The Madness of Viscount Atherbourne (Rescued from Ruin, Book One) (38 page)

Most strange.

“My lady, I was delighted to receive your
invitation, though I must tell you, it was a bit of a
surprise.”

The woman’s brows arched. “Oh, you mean
because of …” She gestured toward the terrace doors, then tsked and
swept her hand back and forth dismissively. “Pish posh. My dear
Lady Atherbourne, I regret that I misunderstood the events that
occurred when last you were here, but thankfully I have since
learned the truth of your situation.”

“You—you have?”

She nodded, gazing out over the crowd as a
queen would survey her subjects. “Indeed. Lady Wallingham has been
most informative.” Lady Gattingford opened her lace fan with a
flick of her wrist and gave Victoria a sideways smile. “I must say,
Stickley did seem a robust sort. One would never suspect his little
problem, but thank heavens your dear Atherbourne was so
persistent.”

“Er—problem?”

An eyebrow arched and the lady’s gaze drifted
to her smallest finger, extending straight outward from the lace
fan. Slowly, the finger curled downward. “A most unfortunate
malady, to be sure,” she whispered.

Realizing suddenly to what the matron was
referring, Victoria blushed furiously. “Lady Wallingham told you
that?
About Lord Stickley?”

The fan worked vigorously. “Oh, not to worry.
I am the soul of discretion. Besides, this has all worked out
rather well for you, has it not?” She pointed her fan in Lucien’s
direction. “Such a dashing young man. And to think he loved you so
dearly, he could not bear to be parted from you. Why, it fair stirs
my heart. Of course, there are those who will never understand the
siren call of great love. Lady Rumstoke and Lady Colchester have
not experienced it, so how could they possibly do so?
I,
on
the other hand, have been blessed to have made its acquaintance.
Just as you have, my dear.” Sniffing with emotion, she pressed her
fan over her heart as she gazed in the direction of a certain
bright-yellow waistcoat. “Is he not the handsomest man you have
ever seen?”

Victoria turned and saw Lord Gattingford
standing next to Lucien. Even now, her eyes found him as though
magnetized. “Yes,” she said softly. “He is.”

Their conversation ended as they were joined
by Lady Wallingham and Lady Berne, both dressed in jewel-toned
silk. Lady Wallingham did not wait long to send Lady Gattingford
scurrying. “Who would suspect so many would still be in town to
attend, eh? I am certain you would have arranged for additional
seating had you but known.” The arch tone and lofty tilt to the
dragon’s chin caused the hostess to excuse herself and hurry
through the crowd, presumably in pursuit of more chairs.

With a flick, Lady Wallingham deployed the
silk fan dangling from her wrist, examining Victoria through crafty
eyes. “I believe victory is ours, my dear. And a satisfying one it
is.”

Lady Berne smiled brightly and nodded in
agreement. “Everyone is saying what a handsome couple you and Lord
Atherbourne make. How it is easy to see it was love that brought
you together.”

Victoria pressed a hand to her chest,
realizing they were right—the scandal was over. Certainly, there
would still be those who remembered, and whispered about it. And
Lord Stickley might never forgive her—especially given the new
rumors the dragon had spread about him. But she and Lucien had been
accepted back into the fold. And she had Lady Wallingham and Lady
Berne to thank.

She began with Lady Wallingham. “My lady, I
do not know how to express the depth of my gratitude,” she began,
impulsively reaching out to take the dragon’s hands in her own. She
was mildly shocked at how fragile and small they felt. “Without
your support and wise counsel, this surely would not have been
possible.”

Momentarily surprised, Lady Wallingham froze
and stared back at Victoria. Lady Berne nudged her friend’s
shoulder. “Perhaps a simple, ‘You are welcome,’ would suffice,
Dorothea.”

Realizing Lady Wallingham was disconcerted by
the overture, Victoria loosened her hands immediately. But the old
woman clung and squeezed her fingers gently before releasing her.
“You will come and visit me at Grimsgate Castle,” she declared
superciliously. “It is the least you can do. Bring that scoundrel
you married.”

Victoria grinned and nodded. “It would be our
pleasure, my lady.”

She turned and hugged Lady Berne, whispering,
“I could not have asked for a better friend than you have
been.”

The diminutive, rounded woman sniffed and
then pulled back to beam a watery smile at Victoria. “I am
dreadfully happy for you, dear girl.”

For the next half hour, their triumph was
confirmed as Victoria was greeted warmly by several patronesses of
Almack’s, pulled aside for friendly conversation with a group of
debutantes—including the Aldridge twins—and complimented on her
gown seven times.

She had not been this popular
before
the scandal. Lady Wallingham’s influence was powerful, indeed.

Reaching the refreshment table, she sighed in
relief. The heat and closeness of the ball was positively stifling.
Even Lady Gattingford’s dreadful lemonade seemed tempting. She
poured herself a cup and sipped it, wishing she had thought to
bring a fan.

“I would offer to take you out to the
terrace,” a dark voice whispered in her ear, “but we would not want
to set tongues wagging again, would we?”

Her stomach gave a tiny flip of excitement.
Tingles ran up her arms and into her neck. Slowly, Victoria set her
cup on the table and turned. “Lucien,” she murmured softly.

His eyes—those beautiful, storm-cloud
eyes—sparkled and crinkled at the corners as he gave her a wicked
half-grin. Almost immediately, however, Lucien’s smile disappeared
and his gaze jerked away when they heard an announcement at the
entrance to the ballroom.

Her heart dropped, chest tightening painfully
as she swung around to see the man she had never expected to come
here, of all places.

What is he doing? Please, God. Please. Let
this night not turn into a disaster.

She felt Lucien move away, and after a
moment’s hesitation, followed him. By the time she reached his
side, he was already standing before her brother.

Looking cold, composed, and handsome in his
dark coat and breeches, Harrison greeted Lucien with a simple, if
terse, “Atherbourne.”

The crowd around them stared in silent
anticipation. Would they attack one another? Would one of the men
issue a challenge that would end in violence? Even Victoria did not
know. Long seconds passed in which she tried to think how to
prevent the coming confrontation. She could leap between them, but
that might make things worse. She could pull Lucien away, perhaps.
Or greet Harrison as though nothing was amiss. At best, it might
delay the inevitable, but at least it would save them all a
painfully public row. Deciding she must take action, she looped her
arm through her husband’s and said his name under her breath.

His other arm stretched forward without
warning, causing Harrison to frown and glance down—at the handshake
awaiting him.

“Your grace,” Lucien said, his voice strong,
his jaw determined.

Harrison grasped the offered hand, accepting
the truce with a polite nod. The handshake did not last long, but
it didn’t have to. The gasps of the crowd echoed her own
astonishment.

Consciously closing her mouth, she swung her
gaze rapidly between the duke and her husband. Two of the men she
loved most in the world.

Her brother bowed to her and reached for her
hands. “Victoria, you look lovely this evening. I trust you are …
well?”

Tears springing unexpectedly to her eyes, she
smiled up at Harrison and nodded. “I am …” She glanced to her right
where her husband still stood, his expression unreadable. “I am
better than I have been in a long while.”

Behind them, the first notes of a quadrille
began. Harrison asked Victoria if she would care to dance, and she
searched immediately for Lucien’s reaction. He gave her a half
smile and said, “Go and dance, love.”

She took her brother’s arm. As they made
their way through a press of bodies to the dance floor, Harrison
quietly asked, “You are truly happy, then?”

She considered the question. Was she happy?
After all that had occurred, all Lucien had done to damage her
reputation, and then her relationship with her family?

“Yes,” she answered finally. And it was true.
“Our marriage is far from perfect.
He
is far from perfect,
as am I. But we are connected—bound to one another in a way I
cannot explain. I love him. It gives me great hope for the
future.”

Harrison nodded and paused at the edge of the
dance floor, staring straight ahead at the dancers as they gathered
into the proper formation for the group dance. “He asked me to come
tonight, you know.”

“He did?”

He nodded. “Surprised me, as well. But as
long as his sole aim is to ensure your contentment, then we will
have few disagreements.” When he spoke again, his voice was
unusually thready. “That is all I ever wanted for you, Tori. To be
cared for as you deserve.” He cleared his throat before continuing.
“If you ever have need of me, you have only to say so. I shall
always be at your disposal.”

Oh, now he was truly going to turn her into a
watering pot.

“I know,” she said. “I love you too,
Harrison.”

Thankfully, their dance gave them an
opportunity to recover, and she was smiling from ear to ear by the
time they finished. Just then, Lucien arrived to claim her for a
waltz. He and Harrison acknowledged each other again, their
exchange polite, if a bit stiff and guarded.

“You have never looked more beautiful,
angel,” Lucien remarked as he swept her into his arms. “Or
happier.”

Her skin, her stomach, her heart—every part
of her sang and lit from within, overjoyed to be in his embrace
once more, even if it was only for a dance. “Thank you for what you
did, Lucien. Your cordiality toward Harrison was—Well, it meant a
great deal to me. If I seem happier, that is why.”

As they made a graceful turn, his eyes
captured hers. She was shocked by what she saw. It was as though a
veil had been stripped away, as though she were seeing Lucien for
the first time. Longing, regret, adoration. All were there, exposed
and offered without hesitation.

He loved her.

Her breath halted in her lungs.

“I would do anything for you, Victoria,” he
rasped. “For your happiness. Anything. I would swim until I drown.
Walk until no ground remained. You asked once if you mattered to me
at all. The answer is this—you are the
only
thing that
matters.”

Blinded by tears, she stumbled through
another turn. Lucien’s strong arms steadied her, then quickly swept
her off the dance floor, guided her through the doors and out to
the terrace.

The din of voices and music receded. Cool air
whispered across her skin, but she barely noticed. She covered her
face with her hands, tears leaking from her eyes and into her
gloves. Tears of relief, of joy.

He
loved
her. It was like a dream.

His arms wrapped around her and a hand
stroked her hair. “I am ashamed of the way I treated you, love. I
will understand if you cannot forgive me. I do not deserve it. But
I pray you will.”

She sobbed and grabbed his face in her hands.
Her mouth met his in a fiery charge, her tongue seeking his, her
hands clutching the sides of his head. Initially, he was too
stunned to react. But within seconds, he pulled her fiercely
against his body and took control of the kiss, pressing her aching
breasts flat against his chest, cupping her nape with one large
hand.

Pulling back to catch her breath, she braced
her hands on his chest and sobbed, “I love you so, Lucien. I might
burst with it.”

He chuckled and stroked the tears from her
cheeks, his forehead meeting hers. “I love you too, angel. Do you
know you have been that for me? My angel. You rescued me from a
very dark place.”

“I don’t know how you survived at all,
Lucien. Losing your family that way, and after Waterloo,” she
whispered. “I understand why you hated Harrison, why you felt it
necessary to try to gain justice.” A thought occurred to her, and
she groaned, shaking her head. “Colin behaved abominably toward
Marissa. Is it possible, do you think, for you to somehow forgive
him?”

“I—I honestly don’t know. His actions
resulted in my sister’s death. Forgiveness may not be possible.” He
paused. “But if realizing my mistakes has taught me anything, it is
this: The choice between your happiness and making Colin pay for
his sins is an easy one. I will always choose your happiness. I
will choose
you
above all else.”

She met his eyes, seeing the remorse swimming
there.

“If I could go back to the night when we
first met on this terrace, I would not have involved you—”

“If you hadn’t,” she said softly, “I might be
the Marchioness of Stickley at this very moment. And, believe me, I
much prefer being your viscountess.” Grinning, she gave him a
gentle kiss.

“I do not deserve you,” he said, his voice
raw, his eyes naked.

“Perhaps not. But you have me, just the
same.” She smiled up at him as a cool night breeze surrounded them.
It was a bit damp and smelled of coal smoke, but at least it was
not the stifling heat of the ballroom. She glanced reluctantly
toward the doors. “Do you suppose we must return to the ball? Oh,
Lucien, I cannot wait to depart for Thornbridge so we can truly
begin our life together. London is necessary, but I prefer the
country. Much better light. That reminds me, will there be a room I
can use as a studio? It needn’t be a bedchamber—”

“Victoria.”

“Yes?”

“Hush, so I may kiss you.”