by Gayle Eden
“Thank you. Did you forget your gown?” Val snorted, eyeing Jo’s slip of a dress that exposed so much skin she did not know how it stayed on.
“Not at all. I paid a fortune for this rag.” Laughing, when Val shook her head, Jo said before going off for champagne, “I figured you would be worried about your first formal outing with Van Wyc, thus I designed this bit for distractionary purposes. They will be so busy talking about what a wicked chit I am, they won’t give you a thought.”
“Sometimes, I don’t know what to do with that one,” her father murmured on a chuckle after kissing Val’s cheek.
“Jo is Jo. She will do as she pleases, no matter what the future price may be.”
He nodded and began speaking with Van Wyc and Aric. Val spent time talking with Edmund and Alex, both stunning and fashionable, both obviously enjoying their secret game as people came up to speak to Edmund, and snub Alex. Val saw the subtle ways Edmund touched Alex and caught a wink or two in between interruptions. She would swear Alex pat his bum during a conversation with a sour faced dowager.
Feeling a hand on her spine, Val looked back and up, meeting Archard’s gaze before he leaned down and asked her to dance.
She went to a crowded floor with him, feeling a surreal sensation from the moment the waltz started. He moved with grace for such a tall and brawny male, expert skill in every step. It was as much that which made it heady, as his eyes moving over her face and hair, and when she smiled, he answered it, his gaze showing a lazy sensuality. She discerned his mind was thinking other things save the steps and music.
At some point in the night, Val began to enjoy herself, to forget worries and whispers. She would later dance with her father, with Edmund, with Aric—who danced quite well, but kept her laughing as he caught sight of Jo’s usual antics and made comments about the men drooling over her.
It was obvious that Aric was fascinated by Jo’s boldness. She got without his having to explain, that he also knew it covered much deeper emotions. Still, Jo was a vivid and vibrantly beautiful woman. It would take a dead man not to notice her.
* * * *
Archard watched Valerie. Just the words going through his head, my wife, she is mine, lit a spark in his blood. The more she relaxed, the more beautiful she was, laughing with Aric, trying not to laugh aloud when his brother pulled out all stops trying to make her do so. Grinning, when she and Alex had to rescue Jo from a lecher who had too much champagne and was cutting in on every partner Jo accepted.
Although that mink lush hair glinting with pearls, her handsome face, and the hourglass figure was entrancing enough for him, the lovely gown she wore set it off. Val was not covering her figure. He would consider her poised, magnificently proud, to anyone who observed her last season. She was still that, but someone like himself, her family, could appreciate seeing Val enjoy herself in a London ballroom, embracing her femininity.
That gown…the jewel tones she favored, were perfect for her milky skin. He did not know who talked her into having it done, but he liked this new style…
Archard sipped from a glass, his light eyes noting how many males were eyeing her. One or two met his stare. Van Wyc felt the possessive ice in his veins, the territorial that is my mate, surge in his blood.
The men quickly looked away. Archard smiled inwardly. He would kill any man who touched his woman offensively by act or sight. He did not bloody care what sorts of games these wed for title and wealth people played. He’d wed, wanted Val, for other reasons.
Feeling a hand on his shoulder, he glanced at the Marquis.
“Edmund and I are for the card room, join us?”
He reined in his thoughts, fueled by his desire for his wife. “No. Thank you.”
“Just as well,” The Marquis smiled wryly, his handsome brow arched. “There’s naught by way of a challenge here tonight. And even I draw the line at fleecing idiots.”
Archard laughed.
After Alexander had gone, Archard set his glass down and moved to where Val stood, catching her breath from dancing with some aged gent in puce and lace—a bit too much lip and cheek color giving him the appearance of a chubby marionette. He liked the way her eyes shone when she spotted him—relished it, when they moved swiftly over him. He was sure she was unaware of doing it.
“I like seeing you smile,” he told her, subtly touching his hand to her spine and leaning down a few inches to ask, “You’ve enjoyed yourself?”
“Yes—” She wrinkled her nose delightfully. “I had forgotten that I like to dance. Although, I must admit that Jo’s larking about kept myself and Alex distracted enough.”
He glanced to where Alex and Jo were now standing with some family friends. “I think she’s proved whatever it is she felt she needed to tonight.
“I wonder if she will ever get over Auttenburg,” Val said taking his arm.
“Love…is an enthralling power,” was what he murmured. He glanced down sensing she had looked at him. Archard offered, “There is the right kind, and the wrong kind. And everyone who tastes what it should and can be, knows the difference.”
She bit her lip.
He merely squeezed her hand lightly before walking with her around the ballroom. Archard spied his brother going to the card room. The Marquis would look out for Aric, although Archard realized, his brother needed little looking after. He gathered that Alexander was taking Aric under his wing, as was Edmund—and was glad for it.
He also noted a few passing turned up noses and sniffs of disapproval from those holding social power. Archard met it with an icy glare. He meant to make it plain to Val, that she no longer had to sit with these prune faced biddies and prudish old maids. He meant to make it plain to any society—that he would protect, defend, and be proud of his marriage, his wife, regardless of what they made of it. They were nothing to him. He had more serious things on his mind when it came to this marriage. It would be their life, and this was only a small part of it.
As was typical of balls, the later the hour, the thicker the crowds became, and more stifling the air. Archard maneuvered his wife towards the garden doors and outside, where others had escaped the noise and horde.
Archard paused under a lamp, eyeing the pearl pins shimmering amid her mink hair. He stilled a moment when she turned her head from watching a group who were sharing a flask, and met his gaze. Her eyes haunted him, reflecting emotions that were awful when she was wed to Leland…at times, stark and blank, with shock and pain.
Archard lifted his hand and touched her cheek, masking those worse memories from his own mind, thinking instead of all those months he had fantasized about carrying her away, loving her, showing her how much pleasure life could hold.
“What’s amiss?” She perceptively murmured under the conversation and laughter around them.
“I want to kiss you,” he said it to distract her, winking before he tucked her hand on his arm and began strolling away from the crowd.
Before her mind could throw up defenses he sensed her body did not need for it to—his earlier petting and her responses told him that she could, would, respond to him. She only needed to trust and relax. Get used to touching, being touched…He took advantage of the darker path, and distance and moved her hand from his arm, instead, putting his arm around her. He had had ample time to work out how to deepen their relationship and make her loosen up. The force and depth of his own desire of her had to be checked. A great part of Archard’s wanting her, wanted her in the fullness of her passion. He had had those mental images too, imagery, of a fully aroused and demanding Val, with that womanly body begging for his. To get to that point, he had to start with seduction, wooing, giving, and teaching her to trust them both.
The walkway veered and curved towards the high front gates. He walked her to the corner. It was darker, just off the path. Letting his hand glide down her back, Archard turned to face her, catching her biting her bottom lip in the shadowy light, before he cupped her face, tilting it upwards.
Brushing hi
s thumbs near her mouth, he said softly, “Those around you assume because you do not talk about your feelings, you are more detached. But, I know better. I can feel it. I look into your eyes, and see what you don’t say.” He waited a beat, then began, “You and I have known each other for some time, Val. I have enjoyed even your arguments. Although, it frustrated me at the time.”
Archard brushed the pad of his thumb softly over her bottom lip. “You are not a woman without passion, you’ve simply been without the tools to express it. I am familiar with some of those passions, your interests, your family, and the love you have for your sisters. Watching the three of you laugh—although, that’s not all there is to you.” His tone dropped an octave deeper, “I am more than Leland’s cousin, and you are no longer his wife, or his victim. We have another level of intimacy to achieve, together...”
“I know that—”
“Do you remember what I promised you?” He could almost feel the heat of her flushed face in the dark. “That you would not regret it.”
“I remember.”
Archard dipped his head, putting his mouth on hers, feeling a hot rush as her lips parted. He began tasting her.
Kissing Val was heady. Her tasting him back, those skims of her tongue over and under his, tensed every muscle in his body. Yet he kissed with some control, even while his body was more aroused by it. He was testing and teasing, delving and measuring her responses, his heart slamming when he felt the change in her breathing and finally, and her hands delved under his jacket and cup his sides.
Lifting his damp mouth from hers, rolling his lips to savor the taste of her, he brought himself inches closer, lowering his hands to the latches on her gown. His fingers were not steady while he released enough of them to begin easing his hand under the material. She did not stop him, although he felt a slight start in her as his palm smoothed over the globe. They were full, larger than the span of his hand and he wanted to look, to see them too, but she held tightly to the shirt at his sides and her head was tilted down, blocking his view.
Her skin was soft, incredibly silky and warm, sensually tender. Guessing that she had her eyes squeezed closed, he reached the nipples—Christ, but they were rigid and fully hard.
“Kiss me,” he demanded in a hoarse whisper.
Her head rose. She kissed him rather blindly. Archard gently began to flex his fingers and squeeze her breasts lightly. Loosening the kiss to erotic tongue play, an occasional nip of her lips, he focused on the nipple, teasing, tugging, and telling his heart to slow down when a rush of blood went to his head, his groin, back to his head.
She breathed uneven, hot, aroused. Archard grew bolder within the confines of the gown, rubbing her nipples between his fingers. He broke the kiss at some point and moved her hands from him, then bent his knees to nuzzle between her breasts.
“Archard...” Her hands went to his hair.
He played hell reminding himself of where they were. He wanted those nipples in his mouth, wanted to flick, tongue and suckle them. He could feel her trembling, hear the almost gasps softly escaping her lips. Bloody hell, but he wished they were in a bedroom, in a coach, somewhere private.
Kissing the globe, nudging the material aside, he swiped his tongue over her left nipple and then found the right one and did the same. Part of him glorying that he got that much, but he reminded himself to stop, still tautly strung when he straightened and embraced her.
Archard kissed her harder and deeper than before, giving himself a second of no control before gaining it once more. When the kiss broke, he fixed her latches back on her gown and held her to him a moment. There was no way to hide the thump of his heart, nor the aroused state of his body. He breathed too bloody heavy and deep. Calming was not really that. He was simply gathering himself enough to keep from touching her again.
Val stepped back first and checked her hair and gown. Archard drew in deeper breaths. Patience, he reminded himself, one step at a time.
Val felt down the row to make certain all the latches were done. She stood there afterwards, watching him, noting his face was starker, and his eyes shimmering lighter. The taste of him was in her mouth. The feel of his tongue still made her nipples burn. He looked—primal, virile, and physically powerful. There were moments in his kiss and touch that she realized that he was like that sexually. He would be raw and explicit when unleashed. It should have frightened her. He could be and was, gentle and sensual. Leland had been rough, insensitive and selfish. He hurt with every kiss or touch. Archard was nothing like that. Despite the intensity she felt in him, she discerned it was passion as opposed to what Leland had done.
Archard could stir her. Amazingly, his kiss and touch, just his warm breath, made her feel things she did not know herself able to experience.
He took her arm. They strolled back to the garden entry. Valerie assumed, when they departed from the ball, he would wish to take her to the marriage bed—and consummate the union. She was wrong. After a kiss at the door of their house, he took himself off to join his brother. She heard them leave shortly afterwards.
Once bathed and in bed, Val lay replaying the sensations, and her responses. She had a feeling Archard had known she would, or rather could, respond to him. It did help her feel less guilty for wedding him.
Sighing, she rolled to her side, reminding herself that she was actually attracted to him. Of course she was. She knew very well that most women would have dragged Archard Van Wyc to bed. She had gotten a small taste of why.
Chapter Seven
The following weeks set the routine of Val joining her sisters or Sonja, the duchess, for tea and shopping, calling on friends in her father’s circle.
Van Wyc and Aric were gone about business or meeting up with the Marquis and Edmund. Sometimes Auvary made up their group, although he was more apt to squire Jo around—and as Alex told her—keep an eye on her as she was attending races, going to hells and pushing every boundary for a woman of her age.
Val spoke to her father about it. He assured her that he had not only had Auvary watching over her, but a few others. Everyone was aware that the more the ton gossiped about Jo, and made up lurid and false tales, the more Jo acted out. Val knew it hurt to some extent, just as Jo’s heart hurt every day Auttenburg did not write, there was nothing anyone could do unless Jo’s affections turned in another direction.
Val enjoyed herself with her sisters; she could not help laughing at Jo’s biting wit, along with Alex’s droll observations. Even the duchess was helpless in the face of the two high-spirited ladies. In between the more calm amusements and formal to-do’s, rides with Alex and Jo, going about with them, made Val feel more a part of the real world. She was no longer depressed and preoccupied with Leland.
As for her husband, when they were home, sometimes he was in the study and she in the gardens with a book or the papers. They shared meals on those leisure days, but he was still sitting up with Aric or going out, climbing into bed after she was asleep.
At balls and assemblies, Archard was always attentive. He touched her in affectionate ways, danced with her, and watched her… always. There was a heightened awareness thanks to those kisses and his caress. In fact, Val found herself awaiting those kisses on her brow or a soft one on her lips as they parted for the night, discovering in herself, an actual curiosity for the more intimate man.
Val had known for years how well her father regarded him. No one could be around Archard without being aware of the attention he drew, the intimidation he sometimes inspired. He was not trying to be an “insider” and was content with the friendships he had, obviously bonding close with his brother too.
Archard was a man of strong character, confident, capable—and somewhat unaware of his handsomeness—or rather not needing to be aware of it, since he had proven himself in so many ways. In truth, she had always found that as attractive as she did comforting. He did not demand and drain her like being with Leland had. He was much more of what he had made himself.
To her,
he gave, rather than took, and what’s more, he gave the subtle things she had not realized a person needed from a mate.
Tuesday evening, following a musical she had attended with her sisters, when Archard entered the bedchamber.
He had been to the tracks with a group of men; having known her schedule for the week, and asked her which amusements she would have him escort her to. Her father and most of his friends deplored musicals. They would attend the opera and dancehalls, but hearing some member of society or deb sing was too much to ask. The gel had been some granddaughter of a chap in Edmund’s lofty circle, and Alex had begged her to come along—
“Did you enjoy your morning?” He took off his coat and scarf.
“No.” She smiled. “Did you.”
Grinning, he nodded and walked over to pour himself a coffee while ruffling his windblown hair with one hand. “I did not wager, but your father and Edmund did.” He poured, sipped and then turned, walking to the foot of the bed and leaning against one of the heavy posts as he supplied, “They won.”
“Father normally does.”
He nodded, sipping more. Val finished tucking in the sheer blouse she wore. It was over a satin camisole and went with a lavender skirt, and jacket she’d recently had delivered. She walked to the vanity, combed her hair, and tied it at the nape with a black ribbon, her gaze catching his in the mirror.
“Aric is going up to check on the cousin. I think he’s a bit stifled in the city despite how fascinated he is by the vice and sin to be had. The air is not exactly the easiest thing to get used to.”
“I know. Have you arranged the coach for him?”
“He refused it. Wants to ride.”
She winced. “Make sure he takes an oil cloth or caped coat. The rains—”
“I’ve versed him on damp English weather.”
Putting the brush down, she turned and sat on the edge of the vanity stool, hands in her lap.
He said, “Your father has asked me to go up to Hawksmoor a few days early, would you like to go with me? We could check on Whitestone whilst there.”