Anthony gave a low chuckle as he gazed down at the lovely countenance. “Why will you not just admit that you were performing a good d—deed? You need not fear that I will reveal the dazzling Miss Cresswell does indeed possess a heart.”
A hint of unease darkened her eyes before she gave a toss of her head.
“You are being absurd.” She brushed aside a limb hovering in the path then gave a small exclamation. “What is that?”
“What?”
She bent downward then rose to reveal a delicate piece of jewelry studded with diamonds and pearls.
“It is a brooch.”
Anthony regarded the small treasure with a lift of his brows. “A very expensive brooch.”
“What would it be doing here?”
He hid a smile, suspecting that she was deliberately attempting to change the subject. She was far more comfortable with her image as a callous flirt than a kindhearted innocent.
“I assume that it must have fallen from some lady’s gown.”
She flashed him a frown. “Here?”
“You are not the only lady who is capable of walking on a fine day.”
Her lips thinned at his light tone. “I find it difficult to imagine Lady Broswell or her daughters strolling through the woods no matter how fine the day, Mr. Clarke. They are far too concerned a bit of dust might mar their hems.”
He had to admit that she did have a point. Lady Broswell would not be one to consider nature as anything but a nuisance.
“Then perhaps it belongs to Miss Carlfield,” he suggested as they continued through the trees and stepped into the parkland.
“Yes, I shall ask her,” Miss Cresswell murmured, seemingly intrigued by her discovery.
In silence they moved toward the house, but as they entered the courtyard Anthony came to a halt.
“I shall part from you here, my dear.”
She regarded him in surprise. “You are not going into the house?”
“No, I have a project I wish to begin,” he informed her firmly.
As expected, her eyes flashed with annoyance at being so summarily dismissed.
“Yet another project?” she demanded.
“Yes.”
She gave a small sniff. “I do hope you never intend to wed, Mr. Clarke. I fear a wife would find your habit of forever disappearing to attend to your projects rather tedious.”
He smiled with calm indifference to her barb. “Perhaps I shall choose a woman I feel worthy of being included in my projects.”
“No doubt she will feel honored.”
“No d—doubt.”
For a moment she struggled to pretend an aloof disinterest in his movements. She was not a woman who pursued a gentleman. They were meant to pursue her. But his air of mystery at last got the better of her.
“Can you at least tell me what this secret project is?”
“Of course,” he agreed with a shrug. “I am going to make a young girl’s wish come true.”
It was obviously not what she had expected and she blinked in surprise. “What?”
“Somehow I am going to see to it that Julia is allowed to fly like a bird.”
There was a shocked silence, then quite without warning, she had grasped his face between her hands and pressed her lips to his own.
It was their first true kiss and Anthony was swift to respond. Dropping the basket he wrapped his arms about her and tugged her close. He was indifferent to the knowledge that they were standing in the middle of the courtyard. Or that this had not been plotted into his well-calculated seduction. All that mattered was that she was at last in his arms, where she belonged.
Her mouth was sweet honey heat making his head swim and his thighs tighten. He sucked in the scent of roses, tasting deeply of her innocence. With gentle care he urged her lips apart, allowing him access to the tender warmth of her mouth. She gave a soft moan, then with gratifying reluctance, she pulled back to meet his smoldering gaze.
“Oh.”
He chuckled at her startled expression, his hand gently rubbing her soft cheek.
“Tell me, my dear, what have I possibly done to deserve such a delectable treat?”
She offered him a pert smile, although her cheeks remained flushed and her eyes dark with bewildered pleasure.
“There are moments when you are quite wonderful, sir,” she breathed.
He moved to pull her back close to his body, but with a swift movement she had twirled away and was hurrying toward the house.
A smile curved Anthony’s lips as he watched the provocative sway of her hips. The kiss might have been unplanned but it had been utterly enticing. Enticing enough to ensure that he would have another long, restless night, he thought wryly.
Resisting the urge to hurry after her, Anthony forced himself to turn and walk toward the distant stables.
He had crossed past the front of the house and was leaving the courtyard when the sound of footsteps hurrying in his direction had him halting to turn back and discover Lady Broswell forging a determined path in his direction.
With a groan of displeasure he watched the plumes on her bonnet bounce and the skirts of her black bombazine gown flow about her like the sails of a battleship. She was clearly in full pursuit and he would rather hear what she had to say and dismiss her than have her trail him to the stables.
“Mr. Clarke.” Lady Broswell smiled as she came to a halt before him, her large bosom heaving from her unaccustomed exertion.
He gave a half bow. “Lady Broswell.”
“A lovely day, is it not?”
“Q—quite lovely.”
“I had hoped to see you today.” Her tone was offhanded, but Anthony did not doubt that she had laid in wait for him the entire morning. He was annoyingly accustomed to matchmaking mamas and their ruthless ploys. “I am planning a small gathering for Friday evening. Quite informal, of course. We should be very honored if you would attend.”
“That is very kind, Lady Broswell, but I fear I am quite busy with personal matters.”
The thick features tightened with irritation at his smooth dismissal.
“My daughters will be quite disappointed.”
“Please offer my apologies. Now if you will excuse me?”
Fully prepared to walk, away Anthony was halted by the preemptory hand laid upon his arm.
“Mr. Clarke.”
He glared coldly down his nose until she hastily withdrew her hand. “What is it?”
She hesitated a nervous moment before tilting her chin. “Perhaps it is not my place, but I do feel someone should warn you about Miss Cresswell.”
“Indeed?” His silky tone would have warned anyone who knew him that they were traversing dangerous water. Lady Broswell, however, was far too intent on harming Miss Cresswell to take heed of the icy atmosphere.
“A lovely girl, of course, and quite bewitching, but she is unfortunately indiscriminate in her favors. It is rumored that Mr. Mondale is her current lover.”
A sharp, fierce anger surged thorough Anthony. Regardless of the fact that gossip was all too often a pastime for women of Lady Broswell’s stamp, to deliberately set out to ruin a young lady’s reputation went beyond the pale.
“You are correct, she is a lovely girl,” he said, his tone laced with ice. “And quite undeserving of such vile, clearly malicious lies. S—should I hear such rumors circulating in Surrey I assure you that I will be swift to enact my wrath. Do we understand one another, Lady Broswell?”
A shocked silence greeted his overt warning. Then a deep, ugly scarlet flooded the older woman’s face.
“Perfectly, Mr. Clarke. Good day.”
Turning on her heel, she marched away, every inch of her considerable form quivering with outrage.
Anthony watched her leave with a narrowed gaze.
Gads, but the woman was a harpy. It was little wonder that Rachel was determined to throttle her. At the moment he would gladly do so himself.
Clenching his hands, he turned and continued on
his path to the stables. He still had a miracle to create.
Six
Two mornings later Rachel was on the hunt.
Attiring herself in a rose muslin gown that suited the pleasantly warm spring day, she began a thorough search of the house.
It took quite some time to track her quarry to the small conservatory.
Entering the glass and iron room with a few tenacious plants, Rachel crossed toward the bench set close beside a fountain.
It took only a cursory glance to realize that the young maiden had been crying. Rachel felt a prick of sympathy at the reddened eyes and tremble of her soft lips. As she approached, Violet hurriedly tucked her handkerchief out of sight and picked up a discarded piece of linen she had been stitching upon.
Forcing a smile to her lips, Rachel settled on the bench next to her friend.
“Violet, I hoped I would find you.”
Violet studiously kept her gaze on the lopsided flower she had printed on the linen. “Good morning, Rachel.”
“That is lovely,” she murmured, deliberately maneuvering the conversation in the direction she desired.
“Thank you.”
“A wedding present for your fiancé?”
She felt Violet shiver at her side. “No. Mr. Wingrove feels that needlework is a frivolous activity. He expects his wife to devote her energies to pleasing her husband and reading books that elevate the mind.”
Rachel did not have to pretend her dislike. “Good heavens, what a dreary prig.”
“Rachel.” Violet glanced up in surprise.
“Well, he is. Forgive me if I offend you, Violet, but I can not imagine that he will make you happy.”
Her eyes darkened, but she managed to hold back the ready tears. “Marriage very rarely has anything to do with happiness.”
Rachel considered her numerous acquaintances who had wed for position and wealth rather than love. Most of them had already indulged in affairs or were living lives quite separate from their husbands.
“True enough. It is more often a means of retrieving a lost fortune, is it not?”
A sudden surge of painful color stained Violet’s countenance. “How did you know?”
Rachel smiled gently. “It is obvious your father has fallen upon hard times. It is equally obvious that you possess nothing but fear and revulsion for your intended.”
“It is true,” Violet whispered in stricken tones. “Father was always a gamester and after Mother died he only became worse. I begged him to halt, but he always laughed and said that his luck was due to change.”
Rachel bit back her harsh words of condemnation. She possessed little sympathy with such self-indulgence. Mr. Carlfield should have concentrated on improving his estate and seeing that his daughter had ensuring a proper dowry, instead of fribbling away his fortune on cards and horses.
“I believe that is the common cry of most gamesters.”
“Yes, but his luck did not change and after the Season he was heavily in debt. He realized that he was very close to losing the estate.”
“And like any weak man he sought to sacrifice another for his failures rather than accept his responsibilities,” she said angrily. “So he hit upon the notion of bartering you to Mr. Wingrove.”
“Yes.”
Reaching out, Rachel grasped the needlework and tossed it aside, then clasping the ice-cold fingers she regarded her friend with a somber expression.
“You must not do this, Violet. You will be miserable with that ghastly man.”
“There is nothing I can do.”
“Nonsense. My own mother had been promised to a gentleman she did not love for his title. She was wise enough to elope with my father.”
The maiden frowned in a perplexed fashion. “But I have no one who wishes to elope with me.”
Rachel schooled her flare of impatience. She must not attempt to consider what she would do in a similar situation. There was no doubt she would have informed her father to his face that she would not be a pawn in his game. Not to mention terrifying any gentleman ridiculous enough to even consider requesting her hand in exchange for money.
Violet possessed a more delicate, more easily swayed spirit. She would always do what was expected of her. It would never occur to her to challenge her father’s commands. Not even if it meant tying herself to the wretched Mr. Wingrove.
“What I mean is that she did not allow herself to be bullied into an unwanted marriage,” she said gently. “Tell your father that you refuse to be sacrificed to pay his debts.”
Violet gasped in shock at the blunt words. “Oh no. I could not possibly. He would be so angry.”
“What is a few angry words when compared to a lifetime with Mr. Wingrove?”
Surprisingly, the pale features hardened at the fierce question. “It would not be just angry words. My father has already threatened to have me turned out if I do not agree to the marriage.”
It was Rachel’s turn to be shocked. Mr. Carlfield had threatened to toss his own child onto the streets if she did not wed a hideous gentleman old enough to be her own father? It was barbaric. She would dearly love to give the man a proper piece of her mind.
“That is inexcusable,” she gritted.
Violet shrugged. “He is terrified of losing everything.”
“Then he should have thought of that before tossing away his fortune at the card table.”
Clearly of a more sympathetic nature than Rachel, Violet gave a heavy sigh. “It is too late for regrets.”
Rachel nibbled her lower lip as she furiously considered what could be done. Certainly she would not stand aside and allow this girl to be bullied into marriage.
And yet, she knew it would be a waste of breath to try and speak with Mr. Carlfield. He clearly possessed nothing but disregard for his only child to have proposed the match in the first place. And nothing could induce her to plea to the mercy of Mr. Wingrove. She did not doubt he would readily punish Violet for Rachel’s presumption.
Obviously the only course of action was to snatch Violet from their greedy clutches.
“No, it is not too late,” she said in firm tones. “My sister, Sarah, has a town house in London that she has given me. You may live there with me.”
The brown eyes abruptly widened. “Truly?”
Rachel chuckled. “Of course. We shall have a grand time.”
Just for a moment a glimmer of hope swept over the pale features. Like a condemned prisoner glimpsing a hole in the wall. Then with a pained grimace she gave a slow shake of her head.
“It sounds lovely, but Father would only follow me.”
Rachel was not at all frightened by this threat. The law might be on the side of Mr. Carlfield, but she had the cunning of the Devilish Dandy to depend upon. And recalling her father’s unusual interest in Violet, she did not doubt for a moment that he would lend his full support.
“You need have no fear of him bothering us in London,” she promised confidently. “Uncle Foxworth lives with me. I can assure you that he is more than capable of dealing with your father.”
At the mention of Mr. Foxworth the maiden abruptly dropped her gaze. Rachel was intrigued to notice a faint tremble race through her body. It appeared her father was not alone in his fascination.
“Yes, he is a very strong gentleman.”
“As well as being thoroughly cunning and clever enough to outwit any gentleman in England,” she said dryly.
A silence descended as Violet battled between her well-trained duty to her father and the deep desire to escape the forbidding control of Mr. Wingrove.
“I do not know,” she at last whispered. “If I do not wed, what will happen to Father?”
Rachel gave an impatient click of her tongue. “Your father was quite capable of plunging himself into disaster. It is his duty to seek a means of extricating himself.”
“It is not so simple.”
Rachel once again battled her impatience. She had at least offered the opportunity for escape. It was now up
to Violet to decide if she was willing to take the next step.
“Very well.” Rachel rose to her feet. “At least think about my offer. I would be quite happy to have you with me.”
“I shall.” She waited until Rachel had nearly reached the door before she called out softly, “Rachel.”
Turning about, Rachel regarded her with raised brows. “Yes?”
“Thank you. I have never known anyone who has been so kind to me.”
“Nonsense,” Rachel muttered in sudden embarrassment, hurrying from the room before Violet could continue her words of gratitude.
With a shake of her head she moved through the hall toward the front of the house. She deeply pitied Violet. There was no doubt she was browbeaten by her father and terrified of her fiance. Still, a part of her longed to chide some sense into her.
How could she possibly consider it her duty to rescue her father from financial ruin? If he had not been such a witless buffoon they would not be facing disaster.
Thank goodness her own father had raised her with a strong sense of independence. She would never be the pawn of any man.
She entered the foyer at the same moment a lean, masculine form descended the stairs. Her heart gave a lurch as she met the familiar dark gaze. She had devoted a great deal of thought the previous evening to the blazing kiss they had shared. In truth she had stared at the ceiling long into the night as she had recalled the flood of sensations that had flooded her body.
Until she had encountered Mr. Clarke she had always thought kissing a vastly overrated pastime. Hot lips and groping hands were little more than an annoyance.
Now she realized that such caresses could offer a sweet, darkly dangerous temptation. A temptation far greater than she could ever have dreamed.
“Good morning, Mr. Clarke.”
He smiled as he came to a halt before her. “I believe that we have progressed to Anthony, have we not, my dear?”
She hesitated before giving a nod of her head. Common sense might warn her that furthering her intimate contact with this gentleman was a risky gamble, but she had never been one to take the safe path.
“Very well.”
Obviously pleased that she had not shied away from his challenge, Anthony stepped closer.
When You Wish Page 42