Defying the Earl

by Anabelle Bryant

  Good heavens, the shopkeeper would be heartsick were something horrid to befall his companion. The least she could do was reclaim his pet after the inordinate kindness he’d shown in protecting the charm bracelet.

  Without further consideration, Wilhelmina skirted by the front windows and down the dank alley, past the rear of the establishment and across a walking path that led to a grassy embankment at the edge of the Thames. The tabby paused, turning a slow circle as if beckoning her pursuit; then with a loud meow continued its risky escape, Wilhelmina fast to heel. She’d all but reached the incorrigible pest, as her hems and boots were muddied beyond repair, when the tabby leapt with unexpected agility atop a stone pediment jutting above the rushing waters of the river. The pediment was positioned to harbor small boats that needed mooring, its narrow width hardly wide enough to provide support for feline or female.

  Unsure as to how to proceed, Wilhelmina paused in consternation. She’d need precise balance or worse, to lie on her stomach and provide rescue, yet to her benefit the cat had nowhere to go, trapped by its precarious choice or else tumble several yards below into the unforgiving current of the Thames.

  She attempted a desperate whisper in hope the cat would make the situation easier and return to the security of land, but the audacious feline settled comfortably as if it had no intention of going anywhere.

  Wilhelmina flicked her eyes to the waters below and panic seized her heart. The deep murky Thames was a cold, unforgiving opponent all too willing to swallow anything fed into its flow.

  A sharp meow yanked her attention to the forefront and she muttered a complaint as she lowered herself, belly down, onto the pediment, the rough stone harsh against her ribcage. Her scowl deepened as an industrious spider scurried across her line of vision and her nose alerted to the affronting odor of the waters. Her gown would be filthy no doubt, but she hastily reached for the cat wishing to have the furry beast safely tucked in her grasp before she lost balance.

  With another yowl, the cat swatted at her hand, its furry paw brushing her fingertips. If only the silly creature would move forward she’d be able to grasp hold. With a reassuring plea she wriggled closer and stretched her arm as far as possible, the movement jostling the charm bracelet from beneath her glove, a persistent reminder of her errand gone astray.

  Just one more inch.

  With a desperate stretch she angled her arm, shot her wrist forward, and missed the cat who meowed in protest before bolting over her prone form and back to solid land.

  But truly, that was the least of her troubles.

  Defeated, Wilhelmina clumsily withdrew, rising slowly on hands and knees, trapped in layers of skirts and undergarments, to watch in horror as her bracelet slipped from her wrist, dropping into the Thames and taking with it, her dreams for the future.

  New money. With it came a multitude of advantages. Once the shock had subsided and Jasper had finished grinning like a sot, Valerian registered the impact of his brother’s announcement. Their world turned from red to black and a wave of relief, so great he needed to grip the back of a nearby chair, rushed over him flooding every pore of his being. They’d regained solvency by way of Jasper. How ironic, that both injections of financial recovery had been instigated by his brother’s open thinking and fearless attitude. Albeit a large part of their original problem stemmed from his irresponsible behavior, but still, Jasper had succeeded where he’d failed. Valerian smiled at the notion.

  Sixth Earl of Dashwood Overcomes Trap and Wins the Cheese.

  He busily completed the paperwork in front of him and nodded to the clerk at the bank window before turning to leave. He had a mountain of debt to repay, repairs to arrange for Kirby Park and a wall of pride and respectability to restore one brick at a time, yet another more urgent errand topped his list this morning.

  Whimsy.

  Good lord, she was the only thing he could think of through the night. Financial relief left him open to pursue his heart’s desire, which somehow, over the past few torturous weeks, had become Wilhelmina. He wanted her. He loved her. He needed her more than he’d ever be able to admit. Never mind the thought of her with another made his blood boil.

  He’d sent her away with the barest understanding of his feelings and a solid distaste of his decision. He would need to court her with diligence and romance. A visit to Rundell and Bridge on Fleet Street was in order next. The finest jewelry store in London would surely have a diamond worthy of Wilhelmina’s finger, although a temptation to visit The Serendipity Shop teased at the periphery of his brain.

  He found another smile as he hailed a hackney and called the direction to the driver. Everything fitted into place. Wilhelmina had her mother’s bracelet, now complete with his mother’s charm, and soon they would begin a new life together with endless security for both Livie and Aunt Kate.

  The sun wasn’t shining in the city sky, but by damn, Valerian started to whistle.

  Livie sat at the escritoire near the window of her bedchamber and a soft smile turned her lips. No need for that lap desk at the moment. Her legs felt stronger, her will much improved. Life had definitely taken a turn for the better. She sifted through the letters before her, arranged chronologically until the night of her accident. Questions bombarded her mind.

  What had happened to Randolph? What did he think of her sudden lack of correspondence? Had he written letters that she never received? Had he searched for her?

  She quickly opened the last letter sent the day before the accident that irrevocably altered everything in her world. Words blurred in the fast onset of tears. The tumult of conflicted emotion caused her to surrender and she leaned into the security of the satinwood chair, her fingertip tracing the signature at the bottom of Randolph’s last letter.

  What had become of him? Had he forgotten their relationship? Had he married? It would be expected, most especially as she had disappeared without a trace, never returning his correspondence after her crippling impairment. For weeks she was unable and then, when she regained strength enough to consider it, her legs had become useless. How could she promise Randolph a future when she knew not herself if she’d ever walk again? Ever be pain free?

  With fortitude and strength of mind, Livie refolded the letter and glanced out the window, deep in thought. It seemed a fool’s errand to remain hopeful there could be any kind of future between them. Having met Randolph by most unusual circumstances, it was a wonder they’d managed to correspond as much as they did. Still their friendship had evolved through their clever conversations and a mutual devotion had grown. She should be grateful for the friendship she’d developed in the past. Yet the niggling thought that perhaps he wondered of her, the same way she wondered of him, continued with relentless persistence. And truly, what harm would come from her writing one last letter? One missive to explain the circumstances, apologize for her lack of contact, and inquiry of his wellbeing? It seemed the right thing to do considering the circumstances and perhaps, to put an end to the ache that drenched her heart whenever she thought of their lost love.

  Before she could change her mind, Livie withdrew a piece of foolscap from the drawer and, dipping the nib of her pen into the inkpot, committed her thoughts to paper.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Valerian was a man on a mission. Dressed in a very fine tailcoat of premium wool, he’d eschewed the tailor’s suggestion of tri-color embroidery and chosen a muted kerseymere. In lieu of inexpressibles, he’d opted for pantaloons and black polished Hessians. Together the ensemble spoke of exacting fashion, as flawless as the folds in his silk cravat, and as determined as his mindset to win Wilhelmina’s hand. She already owned his heart. How ridiculous the two of them had quarreled about nothing of significance in relation to their cherished emotions. All that mattered little now. He patted his coat pocket, a brilliant diamond betrothal ring kept safely against his heart.

  Approaching the stairs to Aunt Kate’s town house, he paused beside the boxwood hedges and glanced to the second st
ory, a smile turning his lips and an unharnessed energy coursing through him at the prospect of seeing Whimsy, proposing marriage and beginning a new life when he’d all but assured himself happiness was out of reach. He chuckled.

  Climbing the stairs, he knocked on the front door, ignoring the brass.

  No one answered.

  Determined more than deterred, he lifted the brass this time and rapped with more strength than was necessary. Wasn’t anyone at home? Where was the housekeeper? He was led to believe Livie needed constant care. He reached for the knocker a second time when the door swung wide.

  “Yes?”

  Wilhelmina’s tone bespoke of patience stretched thin. Her eyes looked weary and tearful as if she’d been crying only moments before and her clothing was filthy. For a fleeting breath, the night they’d tumbled down the hillside resurrected, but the image was immediately replaced by the delightful hours found later with Wilhelmina in his bed. His body stirred and he forced himself to words.

  “Are you all right?” He leaned in, examining her from head to toe.

  “I told you not to call.”

  Not the answer he’d anticipated. Foolish, that. “I’ve important news.”

  She stared at him, her cheeks stained from newly shed tears, and his heart ached for whatever had driven her to sadness. Surely, she couldn’t doubt his affection. He’d declared his feelings and heart’s intent. Now that the earldom’s solvency had been restored, nothing stood in the way of their happiness.

  “Lord Dash—”

  “Valerian,” he interrupted with insistence. What was this silly game she meant to play?

  “I’ve never considered you obtuse.” Her shoulders slumped in what only could be labeled defeat or frustration barely contained. “My aunt and sister have gone for an afternoon ride in Hyde Park and the staff has been given a holiday. I’d like nothing more than to soak in a hot tub. I am tired and…” she glanced to her skirts, “in need of a bath. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

  She began to close the door, but he placed his hand against the edge.

  “You can’t deny the love we have for each other, Whimsy.” His murmur was meant in the most charming manner.

  “You denied our relationship for your financial security.”

  “I couldn’t have you marry a pauper. Allow me to come in and talk to you.”

  Her nostrils flared before she answered. “I smell terrible.”

  Did he detect a trace of impish humor? How dearly he wished to kiss her. The lady was in desperate need of ardent professions of love. His love. “I don’t mind. It’s your heart I’m after.”

  “Then you shall be disappointed this morning. I have nothing to offer you, Valerian.”

  Wasn’t this a reversal of fortune? You, my lady, are everything.

  But he never had a chance to voice the words as she was already shutting the door and were it not for his quick reflexes she might have closed his fingers in the jamb. As it was, the cuff of his new ensemble caught in her hurry to force him away, now providing the perfect entry as the door was not sealed properly. He cracked it open, just enough to gain view of the lathe-turned banisters and long staircase which led to the upper floor. He’d allow her a few minutes before rearranging her plans, for certainly their futures were meant to be spent together.

  Wilhelmina sank into the hot water grateful Rose had helped her fill the tub before leaving to visit family. Quietude was the exact remedy to her malady. She loved her sister and aunt dearly. So much so, they were the impetus of all she’d perpetuated lately, yet today, after losing the charm bracelet and accepting with discontent Valerian’s stubborn refusal, solitude was the necessary cure. It didn’t matter he showed at her doorstep. It was too late. Too much had changed.

  Weeks ago she’d felt the same forlorn despair yet she’d been spared the brokenhearted misery of loving Valerian. Now, she had little to offer other than a dependent sister and aged aunt. A whisper of conscience reminded her her situation mirrored the dashing earl’s but she nudged the realization away and sank further into the comforting warmth of bubbles and lilac-scented soap.

  Matchmaker? She deserved the title of worst ever, unable to find the way to her own content.

  She leaned her neck against the rim of the tub and massaged the muscles against the cool copper. A wistful part of her heart prodded she should again explain the circumstances to Valerian. He’d understand having dealt with similar financial difficulties. He might agree their sentiments for each other were paramount. How had everything become so muddled? This time it was her pride preventing the words from being spoken. Closing her eyes, she willed her body to calm, pulse to slow, a nap just the thing to erase the horrid morning, her mother’s bracelet forever gone.

  She floated at the edge of a shallow sleep when she alerted to a sound in her bedchamber, the click of the door and soft fall of shoes on carpet. Good heavens, she was alone in the house. Howsoever could there be a noise? But then again, the light step, as if someone trod with determined care. She sat up in the tub, leaning forward through a mountain of bubbles to strain her ear as closely to the door as possible. Her heart pounded in her chest. Could it all be a trick of imagination? Were she to see the knob twist a choked scream of panic would never be heard.

  Then the door opened, and there stood Valerian.

  Her mouth went dry from the pure handsomeness of his appearance and she fought a treacherous wave of affection.

  And then he leaned against the doorframe as if he had nowhere in particular to be.

  She did so love when he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned.

  Deliciously wonderful ideas came to mind that had nothing to do with her previous disappointment and everything to do with her nakedness in a tub of hot soapy water and the Earl of Dashwood only three feet away.

  Neither of them spoke, though his eyes were wicked in the wavering candlelight, invested with dark secrets and hidden desires and promises…promises of inestimable pleasure.

  Steam rose from the water, the air as heated as his gaze, and her body reacted, a tingling from the tips of her breasts, downward, tracing her spine, to settle in her core where she responded with immediate warmth and wetness.

  How dare he? In her bedchamber.

  She was trapped.

  “Get out.” Her words didn’t capture her intent as they bespoke more of surrender than reprimand and she found herself unable to sustain any degree of temper.

  “I’d rather get in.” His answer was pure sin.

  “Valerian!” Her outburst expressed a fair degree of shock.

  He chuckled a deep tenor and pushed from the doorframe to take a menacing step closer. She had nowhere to hide. With all her heart she didn’t want to. When had she become so shameless?

  “Lean back.” His words were all command as he removed his coat and lifted the scented soap from the stool beside the sink. He dipped his hands into the bathwater near the foot of the tub, hardly bothering to roll his sleeves.

  “You’ll ruin your shirt.” Was that her only protestation? A rush of heat drenched her from head to toe.

  “This old thing?” He winked with the charm of a scoundrel, dismissing her objection before moving to stand behind the tub. “Rest your head on the rim so I can soap your hair.”

  She swallowed a strong case of nerves, but did as she was told. The firm press of his fingertips against her scalp, the care with which he threaded his fingers through the length, the very idea that he would offer such intimate ministration, made her heart pound with pleasure. That is, until it stopped beating altogether.

  His palms skimmed her shoulders, teased her breasts, until one clever hand fluttered past her hip to rest on her sex. She inhaled sharply, unable to exhale in wonder of what he would do next.

  She didn’t have to wait long, her breath rushing out on a lovely sigh. She might have said something, made some kind of objection when his fingertip caressed the most intimate part of her, but then he was kissing her shoulder, nuzzling the a
rch of her neck where his whiskers abraded her skin in delightful friction, his soft murmurings reverberating down where his fingers played, each stroke igniting a fresh lick of heat, a spark of pain pleasure which left her wriggling to be free and all the while, desperate for more.

  Oh, what he did to her. She tilted her hips the slightest to offer a better angle.

  His left hand caressed the tip of her breast, his teeth nipped her skin, while his fingers rubbed her cleft with infinite delicacy, urging her to find release, to abandon all decorum and surrender to sensation. She arched in answer to his quest, her breathing nothing more than sighs and moans carried on the hum of appreciative murmur. Her hips matched the rhythm of his determined caresses, gentle yet strong, the building force of climax not to be denied.

  The soapy water lapping against her breasts, warm and erotic, mimicked the exquisite exploration of his fingers below, and she, unable to stay still, soaked in the onslaught of wicked temptation urging her toward completion.

  She found release at the same time he tasted her lobe, his satisfied smile against her cheek a reminder that she should be appalled at her behavior, yet she couldn’t grasp the concept, her limbs languid and sated, her body tingling with the aftermath of pure awareness. The brush of his hair at her cheek, the hot press of his lips against her skin, the scent of neroli, cloves and masculinity, left her helpless, drained, never happier.

  She kept her eyes closed, partly to extend the intimate moment, and also to avoid the embarrassment of her wanton behavior. She felt him withdraw, frowning at the loss of heat against her bare back and heard him wash and dry his hands at the sink, the silence suddenly overbearing. Wouldn’t he say something, anything, to alleviate her complete mortification?

  He gently tipped her chin upward and her eyes fluttered open as he pressed a tender kiss on her cheek.