Price of Desire

by Lavinia Kent

  Of course, the sun also had been bright that morning four years ago. Halt. He shifted uncomfortably on the seat, and then even more uncomfortably as he saw Minerva Clarington’s gaze shift, transparently contemplating anatomical conditions that had nothing to do with her.

  Damn ladies. They were the bane of his existence. If only Lady Burberry really had been Rose the country miss, then the world would have been very different, indeed. He let his eyes close for a second, avoiding Minerva’s salacious glance. What if Rose had been a vicar’s daughter, of high enough standing that marriage was possible, but far from the stilted society of London, which taught ladies to be deceitful and manipulative from birth?

  What if he’d never reenlisted? Never faced Waterloo? At least he hadn’t betrayed his dreams last night. That would have been the end, if Rose had seen the devils that haunted his sleep, seen his vulnerability, known the demons that plagued his very sanity.

  The whole experience lay heavy on him. It had not provided the relief he’d sought. Oh, his body was satisfied, or at least had been, but his mind – his mind still longed for something more, some half-forgotten closeness. He had not missed her forced detachment, her refusal to merge into their pleasure, as she had done that other time. Only at the very end, when there was no choice but to succumb, had she joined him inside the fire.

  He forced the thought from his mind. He had learned with practice to shut from his mind those memories that only served to torment.

  He glanced at his companion and closed his eyes again. He leaned back on the bench, thereby avoiding the urge to sketch out the best route back to London on Minerva’s chest. He wasn’t sure whether that would earn him a slap or, even worse, a kiss.

  Yes, he would just keep his eyes closed for the few more minutes it would take for her to begin to think of her complexion and demand to be taken back.

  If, in the meantime, he let his mind wander to the fantasy of a young officer and the vicar’s daughter, what was the harm in that? He knew the truth of what, of whom, Lady Burberry was, therefore, a little daydream about a reality that didn’t exist could do no harm.

  “Oh dear, I do declare the sun is very strong. We’d better make for shore.”

  Ah, just as predicted. He opened his eyes.

  “Of course, my lady, I’ll start back.”

  “No.”

  His brows tensed.

  Lady Clarington leaned forward, showing him mysteries about which he had never wondered.

  “I am not sure I can make it all the way back. I think you’d better take us ashore there. She pointed to a small clearing under the arms of a wide willow. That looks much more restful. If we go back I’ll never get the quiet that I need to recover.” She batted her eyelashes at him.

  He’d been flanked and he hadn’t even seen it coming. So much for thinking a brief dream had no cost. Rose Burberry, the troublesome witch, didn’t even need to be present to land him like a trout.

  “Uhh.” Oh, yes, that was persuasive.

  “Just head that way. I really am most overheated. I fear I may faint. Oh, I am so dizzy.”

  She rocked back and forth nearly upsetting the boat before leaning all the way forward to brace her hand high on his thigh.

  “That’s much better, isn’t it?” Her fingers began a slow walk upward.

  All thoughts he’d had of insisting they row back to the party fled. He tried to shift away, but that only forced Lady Clarington to bend further. She was going to pop right out.

  She smiled like a cat with the mouse caught firm beneath her paw.

  “To shore it is.” He set the oars to water with such fervor that the boat rocked back, and so did she.

  He picked up the pace. It would be easier to evade her on shore where there was much more room to maneuver.

  “I do like to watch a man of fine physique.” Her eyes raked over him harder than a harpy’s talons. “But, I am afraid I am more heated than ever.”

  She dipped her fingers into the lake water and let it trail in rivulets down her bosom. Now there were rivers as well as roads.

  He rowed faster. The skiff hit shore with a thud.

  She fell back in her seat, her legs and petticoats fluttering. Why was he not surprised that her skirts finally settled about her knees?

  “Oh, dear me, now you must help me up.”

  Maybe he should have rowed back to the party, to safety. He’d even welcome a little cannon fire about now.

  He stepped forward. The mud squelched about his boots and he held out his hand. Being a gentleman was hell.

  Lady Clarington stared from his hand to his face and back again. She clearly wanted a little more assistance. He held firm.

  She huffed, then righted herself and with a sigh that nearly set several roads on new courses, grabbed his hand and let herself be pulled to standing.

  Victory.

  “Look at that mud.” She peered down at the slime coating his best Hessians. “You’ll have to carry me.”

  And ambush.

  He bent forward and pulled her into his arms. A battle of wills. He kept his elbows straight and she leaned with all her strength towards him. Did those things move on their own?

  Two quick steps and a hop and they were high on the grassy bank. He set her on her feet and stepped back with lightning speed.

  “You do look peaked. Stay here. I’ll fetch your husband.”

  He set off towards the woods.

  “Oh, but you can’t leave me alone! I am so frightened.”

  He heard the rustle of her feet on the remaining leaves and picked up his pace.

  “No, you mustn’t exert yourself. You would not want to be overcome.”

  He was just about running now.

  “But, I find certain exertions pleasurable.”

  Forget being a gentleman. Wulf had never thought he would put his best scout training to work on the grounds of a well-manicured estate. He darted sideways and sought refuge behind a bush.

  What a beautiful afternoon. This was much more in line with the party Rose had imagined, her guests spread like daisies upon the lawns, reclining on blankets or the chairs brought down from the summerhouse, the lobster patties fresh, the wine chilled. It was almost perfect.

  Even the absence of Wulf added to the calm. She ignored the niggling displeasure that he’d allowed himself to be maneuvered into a boat by Lady Clarington. He’d already demonstrated that he didn’t mind married ladies. But, of course he hadn’t known that Rose had been was married. He’d been so angry when he found out, so hurt. Then why was he now . . .

  She would not let her afternoon be ruined by such an insignificant problem. Wulf was not her concern. He could do what he pleased, and so would she.

  She collected herself and with her best smile went to greet Mr. Williams, who had just strolled down from the stables. He really was showing signs of getting a bit round about the middle, but his smile was wide and generous. Surely, that was more important than anything else. Attraction and compatibility had nothing to do with each other.

  “Mr. Williams, I am so pleased that you were able to join us. I’ve looked forward to furthering our acquaintance.”

  “I share the sentiment, Lady Burberry. I have heard only the most gracious of things about you, and I look forward to finding out their truth.”

  “Come, then, let me introduce you to the company and we can talk further. I am very interested in discovering how you enjoy our small village and what brought you to the neighborhood. It seems an unusual spot to choose residence without prior knowledge.”

  “Actually, I had an aunt who lived not far away. I visited several times as a boy and, when I came into funds, I made inquiries. I’d always fancied myself a country gentleman.”

  “You enjoy managing your lands, then?”

  “I don’t think I go quite that far. I must admit it’s been a bit more difficult than I first imagined. I find myself a bit of a fish out of water.”

  “I know the sentiment. When Burberry first
took ill I was overwhelmed with the magnitude of the details that needed my attention.”

  “That’s it exactly. I thought spring planting meant you just spread the seed over the field. I never knew you had to prepare the soil and then hope for rain, but not too much rain. And slugs. I never thought I’d find myself in meaningful conversations about slugs.”

  Rose released a full bodied laugh. “Oh, you do bring back memories.”

  Warm brown eyes turned towards her. “We definitely have much to talk about, my lady. I sense you’ve tales to tell.”

  “I’d always heard the answer was ale. You just put out a bowlful and the slugs climb in and drown. It’s quite effective.”

  “Oh.” His interest grew.

  “Unfortunately, that’s fine if you’ve a kitchen garden or a bed of posies. I was ready to try it out on the fields.”

  Mr. Williams’ brows drew together as he considered the implications of this, then a slow easy smile spread across his face. “Dear me.”

  “Yes, I believe I was ready to buy up every barrel on the coast when I learned the true secret.”

  Mr. Williams leaned forward.

  “Do share.”

  She leaned forward, prepared to conspire in this most important campaign. But a third voice interrupted their conspiracy.

  “Lady Burberry, do introduce me.” It was Lady Smythe-Burke. “I hate not to know everybody. Although, of course, you must be Mr. Williams. Met your aunt once. Sweet lady, but a tendency to ramble on. She spent her summers hereabouts, didn’t she? I think she dreamed of King Arthur. Always talking about the majesty of Cornwall. To be sure, the only Arthur hereabouts is my nephew, and he’s a duke, Westlake, not a king. Lovely man. Beautiful wife, too. Hear she’s in an interesting condition. What do you know about that? I imagine they won’t attend the ball. Such a shame.” She turned to Rose, but then quickly back to Mr. Williams. “Do you dream of Camelot also? Never did understand the fascination. Your aunt could talk of it for hours. Of course, I did only meet her the once. Maybe it was only a brief fascination.”

  “Lady Smythe-Burke, Mr. Williams, as you guessed. Mr. Williams, do allow me to introduce you to Lady Smyth-Burke. She’s been gracious enough to help me with all my plans.”

  Lady Smythe-Burke lifted one brow. “Your plans? Have you been discussing your plans with the gentlemen? Not at all the way I would have gone. But, each to his own. So what do you think about dear Lady Burberry’s plan? Isn’t it sensible?”

  Mr. Williams stared, his eyes wide and fascinated.

  “I am not quite sure to which plan your refer.”

  “Why her plan to . . .”

  “Get rid of the slugs, of course. Lady Smythe-Burke must have heard us talking.” Rose interceded before she could lose control of the conversation. It was bad enough knowing that she was a prize for every man with a pocket to let, but she didn’t need them knowing she was out hunting too.

  “Slugs?” Lady Smythe-Burke stuttered.

  “Yes, slugs.”

  “Oh no, I was talking about your plan to –”

  There was a decided gleam in Lady Smythe-Burke’s eye as Rose grabbed her arm.

  “Ducks. That’s the answer, Mr. Williams. Ducks eat slugs. I’ll explain more later. I am afraid I’ve forgotten to discuss the preparations for the dance with Lady Smythe-Burke. I wouldn’t want to bore you.”

  She held firmly to Lady Smythe-Burke’s wrist and led her to the edge of the shrubbery. Once they were sheltered from the gathering by the bushes, she turned to face Lady Smythe-Burke, squarely, face to face. The lady had grown even narrower as she’d stretched herself upright in indignation.

  “I haven’t told Mr. Williams about my plan to –”

  “Find a husband. I know.”

  Rose gaped. She shut her mouth with a decided click.

  Lady Smythe-Burke smiled.

  “You were looking too comfortable. You need to make the man work or he’ll never appreciate you properly, and that, decidedly, would not comport with your plans.”

  “Are you playing hide and seek, too?”

  Wulf jerked back, startled. He hadn’t even heard her coming. He’d been so busy trying to avoid Lady Clarington that he hadn’t paid attention to anything else. If this had really been war, he would have been dead, or captured. He shuddered. Lady Clarington was a more adept adversary than a grenadier of the Grande Armée. And becoming her prisoner was no pleasant prospect.

  “Well, are you?” The demanding little voice drew his attention again. He peered around, and down, to find himself staring into familiar green eyes. His breath caught.

  Anna had found him. He’d reconciled himself to leaving without meeting her face to face. It had torn at his heart, but he’d seen no honorable way around it. Now, here she was. All he could do was stare at her dainty perfection.

  “Don’t you know it’s rude not to answer? I am always being scolded if I don’t answer. You do talk, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  It was much harder to form the single word than Wulf would have imagined. His mouth had suddenly filled with cotton. Had his cravat come untied from his neck and of its own accord slipped between his lips? He’d never had anything to do with children – never wanted to – if only he knew what to do.

  She was so beautiful, it hurt him to look at her.

  How had he thought he could leave without meeting her – leave without her?

  “You still haven’t answered me.” The little foot stamped with that queenly majesty she’d inherited from her mother. “If you are hiding, I know a secret way.”

  “Ah, yes, I am hiding. There’s a dragon loose in the woods.”

  Anna gave a delicious shiver.

  “A dragon? Really? Mama only finds trolls. I’d love a real dragon. Should we hunt it?”

  “No, definitely not,” Wulf sputtered. Weren’t little girls supposed to be scared of dragons?

  “I’ll protect you if you’re afraid.” Anna lifted the stick she was dragging.

  “Should you be with your Nanny?” Why had he said that? The last thing he wanted was for her to leave, to go join somebody who might not welcome his presence.

  Luckily her eyes clouded at the thought.

  “NO!”

  The foot stamped again. Small lips puckered into a perfect rosebud and her little brow furrowed. His heart dissolved as a single tear meandered down her cheek. Another followed.

  “Nanny wants me to take a nap. I am too old for naps. Nanny needs a nap. If I go to sleep then she can, too, but I don’t want to nap. I am a big girl.”

  What did one say to that? Anna barely reached his knee, but it was clear her spirit was very big indeed.

  “How old are you?” He knew the answer, but it seemed like a safe question.

  A dirty pudgy hand lifted and thrust three fingers at him.

  “Five.”

  So much for safe questions. He knew she was four. Didn’t she know the answer? Should she know the answer? What were four-year-old children supposed to answer?

  “Where are you? Major Huntington, where are you?” Lady Clarington’s voice echoed through the clearing.

  “It’s the dragon. Where should we hide?”

  Without further sound Anna grabbed his hand and tugged him . . . straight into a bush. While her tiny size allowed her to skip merrily in, he had to duck and crawl to follow. He’d ruined his boots in the mud, and now his breeches would meet the same fate. It was a good thing he didn’t have a valet to horrify.

  “This way,” Anna whispered.

  He followed, realizing that the long hedge led all the way back towards the picnic party, the thick outer branches creating a long, if slightly prickly, tunnel. Anna picked up speed as she moved. Maybe they should have employed four year-olds to scout in Belgium. She certainly moved rapidly over the dank leaves and low branches.

  She stopped suddenly, and Wulf found himself crushing her to his chest to prevent himself from toppling over her. The soft smell of baby rose from
her hair, blocking out the smell of damp leaves. He could have remained in that instant forever, the sweet baby smell and the warm, soft body sheltering him from all the unpleasant memories of his life. Peace. He kissed the top of her head in gratitude.

  “Shhh, don’t do that. She’ll hear. She always hears.”

  Wulf shook his head to clear the wonder from his thoughts. He peered out between the leaves and saw the blue fringes of a skirt he remembered well from that morning. Even with Anna’s body warm in his arms, he could not stop the shiver of awareness that shook him. He was only feet away from Rose.

  Lady Smythe-Burke’s voice whistled down at them. “. . . Definitely not fit in with your plans.”

  “Forgive me, but I am not at all certain I agree. It seems to me that unless a man understands from the start what I want, how will I ever know if he’s suitable?” Rose’s softer voice whispered around him, but there was nothing soft in her tone.

  “My dear Rose – I think it’s time I called you that – I do agree, but only to a certain degree. As I said before, manageable men need to be managed.”

  Why on earth were they talking about manageable men? Anna turned her face into his chest, distracting him from any other thought.

  “I am not sure I take your meaning.”

  “You want Mr. Williams, or whoever you chose, to think it’s all his idea.”

  “I do?”

  “You do.”

  Even though all Wulf could see was one small foot tapping, he could almost see Rose’s face compressed in thought. She’d have her lips pursed, her upper teeth worrying the lush lower one. Her eyes would darken and . . .

  “I think I understand. If I let him choose to let me help, then –”

  “He feels that he’s the one in charge, the master, so to speak.”

  “But, I don’t want a master. If there’s one thing I am trying to avoid, it’s a masterful man.”