The Viscount's Bride

by Ann Elizabeth Cree

  “Only because you were preoccupied with your ritual.”

  “Ritual?”

  “You were worshipping the wind and sea, were you not? Does the vicar know about this?”

  The predictable colour rose in her cheeks. “I loved to dance in the wind when I was a child. I would always feel as if I was part of the earth and the wind. The sea is so wonderful and wild when it is stormy like this—I just wanted to feel part of it.” She looked at him, rather shame-faced. “I am not behaving as a lady should again. Proper young ladies do not dance in storms. I suppose you wish to scold me.”

  No, what he wished to do was pull her into his arms, tangle his hands in her glorious red hair, and kiss her thoroughly while the wind whipped around them.

  She watched him with her large eyes, waiting for his answer. “No, I do not wish to scold you. Although you should wear your bonnet unless you want your skin to become burned from the wind.”

  “But you are not wearing a hat. In fact, you do not wear hats very much at all.”

  “I prefer to go bare-headed.”

  “So do I. I think hats interfere too much with the weather. One cannot properly feel the breeze or… Oh!” A large raindrop had hit her on the nose. Before she could react further, the sky opened.

  “In this case, hats would be useful.” He caught her hand and pulled her along the path. By the time they reached the shelter of the trees, they were both breathless, and thoroughly soaked.

  He dropped her hand. “You forgot to put your bonnet on.” It still dangled down her back, now wet and soggy.

  “That would have taken too much time. I suppose it is ruined but it might have been ruined even if it were on my head.” She fumbled with the ribbons and then pulled it off.

  “You are remarkably matter of fact about it. Many women would be in hysterics over the loss of a bonnet.”

  “It is a very old bonnet, which is why I wore it,” she said defensively. “In fact, Arthur suggested that I should give it away because it is so unfashionable.”

  He grinned at her expression. “I meant to pay you a compliment. I should hate to find myself taking shelter from the rain with a female who was in hysterics over the ruin of a bonnet.”

  “Has that ever happened to you before?”

  “Not over a bonnet. Over a ruined pair of gloves, however. I once escorted a woman to Vauxhall…” What the devil was he doing? He’d nearly told her about the time he and his then current mistress had been stranded by the rain. “I should not be telling you these things.”

  A little smile touched her mouth. “I doubt I would be too shocked. Lucien was my half-brother, you know.”

  He could not miss the sadness in her voice and she suddenly seemed far older than her twenty years. He’d not given any thought to what it might have been like for her with Lucien. Because Lucien was so much older he had assumed she had been sheltered from him by her parents. “He spoke of such things around you?” He should not be shocked by anything Milbourne had done, but he was.

  “Sometimes.” She avoided looking at him. She moved away and rubbed her arms and shivered. “I hope the rain will let up soon. Perhaps we should hurry back to the house. I do not think we could get any wetter than we are.”

  He followed her. “Are you cold?”

  “A little.”

  “Then have my coat. The rain did not soak completely through it.” He shrugged out of it and held it out to her.

  She stared at it. “I cannot do that, then you will be cold.”

  “I’m not wearing a thin muslin gown.” He stepped forward and draped it around her shoulders. His fingers brushed the nape of her neck and he had a sudden vision of exploring the soft creamy skin with his lips.

  He backed away. Hell. Perhaps he’d best go stand out in the rain for a while and cool down his lust. Or pray the rain would let up and they could get out of here.

  She cast a puzzled glance at him and then looked away. She seemed fragile, very young and rather lost in his coat. An uncomfortable silence fell between them as if she had sensed his unspoken thoughts. If anything, the rain seemed to be falling even harder, beating heavily on the canopy of the trees that sheltered them.

  He cleared his throat and started to speak. At the same time she said, “How…?”

  He stopped. “Please go on.”

  “I was wondering how Maisy is.”

  “She is fine, although my groom told me that she tried to nip Domino today.”

  “Oh, dear. I am afraid Maisy does not like strange male horses.”

  “Although Domino is not exactly male any more.” He could have bitten his tongue. Why couldn’t he remember she was a proper young lady?

  She merely smiled. “It does not really matter to her. Although she seems to be growing more irritable as she ages.”

  “Why did you ride her yesterday? Surely Justin has given you use of a more suitable mount.”

  “Because she is still my friend and she looked rather forlorn when I entered the stables. One doesn’t desert friends just because they are old and not as useful as they once were. Arthur wanted to put her down because he said she was slow and ill tempered and we had no room, but I would not let him. I wrote to Belle and asked if they would have her and they sent for her straight away.” She gave him a defiant glance. “I suppose you find that sentimental and ridiculous.”

  “No, I find it commendable. You are not afraid to stand up for those you care for. I still recall how you declared you would make Justin very sorry if he hurt Belle, and that if I was not careful I would suffer the same fate.”

  “I did mean it. I would not have let either of you hurt her.”

  “I know,” he said quietly. “In fact, that was when I started to change my mind about Belle.” He had come upon Chloe as she backed Justin into a corner at a ball, a young debutante in cream muslin, threatening Justin if he dared to hurt her beloved sister-in-law. When Brandt had made some idiotic remark about how Justin should watch his back, she had glared at him, told him it was rude to listen to private conversations and if she had to, she would spend the rest of her life making anyone who hurt Belle, including him, very sorry. He’d thought her a mouse before then, but her spirited defence had proved otherwise. He’d found himself watching her after that and noticing things about her; the way her face lit up when she smiled, her lack of pretence, her honest gaze. Most of all her belief in Belle’s goodness had made him question whether Belle had been an accomplice in Lucien’s plan to destroy Justin after all.

  “I am glad you did,” she said softly.

  “As I am. She has made my cousin very happy.”

  Her gaze locked with his. His eyes dropped to her mouth and she swallowed. Almost without thinking he stepped forward and then caught her by the shoulders, drawing her to him. His mouth came down on hers. Her body seemed to meld against his for a moment and then she stiffened and pulled away.

  He let her go. “Chloe,” he began.

  She took a step back, pulling his coat more tightly about her as if to protect herself. “I pray you will not kiss me any more, my lord.” Now she was beginning to look like the old Chloe, the one who made it obvious she held him in complete dislike. The one who roused the devil in him.

  He’d been about to apologise but her cool tone set his back up and made him feel as if he’d been slapped. “Why not? You seemed to enjoy them well enough yesterday.”

  She had the grace to colour. “I do not want a betrothal that includes kisses. I think it would be best if we had a…a practical arrangement.”

  “And what precisely is a practical arrangement?”

  “An arrangement where both parties enter into a betrothal for purely rational reasons rather like a…a business agreement. They are civil to one another, but there are no other complications beyond that.”

  “What sort of complications?”

  “Well, kisses for one thing.”

  “How would kisses complicate matters?”

  She was beginning to look ra
ther angry. “I would imagine that is rather obvious!”

  “Is it? Then why did you ask Sir Preston to kiss you?”

  He knew he had gone too far when she took a step back, her cheeks suddenly pale. “That was unkind,” she whispered.

  “It was. I beg your pardon.”

  “I…I suppose I deserved it.”

  “No.” He now stepped away from her. “You are right. We had best keep this arrangement on a practical basis. Kisses do make things damnably complicated. We can endeavour to be civil to one another.”

  “Yes.” For some reason, she looked less than pleased by his capitulation. Another silence fell between them, this one even more profound. She finally looked away. “The rain has stopped.”

  No wonder it seemed so quiet. “Then we should return to the house.”

  “Very well.” She started to remove his coat. “I must give this back to you.”

  “Keep it on until we reach the house.” He was in no mood to argue the point.

  She looked taken aback at his harsh tone, but said nothing. They walked back to the house in silence, both careful to maintain a distance between them. Once inside, she slipped out of his coat. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Of course.”

  She searched his face as if trying to read his thoughts, her own expression unhappy. She finally looked away. “I will see you at dinner.”

  “Yes.” He watched her climb the stairs, a strange disappointment enveloping him. What had he hoped? That she might actually come to like him? That someone as decent as Chloe would accept someone as jaded as himself?

  He turned away, impatient. Chloe ought to marry the sort of honourable sensible man she had her heart set on. As for himself, he would avoid thoughts of marriage. Particularly marriages that might involve complicated emotions.

  He had no idea why the idea suddenly seemed so flat.

  —

  Chloe shut her bedchamber door. She leaned against it and wondered why she felt so miserable. She should be pleased with the conversation. She had made it quite clear they were to stay on a practical, impersonal basis with no ridiculous compliments or heady kisses to complicate matters. It was precisely the sort of betrothal she had always imagined.

  Telling herself that did nothing to erase the fact that she had wanted nothing more than to melt into his embrace and see if his kisses were as pleasurable as they had been yesterday. It had taken every particle of will she possessed to break away. She had said the words she had so carefully rehearsed in her mind but somehow they did not feel so right when she actually said them to him, as they had when she was alone in her room. For an instant he almost appeared hurt, and then the cool, arrogant mask had slid over his face which had only goaded her more. The camaraderie they had experienced while dashing through the rain had vanished.

  Perhaps it was for the best, because if she allowed herself to like him too much, she might make the dangerous mistake of actually falling in love with him, and he would have the power to hurt her much more than Lucien had ever done.

  —

  Chloe stood in the entrance of the assembly hall, her hands clammy. She should not be so nervous, but it was the first time she had been out in public since the picnic four days ago. Nor had she seen much of Brandt since their encounter in the rain. He had risen early to oversee the work at Waverly and returned late, often after dinner. Their exchanges were brief and all that was polite, and strangely unsatisfying.

  In fact, although she was loath to admit it, she looked forward to seeing him tonight. He had told Belle he would drive over from Waverly. But she had not yet spotted him.

  “I do not think Brandt is here yet,” Belle remarked, reading Chloe’s mind. “I am glad we were able to persuade him to come. He needs a diversion from spending so much time at Waverly. Although Marguerite tells me the rooms on the first floor are nearly finished. She has been trying to persuade him to hold your betrothal party there.”

  “Why would she wish to do that?” She could not imagine Brandt allowing such a thing. In fact, she could not imagine he would want a betrothal party at all. She certainly did not. Even the mention of the affair was enough to send a tumult of emotions rushing through her, although desperation seemed to be the presiding one. Marguerite had been over twice to discuss the details with Belle and Chloe, which only increased her anxiety. Perhaps if she said something to Brandt he could talk them out of it. If she ever saw him long enough to do so.

  “She seems to think it would be a good way to officially open up Waverly again as well as celebrate your forthcoming marriage, particularly since you are delaying it for so long.” Belle looked at her face and said with a sympathetic smile, “I know you are not particularly pleased about it, but it is expected. You are the future mistress of Waverly in everyone’s eyes.”

  “It is just that it seems so deceitful.”

  “Perhaps.” Belle turned away to speak to Mrs Sutton who had greeted her.

  Mrs Sutton congratulated Chloe warmly on her betrothal. “We are so pleased! You have become quite one of us and we were loath to have you leave! Now you will—” She broke off. “Good heavens! Is that Emily Coltrane? Why, she looks quite pretty!”

  Chloe spotted Mrs Coltrane and Emily standing near the door with Tom. Emily’s dark hair was pulled back in a loose chignon that softened the lines of her square face. The pale peach silk she wore, now devoid of most of its trimming, fell in simple lines becoming to her figure and the vee of its bodice made her shoulders appear less broad. The colour, instead of making her face pale, brought out her creamy complexion. Mrs Coltrane beamed, but Emily’s expression was apprehensive as if she had no idea how her startling transformation would be received.

  “She looks beautiful,” Belle said.

  They were not the only people who stared at Emily, who looked as if she were about to run. Chloe excused herself from Belle and Mrs Sutton and made her way through the crowd to Emily’s side.

  Emily fidgeted with her fan. “What do you think?”

  “You look lovely. In fact, Belle said you were beautiful.”

  A slight flush coloured Emily’s cheeks. “Did she really?”

  “That is what I told her,” Mrs Coltrane said with a fond smile, “but now she refuses to step into the room.”

  Tom made an impatient sound. “Don’t know why. For once she’s in prime twig and now she doesn’t want to go in. I would think you’d want to show off your dress like most girls.”

  Emily sniffed. “I’m not most girls.”

  “No, that’s for certain.” He grinned at his sister’s stormy expression.

  “Come with me,” Chloe said. “We can take a turn around the room.”

  “Do go on,” Mrs Coltrane urged when Emily hesitated. “Now that everyone has seen you it would look quite odd for you to leave now.”

  Emily still hesitated. “Very well,” she finally said. She allowed Chloe to link her arm through hers.

  Chloe smiled at her. “Oh, Emily, I have no doubt someone will be quite smitten!”

  Emily gave her a nervous smile. “Do you think so?”

  “I have no doubt. Shall we find Sir Preston now?”

  “In a little bit. I do not want to appear overly eager to see him.”

  “I quite understand.” Just as she did not want to appear overly eager to see Brandt, which of course, she wasn’t.

  Emily paused. “Lord Salcombe is coming this way.”

  “Oh.” Chloe flushed and forced herself not to turn around even when she sensed he stood directly behind her.

  “Good evening, Miss Coltrane, Chloe.”

  She turned slowly and managed a smile. “Good evening, Lord Salcombe.”

  His gaze sharpened for an instant before he turned his attention to Emily. “May I tell you how charming you look tonight, Miss Coltrane? I almost did not recognise you.” His tone was polite, but there was no doubting the admiration in his eye. Chloe could have hugged him.

  She was even more pleased when Emily, wh
ose gaze had searched his face, smiled. “You may, Lord Salcombe. And you may tell Chloe as well, for she is the one who wrought the change.”

  He glanced at Chloe. “I really did nothing but advise Emily on her gown,” she said.

  “Your advice was sound.” His voice was still polite. “Lady Chloe, perhaps you would stand up with me for the next set? I would also like to solicit your hand for the following dance, Miss Coltrane.”

  “I…” Chloe suddenly saw Sir Preston standing near the wall. Perhaps if Brandt stood up with Emily first she could draw Sir Preston’s attention to Emily while she danced with Brandt. “Would you mind very much if I danced the following set instead? And you and Emily danced now?”

  His face was a mask. He turned to Emily. “Miss Coltrane?”

  “I do not object.” She gave Chloe a curious look.

  Chloe waited until they had joined one of the sets before heading towards Sir Preston. Halfway there she began to wonder what she was doing. He had congratulated them quite nicely at Waverly but that had been among the others. What if he refused to speak to her? She would not blame him, but to her great relief he did not walk away.

  “Good evening, Lady Chloe.” He cleared his throat.

  “Have you seen Miss Coltrane tonight?”

  “Er, no. That is, haven’t really looked.”

  “She is dancing with Lord Salcombe at this very moment. She is quite transformed tonight. I scarcely recognised her. See, they are just now passing by.”

  He looked. To her dismay, Brandt did as well. The dark expression on his face sent her heart through her throat. Emily did not seem to notice. Her eyes were on Brandt’s face and she said something that made him turn from Chloe. Her only gratification was that Sir Preston was staring at the couple with a peculiarly stupefied air. “Does she not look pretty?” Chloe asked him.

  “Pretty? Er, yes. Doesn’t look like Em…that is, Miss Coltrane. Never seen her dance quite like that, either.”

  “I dare say she will be very much sought after tonight. Particularly since Lord Salcombe has stood up with her.”

  “Undoubtedly,” he said absently.