppressed a sigh of tedium before luncheon and focused on her parents.

Caroline’s father prided himself on his ability to converse with people from all walks of life, and he held the entire Summerfield family captive with his tale of a boar he’d chased for two years before shooting him last hunting season. While he spoke, Caroline contented herself with looking about the room and imagining the changes she would make when she was mistress here.

In Greenhill, everyone knew Summerfield was in the process of completely renovating the hall. Carpenters, painters, and craftsmen had been hired. This room had obviously benefited from his efforts—the carpet was new and thick, the drapes clean and pressed. The chair on which she sat felt as if it had been restuffed and the windows were so clean and clear that it almost seemed as if the glass was missing.

But the room was too dreary. There were too many dark colors and not enough floral prints. Furthermore, a peculiar little marble statue of an elephant being ridden by a woman who was nearly naked marred the entire room. In fact, when luncheon was called, Caroline took the opportunity to have a closer look.

She hadn’t realized Summerfield was near until he spoke. “You are admiring one of my favorite pieces. I had it sent from India.”

“It’s really rather indecent, my lord,” Caroline said.

Summerfield smiled down at her in a way that made her blood run hot. “Do you find the female body indecent?” he asked quietly. “I think she is beautiful.”

Caroline swallowed. “You must find English dress rather dull,” she said, arching her back a little to present her bosom.

Summerfield laughed and held out his arm. “Not at all, Miss Fitzherbert. I am a great admirer of anything that displays the feminine form. Shall we dine?”

He led her into the dining room, where her father’s long-winded tales—now featuring a horse race at some place or other—continued over a lunch of roasted quail and garden vegetables. While Summerfield asked pertinent questions and seemed attentive, it seemed to Caroline that Mr. Joshua Darby was in danger of falling asleep and landing, face-first, in his bowl of butternut soup, and that Alice felt the need to correct Jane’s use of a fork, to Jane’s great offense.

Caroline could not abide it another moment, and when her father paused to draw breath, she blurted, “Is it true you saved a ship’s crew from drowning, my lord?”

The question seemed to startle Summerfield. Across from her, Joshua rolled his eyes.

“Oh yes, do tell them, Will!” Jane cried. “I love the part where the swells are over your head.”

Caroline was appalled—Jane actually looked rather happy about a tragic shipwreck.

“Jane,” he said calmly, and to Caroline, “No, it is not true.”

“Oh.” She was, she realized, rather sorely disappointed.

“I managed to save only three men,” he said. “Regrettably, many, many more were lost.”

“Indeed?” her father said. “What happened?”

Summerfield shrugged uncomfortably. “A rather violent storm in the Straits of Gibraltar. The ship was run up against a reef and the hull cracked in two. Fortunately for me, there were several barrels of wine aboard that had been lashed together. I can credit my survival to a stroke of luck, for somehow I managed to get on top of the barrels. I used some flotsam to help the three sailors onto the barrels with me. We tried desperately to reach others, but the seas were quite violent and they were lost.”

“But…but how were you saved?” Caroline asked breathlessly.

“A companion ship,” Summerfield said. “My manservant, Addison, was on that one. They found us the next morning. It was a tragic accident.” He smiled. “How do you find the quail?” he asked, politely changing the subject.

But Caroline had lost her appetite. She kept looking at him, imagining him in a violent storm at sea, saving the lives of those poor sailors. It was terribly exciting.

When they finished luncheon and retired to the sunlight on the terrace, the two younger Darbys made their excuses—Jane loud and boisterous, of course—and disappeared inside. With her parents suitably engaged with Lady Alice and Joshua Darby, Caroline had the opportunity to speak with Lord Summerfield alone. They stood at the edge of the terrace. He asked her if she enjoyed the summer weather. She said that she did. She remarked that the long summer days suited horse enthusiasts, and wondered if he enjoyed riding as much as her father did.