"I would be more than happy to escort Lavinia to the book seller's, Mama." Frost's voice was both polite and mischievous at the same time, and Lavinia had to wonder what he was about. "In fact, as I have my phaeton with me, I can escort her home as well so that she might begin to prepare for this evening. After all, the five of you in the carriage cannot possibly be comfortable, no matter how wide it is." At that, Lavinia decided she not care what he was about so long as she could spend some more time in his company. She truly was a shameless wanton, she decided.
His mother looked undecided for a moment, as if finally remembering that Lavinia was not truly a member of the family. "If you are certain, darling. I do not wish to put you out...but I would dearly love to read that novel as well." She said the last part as if admitting to a shameful secret. Though how much of what she said was for Mr. Roarke's benefit, Lavinia did not know.
Frost sketched a bow. "It is no trouble at all, Mama. We shall be to the store and home in a trice. In fact, we may even beat you there."
He offered a cheeky grin and when his mother laughed, her face lighting up like a young debutante's, Lavinia felt the rest of her heart give way. This man truly cared about his family, and a man like him would be so very easy to love. In many ways, she already did. But it could not last. He could not even considering marrying a woman like her. If he did, the sins of her past would certainly come to light, and Lavinia herself would never allow this family to be hurt in that manner. So she would have to leave. And she would - soon. But not before she spent one marvelous night in Frost's bed. She would allow herself that much, so that when she was old and gray and sitting before a fire in some distant town, she would have the memory of that singular, perfect night. For she was certain it would be perfect. After all, this was Frost.
With a nod, his mother finally agreed. "Very well. There and then back home. This musicale tonight is a small thing, but an obligation we must keep. I do not wish to be late."
"Of course," Frost replied as he offered Lavinia his arm. "I shall see you all at home." Then they were off and Lavinia had to practically run to catch up with him as he sped out of the shop and onto the street.
It was only when they reached his phaeton, one of the high perch variety that she looked at with a great deal of suspicion, did he slow down - and even then only just as he immediately reached for her to hand her into the vehicle.
"Frost! Please! Slow down, for I do not move as quickly as you in these bulky skirts," she protested as she struggled to find her footing as he all but threw her into the conveyance, much to her dismay. "What is the rush?"
That, finally, gave him pause as he launched himself into the seat beside her and picked up the reins. But he did not flick them or order his horses to move out into the crowded street. Then, with a shake of his head, he seemed to come back to himself. "I am sorry, Lavinia. I forget myself at times." He quirked an eyebrow at her. "I am not accustomed to escorting a proper lady about town. Forgive me?"
She would have disputed his claim but they were in public and suddenly, she felt as if the eyes of every passer-by were on them. More specifically, on her. Watching. Judging. Finding her sadly lacking. However she shrugged off the sensation. She was simply not accustomed to being seen in public with a man at her side.
In fact, until recently, few people had ever really seen Lavinia's face at all. At least not her adult face. As a child certainly, but after she came of age, other than that single trip to Town for her presentation, she had been hidden away in the small, secluded village of Eastmoor in the northern central part of Derbyshire. Few people passed through the small hamlet, making it the perfect place for her mother and her mother's lover to hide from the wrath of the Duke of Annandell.
When Lavinia had fled Eastmoor, she had gone directly to the safety of the marquess' home, but the kindly man was gone now. Burfield's son, the current marquess, had certainly seen her face on more than one occasion, but he rarely came to town, preferring the delights of Edinburgh to those of London for some reason. And after that? She had been masked from the moment she had entered Lycosura, save for her one interlude with the Duke of Candlewood. And Frost, of course.
It was foolish to believe that the people here knew her face or of her past. Still, Lavinia was uneasy, and it was yet more confirmation that once the Season ended, she needed to hasten away from London as quickly as possible. More than her reputation was at stake, after all. Her heart was now at risk as well, though she feared that it might already be too late on that count. The man seated next to her likely already had it and would probably not be willing to give it back.
Frost. He was gazing at her now, questioning. She blinked a few times as she realized he had said her name at least twice. Clearly she had missed something that he had said, most likely a question, as he sat there still looking at her and obviously waiting for a reply.
"I beg your pardon," she demurred as she blushed, for the first time in a very long time feeling like the young debutante she no longer was. "I fear I was not paying attention. In case you had not noticed, I tend to woolgather on occasion."
Instead of being offended, Frost grinned. "I asked if you really did wish to read that novel or whether you would like to return straight home. I must admit that I would love to see the expressions on my sisters' faces when they roll up in the carriage and we are already there." There was a hint of mischief in his eyes and Lavinia had an idea that once they arrived back in Mayfair, he might have a bit more than just surprising his sisters on his mind.
But it was too soon. Not yet. Frost had only made his intentions clear to her last evening. Oh, he had hinted before that, certainly, but never with such clarity. Well, if one did not count the kisses and caresses in Hyde Park. Or the heated looks that first morning in his study. Or that night in Lycosura. Or... Oh, very well. Who was she fooling? No one, that was who.
Lavinia had known from the moment their eyes first locked back at Lycosura what Frost desired from her. He wanted her body and, more than that, her surrender. She was only pretending if she believed otherwise.
However, last night, he had offered to prepare her, to court and woo her like a lady. He had said she was not ready to bed him, and in that, he was likely correct. He had also vowed to make her ready. To her mind, that included just a tiny bit of courting, and she intended to hold him to that promise. If she could. For men broke their promises easily. Still, there was a part of her that both hoped and prayed that Frost was different.
"I would like the novel," Lavinia confessed, keeping her hands in her lap as a true lady would. "I confess that I have a weakness for them as well, the more gothic and lurid the better, I fear." She almost added that she had developed her affinity for them during her time with Burfield, but she did not. Some things, she knew, were best kept private.
Lavinia was surprised when Frost brought her gloved hand to his lips and, in full view of everyone on the street, placed a gentle, chaste kiss on the back of her hand. Almost as if they truly were courting. "Then you shall have your novel, my lady. Ask and ye shall receive, for it would be my pleasure."
He placed added emphasis on that last word and she blushed prettily. Lavinia had not imagined she would or even could any longer, but she was discovering that the longer she was in the viscount's company, the more she reverted to the innocence of youth that she had lost somewhere along the way. In some ways, it was as if she was eighteen again and not yet been made aware of the sexual appetites of men.
"Th...th...thank you," she managed to get out, uncertain where this stutter had come from so suddenly. Even as a girl, she had never been shy, yet at the moment, with Frost's silvery gaze upon her, she felt as if she was a green girl again. "I do not wish to trouble you."
"Oh, my dear Lavinia," Frost sighed as he pulled back, his lips still parted from that kiss, "you are very much trouble. But of the most delightful and delicious kind, I assure you." He grinned wickedly and she could see the promise of sin in his eyes and it thrilled her beyond measur
e.
At his heated words, Lavinia no longer felt like an innocent girl any longer. Her body heated and she could not think clearly. Her breath quickened and she felt an ache develop in her breasts. The sensual woman within her awoke once more and when she lifted her eyes back to his - china blue gazing into frostfire silver - she could see all of the delights in the world within them. Just hers for the taking. And she would. Soon. For Frost was a force of nature when he desired something, and she had no doubt that she would be unable to resist him. Nor did she wish to resist.
"I shall hold you to that, my lord," Lavinia teased, delighted when his eyes widened - just a fraction, mind you. "Not tonight. But soon. Very soon." She knew they were still being watched, but at some point, she had ceased to care.
Frost swallowed hard, clearly as shaken as she was with the intensity of the moment, the evidence of his desire pressing hard against the placket of his breeches. "Whatever you say, my lady." Then he cleared his throat. "Now about that book..."
Chapter Twelve
Town Tattler
Even now, I am quite certain I feel the warm breezes and hear the gentle rustle of trees at my country estate, as I am certain many of you do as well. Yes, I finally acknowledge it. I am, as many of you have correctly guessed, one of you. Though I can assure you all that it is utterly unlikely that even a single one will ever guess my identity. But no matter.
What does matter is that as spring draws to a close and summer flutters on gossamer wings towards us, love is most certainly in the air. There are rumors floating about that even some very firmly entrenched bachelors might finally be struck by Cupid's arrow. While I cannot confirm or deny that certain members of Society are headed for the altar in the near future, I can confirm that the notoriously rakish Viscount Chillton has been seen many times in recent days in the company of one utterly lovely young woman just out of mourning. They are related, yes, but the tie is so distant that I am afraid that I can only see the wisps of connection with my quizzing glass. I must confess that I had never thought to see this day, but then, miracles do happen, do they not?
Over the last few days, they have been seen at a musicale (I am told the music was particularly awful this year), the theater (a farcical comedy by some French idiot), shopping on Bond Street (for books of all things!), and at an intimate dinner party for the new Marquess of Berkshire (and the unknown woman who arrived at the same time) who has finally deigned to make an appearance in Town. If they are not officially courting - and I have heard nothing of the affirmative - well, then they are making a good show of things. I fear I am not that enamored of my distant relations in the least! But if they are? Well, then good for them!
Also, what of the Town's beloved Earl of Raynecourt? He is suddenly social and for a man rumored to be more enamored of books than of young ladies of good reputation, that is saying quite a lot! Then again, Lady Sarah Tillsbury is not without her charms, as everyone well knows. Or what of everyone's favorite Bow Street Runner? Is it true that an announcement about his connection to a noble family is in the offing? I have heard that it is possible. Or our beloved and beleaguered Lord Hunt? Rumors float around him, as well, though in his case, the details are rather murky, I fear. I am, however, sad to report that at this time next Season, he might well be called Strattfield, as his father is unwell, I am sorry to say. More to come as I know it, of course.
-Madame C
"You and my brother are in the papers again." Sarah sat on Lavinia's bed while Lavinia herself was seated at a dressing table, allowing a maid to pin up her hair for the evening in an elaborate coiffure.
The Chilltons were all attending Lord and Lady Marchand's ball that evening, and while Lavinia had no idea who those people were, Lady Chillton did and had assured everyone - her daughters and Lavinia alike - that the invitation was very exclusive and much sought-after. The Marchands were actually French aristocracy, but Lady Marchand was the daughter of an English earl, which seemed to be reason enough to overlook the fact that she had chosen to wed a French comte who had quickly lost his lands and his estate during the revolution. He was only lucky that he had not lost his head as well.
"So I am." That thought made Lavinia very uneasy, but she chose not to think about the rumors or how she risked discovery every time she stepped out of the house these days. After all, at some point the man who had made her life a living hell was likely to come looking for her whether she hid or not. "Then again, so is Lord Raynecourt." Lavinia looked backwards through the mirror to where Sarah sat so very primly. "And you are mentioned in connection with him. Are we to believe there is an affection there, as well?"
"No." However Sarah said the single word too quickly and far too sharply for Lavinia to believe that there was nothing to the rumor. "He is a friend of the family and missed out on a great deal of the Season as he was in Italy earlier this year for...research. He is merely escorting me out of courtesy. Especially since Mama all but demanded it."
Lavinia doubted that was the only reason Rayne was escorting Sarah about these days, but she allowed the topic to drop. Instead, she picked up one of the diamond earbobs that lay on her dressing table. The sparkling gems, along with a stunning matching necklace had been delivered earlier that day from Mr. Roarke's shop along with the single strand of pearls Lady Chillton had selected several days ago. The delivery had caused something of an uproar, as the viscountess was incensed that the jeweler would send along something that was not selected, but the man had simply sent a note back to Lady Chillton indicating that the parcel had been delivered correctly and the arrival of the diamonds was no accident.
Frost's mother had shaken the beautiful blue velvet box several times, searching for a note, as none had been included, but nothing had seemed amiss. The viscountess also acknowledged that she had examined the gems that day in the shop, and while she did not remember agreeing to purchase them, she also could not remember refusing them either. The older woman also admitted that she had been so enthralled in haggling with Mr. Roarke over the prices of the baubles, she was no longer completely certain what she had agreed to purchase.
Eventually, once Lady Chillton had calmed down, she had agreed that the icy gems were a far better compliment to the deep rose colored gown - finally delivered by Madame LaVallier - that Lavinia was to wear to the ball that evening. So she had given in and allowed Lavinia to keep the beautiful baubles - for now. In the morning, Lady Chillton was considering returning them to Mr. Roarke herself. She had continued to fuss and fume throughout the afternoon until she had finally mumbled something about taking a nap, granting the girls their freedom for what remained of the afternoon.
It was only later in the privacy of her bedroom that Lavinia had lifted out one of the glittering earbobs, only to find that the blue satin in the bottom of the box was loose at one end. Curious, she had picked at the fabric until it had come loose and a tiny note, no bigger than a fingernail but thrice as thick had fallen out. There, in a decidedly masculine hand was a note that had made Lavinia's heart sing with gladness - and something decidedly more.
Lea - For I wish to see you sparkle this evening.
-With Love,
F, V.C.
Lavinia hadn't shown the note to anyone, of course, but had instead tucked it into a small, hidden pocket within her reticule, the same one she would carry to the ball that evening. For some reason, it seemed important that she keep the little note with her. Now, she thought of the tiny piece of foolscrap again as Sarah blushed brightly and avoided Lavinia's direct gaze. Did the other woman have secrets within her heart as well? Suddenly, she wanted to reassure the other woman that it was acceptable if she did.
"Greta, may we have a moment?" Lavinia asked, lightly touching the diamond-studded comb that the maid had been positioning her hair just so.
With a bob and a curtsey, the maid scurried out of the room. When she was gone, Lavinia turned to face Sarah. "If I may be frank?" she asked and when she received a nod in return, she continued. "I would like to of
fer you a piece of advice."
Sarah cocked her head a moment before nodding, obviously intrigued. "Go on."
"I realize that I am little more than a woman from a small, provincial county village, but I know this much. I recognize when a man and a woman care for each other."
"Like you and my brother." At Sarah's words, Lavinia's face snapped to the other woman's quickly, but Frost's sister did not appear to be angry. "Please do not insult me and deny it. I can see the way you look at him. We all do." Then she smiled. "And he looks at you in the same manner. Which, just so you know, I think is wonderful."
Lavinia inhaled sharply. "You do?" She could not believe that any sister would think her a good and decent match for a much-beloved brother.
"I do. As I said, we all do." Sarah stood and crossed the room so that she could take Lavinia's hands in hers. "My brother has been lonely for a very long time. He would never admit it, of course, but the women of Society bore him nearly to tears. There is no challenge when a woman is throwing herself at his feet. There is no mystery. And my brother does love a good puzzle. Almost as much as he loves his family."
For a moment, Lavinia wanted to weep for joy with the possibility that Frost cared for her nearly as much as she cared for him. Then she shoved those softer emotions firmly back down inside of herself. She could not allow them to cloud her judgment. She still had to leave Town - and Frost - very soon. She could not risk harm to him or his family because of her. And if she remained, she had a feeling that the man she was running from would do his best to cause as much trouble as possible.
"Be that as it may," Lavinia finally managed, "this conversation is not about me. It is about you. And Lord Raynecourt."
From the Viscount With Love Page 17