Defying The Earl

She swallowed hard as good sense forced a reply past her lips. “The fault is all mine.” With no wish to draw attention to their prone forms the words whispered from her lips as if an illicit proposition instead of an innocent plea for pardon. A sketch of a smile tilted his mouth and their gazes locked.

“Very well then, I claim no harm.” He clasped the book more firmly and placed a gloved hand below her elbow, bringing them once again to eye level. His arm brushed against hers as they re-entered the circle and his muscles, hard through the cloth of his waistcoat, caused her breath to catch and her brain to question the sudden and uncomfortable awareness of his body so near to hers.

Then he did the unspeakable, and reached forward to tap the front of her temple, his bare fingertip brushing through the wisps of her hair. “I presume the knock did not so much rattle your brain as your constitution. I assure you no one knows of the blunder beyond this congenial circle of friends.”

How dare he be charming and make mortifying matters worse? She’d never be able to converse, to engage Leonard and Fiona in flirtatious interplay, if he stood nearby watching, breathing. She cleared her throat and steadied her nerves.

Conversation had resumed when someone lifted the volume of poems from his grasp, and flipped it open to a random page. Wilhelmina gathered her wits and forced a smile. Best she ignore Lord No Name and carry on as if he didn’t exist.

But her vow proved impossible as he plucked the volume from Lord Rigby’s hand next and began reciting poetry in a delicious tenor that caused `flesh to prick her skin, no matter layers of clothing protected her heart. Her cheeks warmed and, all of a sudden discomfited, she could only focus on his voice reciting one of her favorite Byron poems. It was as if she was hearing it for the first time, his exacting enunciation and emotional intonation spoken in the most wonderful tones until he uttered the last syllable. Her heart beat a rapid applause.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a romantic, Dashwood.” Leonard Rigby nabbed the volume at the poem’s end and darted a glance in Fiona’s direction.

“Public presentation must be a family trait. Your brother and Lord Beaufort were walking through Mayfair last night reciting a Shakespearean sonnet.” Lady Childs twittered after the confession. “Or at least I believe it’s what the gentlemen attempted. Your brother keeps lively company while in town, does he not, Lord Dashwood?”

“Jasper and I are as salt and pepper, naturally paired, yet drastically different depending upon one’s taste.” His witty reply caused a ripple of laughter in the conversation while the ladies offered fawning eyes in his direction.

Lord Dashwood. At least now she had a name. And a brother named Jasper. Younger, perhaps, from the protective note buried in his flippant retort. She glanced in his direction as he conversed with Lady Childs, the lady seemingly delighted with his attention and blatantly flirting beneath lowered lashes. Some unreasonable emotion made Wilhelmina urge to disrupt the moment, but then distracted by Lord Dashwood’s fine profile, she lost the objective.

“I have always favored Byron, although I am fond of most poetry. The harmony of each verse and the fluidity of the words never fail to bring serenity to my soul. Who do you prefer, Lord Rigby?” Lady Fiona fluttered her fan and sent a coy glance in Leonard’s direction.

The action jolted Wilhelmina’s awareness to her purpose. Enough of pondering Lord Dashwood. His presence was more nuisance than aid. Here lay the perfect opportunity to fortify her effort and bring the matched couple together.

“I’ve always believed the same. By all means, let me begin.” Leonard Rigby cleared his voice and slanted his body as if reciting for Fiona alone. Wilhelmina admired his devotion.

“Rigby? Poetry? If my memory serves, at university you categorized prose as senseless drivel unworthy of the page unless the goal was set at seduc—”

“Indeed!” Lady Pridley interjected with a sharp rap of her fan to Dashwood’s forearm. “One does not point out a change in opinion, most especially when the lady prefers it otherwise.”

Wilhelmina snorted at the reprimand. Four sets of eyes swung in her direction and she camouflaged her delight with a cough. Lord Dashwood was proving entertaining if nothing else. She did not need his interference when things were proceeding so swimmingly between Fiona and Leonard. If their love match proved this simple, Wilhelmina’s payment was in reach before month’s end. The very idea brought a smile to her face, a balm to any lingering fears.

“Perhaps you misunderstood.” Leonard attempted to erase the abashed look on Fiona’s face at hearing Dashwood’s comment, but the dinner bell rang and the group dispersed. Wilhelmina watched closely as Fiona accepted Leonard’s escort into supper. She was left standing near the bookcase and that suited, as her equilibrium remained off kilter from her exchange with Lord Dashwood.

Aunt Kate came to claim her arm while Wilhelmina contemplated his irritating presence. One did not purposely expose another’s inconsistencies. It just wasn’t done. Despite her earlier enchantment, Wilhelmina wondered at the man’s fickle charms. He had displayed equally curious emotions when they collided in the roadway. Best she push the matter aside. Lord Dashwood fitted nowhere in her plan to match Leonard and Fiona, his presence mattering little in the larger scheme of things. Wilhelmina planned to see Leonard and Fiona happily paired despite whatever periphery nonsense her heart incited.

Chapter Six (#ulink_03220ec7-962b-5c37-b072-86d2879c3588)

Well, that was not well done of him. The disparaging glares cast in his direction when he contradicted Rigby’s announcement of a fondness for poetry were more unsettling than the notion of destitution. Well, almost. Surely poverty would offer him the opportunity for equal censure if he did not have a care. Nearsightedness as it pertained to conversation would do little to ingratiate his company if he abandoned finesse. His focus may be solely on destroying Leonard’s affection toward Fiona, but it would not be achieved in a heavy-handed manner, the likely approach employed by Leonard’s father.

Curse Jasper and his lack-witted idea. A more sensible policy would provide his brother stop gambling, wasting funds, and idling away time, as Valerian had warned him to do years ago. Instead Valerian was forced into a role of falsity, trussed up like a holiday goose in an uncomfortable sample ensemble. He clenched his teeth and revised his approach. Although the dinner bell had rung, several couples still milled in the hallway while others conversed near the windows. Time held firm for an alternate plan.

“Lady Collingsworth, may I beg a word?” He executed a polite bow and called forth his most charming smile for the evening’s hostess.

“Lord Dashwood, such a delight.” The older woman, fanning her face madly, offered him complete attention with a grin, the effusive scent of orchids floating around her person. “I’m so pleased you chose to attend. You’re looking well. I’d venture to say this return to London is quite timely as I rarely entertain once the season is in full swing.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it.” Not for five thousand pounds. He exhaled deeply, gathering his makeshift plan close to heart and producing another smile.

“Have you tried the curried shrimp? My cook prepared an exquisite menu and the appetizers are merely a taste.” She inclined her head to compensate for the loud conversation as the crowd moved toward the dining room. Her expression shifted from pride to question.

He returned her enthusiasm. “Everything has been lovely. Beyond my expectations, but may I inquire of the seating this evening? Would it pose an imposition for a slight realignment in regard to the meal’s dining arrangement?”

“Aah, romance.” An expression of slight misgiving, then realization dawned. “You have your eye on a particular lady, you scoundrel? And to think I believed your brother the rabblerouser in your family.” Her cheeks took on a crimson glow as if she spoke from experience rather than assumption. “Consider it done. Never would I stand in the way of blossoming affection, most especially when you’ve been absent from the social scene. It’s a genuine pleasure to have you at the table. Feel free to rearrange the cards to ensure you converse with the lady who has captured your interest. Good luck with your chase.” She fluttered her satin-gloved hand in the direction of the dinner table as if to encourage him to interfere with her meticulous planning.

“You flatter me, Lady Collingsworth, when it is I who should thank you for your gracious invitation on such short notice. I appreciate your agreeability.” He took a few steps to the right, anxious to reach the place cards before guests advanced to their seats.

“Nonsense, the pleasure is mine. Now you should be about your plan before my guests descend on the table and you’ll have no choice but to watch some other lucky gentleman woo the woman who’s turned your head.” She withdrew as she spoke. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to oversee dinner service.”

Three strides took him nearer the table but his steps slowed as he noticed Lady Montgomery intent on the same direction, her head bowed in the similar manner as when she’d found her way into a roadway ditch. He watched, bemused, as candlelight danced on the silky strands of her hair, hues of brandy and mahogany swept in a lovely style and pinned behind her neck with an ornate clip. Her eyes darted right and left as if ensuring no one noticed her purposeful presence, but how could one ignore her? There was nothing singularly unique about the gown, nor the coiffure or jewelry, yet her grace was natural, her beauty pure; as if she alone was the sole lady in the room.

She shot a second glance over her shoulder before her eyes bowed to the table. He watched with stunning anticipation as she palmed two seating cards and replaced them further down the table with the smooth efficiency of a practiced thief. If he wasn’t so intrigued by her actions, he might have admired her spunk and fortitude. She wore a triumphant smile. Whatsoever was the lady up to? There was only one way to find out.

“Lady Montgomery.” He adjusted his cuffs in feigned preoccupation, although he hadn’t missed the startle of her shoulders when he’d eased behind her. A few feathery wisps of hair had escaped her coif and the desire to nuzzle her neck, to feel the silky softness of her skin entered his mind with unexpected clarity. Reclaiming his focus with a strong blink, he thrust the thought aside and pursued his answer. “Whatsoever are you doing redesigning Lady Collingsworth’s table? Was the guest to your right an unbearable bore or did you merely wish to sit beside me?”

She drew a quick breath at his question and then stared at the table as if she didn’t realize what she’d perpetrated.

“The choice between boredom and your company would be an exercise in redundancy, Lord Dashwood.”

Her flippant tone contradicted the tremble of her chin. She’d been caught and entirely unsettled by the matter, yet she’d managed a sharp set down despite the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. Bravo.

Valerian glanced at the place cards directly in front of him and a flame of annoyance licked at his brain. Lady Montgomery had rearranged Lord Rigby’s seat so the gentleman belonged beside Lady Fiona. If she’d left well enough alone, fate would have done his job. Lady Montgomery’s meddling would become a nuisance if she persisted.

“I doubt Lady Collingsworth would countenance your interference of her place settings. Women go to great lengths to manage their tables. There must be a very important reason for you to shuffle the deck.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Perhaps that rap on the head addled your wits more than mine.”

She eyed him with cautious attention and sarcasm crept into her tone, yet although her words were biting, her face looked as anxious and bewildered by her comments as he should be. And while her rebuke was meant to wound, her eyes said something else entirely. Here stood a woman who likely had not one contrary bone in her body, her sable brown gaze as clear as her conscience. So why would she be anxiously manipulating the place settings?

He dropped his eyes to the damask tablecloth, the noisy shuttle of silverware indicating guests claimed their places. Time had run out. His name card sat to the left of hers. That had been the card she’d replaced, hadn’t it? He flicked his eyes to her guileless face. Was it an accident or an intentional maneuver on her part? She couldn’t have vied to place him by her side, could she? A tic of curiosity overpowered better sense and sent his pulse into a wild thrum. Foolish, very foolish.

Lady Montgomery’s face remained expressionless, her lips as silent as an empty vault. To make matters worse, opportunity was no longer his ally as people took their seats, Leonard chatting profusely as he escorted Lady Fiona to her place.

They were well into the soup course and Valerian remained confused with Wilhelmina’s intent. She spoke little, exemplified the finest manners, and cared not a whit he sat by her side which confirmed his earlier suspicion she held another aim to her purpose. Between bites she conversed politely with the lady to her right, but that conversation too, the fashion trend of feathered bonnets, would not instigate a need to reorganize the seating. What could she be up to? If she held no purpose in sitting beside the guest to her right, and paid him no attention at her left, little sense was to be made of the situation.

Meanwhile, Leonard and Fiona exchanged engaging glances at every opportunity, their lively banter littered with double entendre and flirtation. The evening was on a quick downslide to disaster.

Valerian cleared his throat and feigned interest in the tedious conversation holding him captive. Lord Fielding seemed determined to learn every nuance of Valerian’s life since he’d last visited London.

“Quite a substantial estate you have in Devonshire. Acres of rolling countryside, herds of sheep, and a majestic parkland home. It’s no surprise you’d prefer rural living to the congestion and pollution we endure here in London. I had the pleasure of your father’s invitation years ago.”

“You’ve quite a memory.” Valerian bit back a grimace at the pastoral scene Fielding’s words painted. At one time the description fitted Kirby Park aptly, but time and circumstance had altered the conditions of his inheritance with great impact. A wish to restore the estate’s grandeur remained his highest priority and life’s purpose. It took two seasons to shed the morose temperament brought on by Caroline’s jilt. Now he was ready to proceed. If only Jasper had not depleted their coffers so dramatically. “I don’t recall your visit. Was I in house?”

“I believe you were away at university. It might have been your third year. Back then your father cajoled a group of us to join him for a series of weekly card game. If my memory serves correctly, I took a fleecing the first time I participated.” Fielding released a good-natured laugh before emptying his wine glass. “But the following week I did better. They were good times with spirited friends.”

“Aah, well then that would explain it.” Had he the monies of which Fielding spoke, Valerian could repair the lost shingles on the roof or replace the cracked window in the front hall. He’d only managed to keep his head above water by closing off most of the house, selling the furniture for less than its worth, and maintaining a menu of the scarcest variety. Perhaps that was the reason the steaming bowl of lobster bisque before him tasted heavenly. It couldn’t be the company. Lady Montgomery had hardly spoken a word, too busy devouring Leonard and Fiona’s flirtatious banter as if it provided sustenance. Could she be yearning for attention? Desperate for a courtship as romantic as the one unfolding to his left? Pity, she would soon be disappointed as he vanquished their happily ever after and collected his five thousand pounds.

Failure. The word repeated like a litany in Wilhelmina’s brain, yet she couldn’t shake the insult as opportunity offered her every advantage and still she prevaricated. Fiona and Leonard were seated beside each other. Aunt Kate had taken her place at the opposite end of the table allowing Wilhelmina the ability to speak unhindered, and she’d mastered her rearrangement of the place cards with recognizable success. What little interference Lord Dashwood perpetrated did not bear on the result, yet she sat frozen in her seat, unable to articulate any useful conversation, her stomach a jumble of mixed emotion and self-recrimination. She reached for her wine goblet in search of liquid fortification and the action drew his perspicacious attention. A quick flick of her eyes and she was under his midnight-blue scrutiny, entirely unsettled by an unnerving attraction beyond her control.

“Cat have your tongue, Lady Montgomery? You had no trouble reprimanding me earlier.” His voice full of censure, he offered a slow deliberate smile. “Or are you feeling unwell this evening? You’ve been quieter than a church mouse.”