Rake in the Regency Ballroom: The Viscount Claims His Bride / The Earl's Forbidden Ward

Chapter Seven

‘You hesitated, Philippa,’ Valerian said matter of factly, guiding her around a large stone in the centre of the path. ‘Did you fear being alone with me?’

‘Don’t overestimate yourself.’ Philippa fought the urge to give an unladylike laugh. ‘I recall the last time we were alone, you ended up with my hand across your face. If either of us should fear being alone with the other, it should be you.’

Valerian tossed her a sideways glance. ‘I must correct you. That wasn’t the last time we were alone. Yesterday, I thought we did very well together. I thought our conversation was quite civil. As for the other time you are referring to, I am still not sure if the slap was meant for me or if I was merely an available target for your own personal frustration.’

The man’s arrogance was phenomenal. But she was thankful for it. Fighting with him was better than wallowing in silence with her fantasies about the man she wished he was. ‘Enlighten me. What would I be frustrated about, if not your outlandish assumption that I was inviting your attentions out there on the balcony?’

They called an implicit truce while Valerian helped her over a small pile of scrim. The path smoothed out and argument resumed. In a detached part of her mind, Philippa thought the scene would be quite funny if played out on stage—their courteous behaviours being interspersed with the contradiction of the verbal spears they hurled.

‘Outlandish?’ Valerian repeated with calculated incredulity. ‘I believe “outlandish” refers to being odd or strange. My dear, I regret to inform you my “assumptions” were anything but “outlandish”. You did not find my “assumptions” strange or odd in the least. Perhaps you’re looking for a different word?’

‘I don’t know what that would be,’ Philippa snapped.

Valerian gave a shrug and a sigh. ‘I don’t know either. Perhaps a word denoting “liking” or “appreciation”? After all, you did like my kisses. Point of fact, you liked them so much, you managed to kiss me back quite thoroughly before you managed to slap me. By the way, I find that deuced unfair—slapping me for your kissing.’

‘No gentleman would ever speak to a lady in such a manner!’ Philippa fumed. The man was more than arrogant. He was a positive boor. ‘How dare you make such assumptions!’

‘Oh, that word again, “assumptions”,’ Valerian parried with feigned blitheness. ‘I think before we go any further we should define precisely what you mean when you say “assumptions”. I’m starting to believe you and I use the word differently.’

Philippa’s temper flared again. ‘If this is your idea of diplomacy, Britain is lucky not to be engaged in a conflict of major proportions.’ She regretted her words instantly. Valerian’s face went strangely blank for a moment, his eyes giving the impression that his thoughts were suddenly far away. The impression was so fleeting that the next moment Philippa wondered if she hadn’t imagined it.

‘But this is not a diplomatic mission, my dear, it is a walk to a folly with an old friend who, frankly, seems a bit confused about her feelings.’

‘You dare too much.’ Philippa stopped and withdrew her hand from his arm, her voice as stiff as her spine. The cad had gone too far. She would argue with him about stolen kisses or ‘assumptions’ or whatever he wanted to call them, but she would not countenance this effort to make their past history her fault. Neither would she let him portray her as a wanton widow eager to bed down with any handsome house guest.

‘You cannot come back into my life after what you did and expect to be forgiven on two days’notice. Neither can you expect me to engage in whatever kind of affaire de coeur you are used to carrying on with women of your acquaintance.’ She knew very well the kind of women who peopled Valerian’s diplomatic circles.

To her satisfaction, Valerian did have the decency to look penitent. ‘Are you finished?’ he said quietly, the toe of his boot digging out a muddy hole in the ground.

For a moment Philippa felt awful. She’d been too harsh. She’d let him get the better of her. But she found her resolve. She would not be won so easily. He had to be accountable for his actions. It was best for both of them to know how she felt. ‘Yes, I believe I am finished.’

Valerian’s voice was subdued. ‘Suffice it to say, I didn’t want things between us to end that way.’ He shook his head as if to dispel unpleasant memories. ‘I didn’t want to make you cry. I don’t expect you to forget what passed between us. However, I would welcome any forgiveness you’d be willing to offer. Over the years, have you ever thought once that maybe I had my reasons and those reasons had to remain secret? After all, you knew me to be a man of honour, Philippa.’

Philippa shook her head in denial, her voice matching him in despairing softness. ‘No, Valerian, I know no such thing.’

‘So be it,’ he said quietly in tones that passed for the barest of whispers. He offered her his arm again and they trudged forth in silence, but Philippa was not immured from the hurt that had flitted across his face at her words. She was not a cruel person inherently or by design and she regretted her words, although she did not regret thinking them. They represented the empirical truth as she knew it. Still, a part of her did not welcome hurting Valerian, and that part worried her very much.

They did not speak again until they reached their destination. ‘Ah, there it is, Trist’s folly, or what there is of it,’ Valerian said with a modicum of gallantry to cover the silence that had sprung up between them.

‘Yes, there it is.’ Philippa offered half-heartedly. She wasn’t thinking of the stone grotto slowly being renovated, but of a different folly; this one being a handsome man with broad shoulders who was busy stripping out of his expensive coat and rolling up his sleeves a few feet away from her to better explore the rocks that lay haphazardly about the grotto.

Philippa found a flat slab of granite and sat down, to wait and to watch. Handsome is as handsome does. The nursery-room warning clanged in Philippa’s head. Valerian had certainly proved the adage true. He’d stolen her débutante’s heart with hard, full-mouthed kisses and soft promises that roused her budding sense of passion. Then he’d disappeared from England without a backwards glance or even a letter. Still, the old memories, memories that predated heartbreak and harked back to a better time, persisted, a time when she’d believed differently.

She’d enjoyed watching Valerian in gardens before. He would wander around in silence and then suddenly remark, ‘wouldn’t this be a lovely place for a fountain?’ or ‘a maze would be a splendid addition here’. In their youth they’d often used the pretence of looking at landscapes to steal a private moment. Only, it hadn’t been so much a pretence since Valerian made a regular habit of mentally rearranging everyone’s garden.

The recollection made her smile now while she watched him stroll about the grotto. Watching him, so absorbed in his study, she could almost believe time had stood still. Errant strands of his hair were being blown in his face by the light breeze. He bent occasionally to study the stones that seemed to intrigue him. The expensively cut shirt moulded his strong physique to perfection across the expanse of his shoulders and the exquisite muscles of his back.

Valerian turned towards her, a hand pushing his hair back from his face. ‘Come and see this prospect. The view from the north-west corner is outstanding. I think I’ll tell Trist he should build rockeries, too. The quartz-veined rock from Carne Quarry at Nare Head would be handsome here.’

At his words, a stab of yearning speared through Philippa, causing a near-physical pain. Hot words and devastating past aside, in that moment he was the old Valerian, the one she’d thought she’d loved, and she wanted him. This was no lustful coveting of his body. No, she wanted more than sex from him, although she wanted that, too. She wanted Valerian Inglemoore body and soul, the way she thought she’d had him when they were younger. She wanted to know what he was thinking the moment he thought it. She wanted to anticipate his every desire. It had been years since she’d felt a longing so complete, so intense, and never with anyone but him.

Time stood still, then fractured into a kaleidoscope of half-forgotten memories. She was in his arms, although she hadn’t the faintest idea how she’d got there or when he’d moved. His lips were on hers, full and demanding. His mouth possessed her and she returned it with a possession of her own. Someone was crying, and she had the vague impression it was her own sobs. Valerian’s hands were rough on her body and his breath was ragged as he ravaged her mouth. She did not care. They were both frantic.

He was a master at this, kissing her with insistency, his tongue probing her mouth, his teeth nipping her bottom lip and sucking hard. His hands moved from her waist to expertly cup and caress her breasts, kneading them through the fine wool of her gown until they were erect with need.

Philippa caught fire. All she could do was wrap her arms about his neck and press into him until she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began. But it wasn’t enough. She wanted to throw off her clothes and let his hands range free on her body no longer hampered by the fabric of her gown and the undergarments beneath.

She could feel his body rise, burning hot and hard. His erection was full and insistent against the folds of her skirt. His hands had moved to gather up the material of her dress and she could feel his body, taut with desire and anticipation. No wonder he’d had half of Europe on its knees.

All reason fled. She cared not a whit for the hardness of the granite slab beneath her back or for the painful ghosts of the past. She cared for nothing save the heat of Valerian’s body as it covered hers in an attempt to assuage the need that coursed through them both.

Valerian, green eyes forest-dark with desire, hesitated for a moment. ‘Philippa, are you sure?’

‘Val, I want…’ She met his eyes, searching for what it was that she so desperately sought—that her Valerian existed, that this moment was the moment she’d thought to claim so many years ago. But it wasn’t there, not really. This was wrong, no matter how right it felt. And she remembered why. She had loved him. He had shared her passion, but not her depth. He’d scorned her and sent her off to marry another man.

‘Yes, what do you want?’ Valerian panted.

‘I want to believe,’ she said softly, her arms twining around his neck, pulling him down to her in mute apology. ‘But I can’t. Not yet.’

‘I can make you believe again, Philippa,’ Valerian vowed. ‘Let me try,’ he pleaded, every ounce of his muscle straining in desire as he held himself in check.

She held him there, full against her. She couldn’t deny that she wanted him, but she didn’t want him, not as a fiction. ‘Don’t do this. I won’t have it. You had your dalliance with me years ago. I won’t be played for the fool again.’

‘You were never my fool, Philippa.’ He raised himself up on his arms, drawing back from his seduction only slightly. His eyes shut as if in an attempt to hold back the memories. ‘We had a great passion between us once. We can have it again,’ he coaxed. ‘I want you, Philippa.’

Philippa felt the old animosity flare against her passion. ‘I was the one left crying in the Rutherfords’ garden. I thought you were going to propose and you knew I thought that.’When she had him, if she had him, it would be with an understanding of the truth of who he was. It was the only way she could protect herself from being hurt a second time. If she learned nothing else today, she’d learned that being hurt again was a distinct possibility.

A distant ‘Halloooo!’ reached her ears and the reality of their situation hit her. She’d done the most foolish thing of all—she’d almost let Valerian make love to her in the open, where they were no doubt visible to all sundry passers-by.

Valerian groaned a miserable ‘Oh, God,’ as he moved to stand, fumbling with his clothes. ‘We have company.’

Philippa struggled up to see Beldon and Lucien tramping towards them. Good lord, how much had they seen? She and Valerian had been kissing in plain view of anyone coming in that direction. That was the problem with follies and prospects. They thrived in wide open spaces.

‘I don’t think they saw anything,’Valerian whispered reassuringly in her ear as if he could read her mind. Out loud, he called to them, ‘What brings you out here?’

‘Lucien’s come to concede!’ Beldon called back good naturedly.

Philippa’s cheeks went scarlet. She didn’t need a mirror to know her face was burning with mortification. They had seen. Beldon’s reference made it perfectly clear.

‘Steady, love.’ Valerian chuckled. ‘I don’t think Lucien’s coming to concede on that point.’

He made a show of pulling out his pocket watch and flipping it open. ‘Concession accepted, Canton. It’s two o’clock and the sun’s been out for ten minutes.’

If her cheeks could have reddened further, they would have, this time from anger. While Valerian had been seducing her with sweet words and kisses, half his mind had been on the ridiculous wager and she’d lost half of hers for falling temporarily to his seductive efforts—further proof that Valerian Inglemoore was no more than the sum of rumours and her past experience made him out to be.

‘How’s the prospect from here?’ Beldon asked, striding to the area marked off with string where the folly was slated to be.

‘It’s lovely.You can see all the way to Truro,’Valerian said vaguely. ‘Philippa hasn’t seen it yet. Now, we can all see it together.’ He led the way to the outcropping, very much aware that Philippa lagged behind, shooting not-so-subtle daggers at his back.

He could imagine with a fair degree of accuracy what she was thinking: how like a man to turn the situation so adroitly. One would never guess he’d been lying on top of her, proclaiming to be in the throes of passion and making impossible promises literally moments ago. Here he was, playing tour guide and looking for all the world like a man whose sole interest in coming up here had been to see the sights.

Well, she was wrong about that. He’d seen the opportunity to get her alone when the vicar indicated he had to go back. That had been the end of his inspiration. He’d taken the opportunity, but done nothing with it except compound Philippa’s distrust. He’d meant to tell her Beldon knew about their past romance. He’d meant to confess the reasons for leaving her. But events had taken a different direction and they had ended up on the granite slab, apparently against Philippa’s better judgement.

Her ‘better judgement’ rankled. It was one thing to know, to suspect, what she thought of him. It was another thing entirely to hear her articulate those ideas out loud. She thought he wasn’t a man of honour. She thought she couldn’t believe in him again.

And maybe she was right.

Valerian fought back a wave of self-doubt. He’d failed to help those people in Negush too, failed to find a way to peace before all revolutionary hell broke out. People who believed in him notoriously came to bad ends. It was not an accomplishment he was proud of.

Valerian cautioned himself to control his dark thoughts. He could not give in to the megrims that accompanied his guilty moods. This was not the place for it, on top of an overhang on a house-party outing. It would be the height of bad form to come down with one of his devastating headaches—compliments of the Phanariot revolutionaries.

Gathering his concentration, Valerian had to admit that the prospect did not disappoint. Once the actual folly was built, it would have a breathtaking command of the Truro area. The vicar would be pleased with the results. Beside him, Beldon took a deep breath and exhaled expansively. ‘Ah, there’s nothing like clean Cornish air. I swear there’s no place on earth as grand as this.’

Valerian smiled at his friend’s Cornish pride. It helped to lighten his mood. He too had loved growing up and living here. But Lucien seemed inclined to argue, suddenly much less ‘Cornish’ since he’d lost the weather bet.

‘I think I prefer the Lake lands with their mountains. Much more rugged, more challenging. Makes the mountains here look like rolling hills.’

Valerian raised an eyebrow, indicating that he disagreed wholeheartedly. ‘While I was away, I saw many different terrains—mountains, seaboards. Some places were blistering hot and others were cold enough to freeze a man’s thoughts. When I couldn’t tolerate the climates, I would think of Cornwall.’ His eyes strayed to Philippa as he spoke the last. He had meant more than ‘Cornwall’ in the comment. The startled look on her face suggested she guessed as much.

Encouraged, he went on, blurring out those around them. ‘I would think of the gardens, especially the gardens at Pendennys Hall and Roseland and all my plans for it. I’d imagine walking in the gardens in those places, sometimes making plans, other times finding peace.’ Did she remember their walks? Their talks? They’d shared many secrets in their time.