“A valentine?” he said, unable to hide his astonishment.
His incredulous tone made her flush. “Yes, but see what it says.” She moved to his side.
Holding her wrapper tightly about her, she pointed to the words on the worn piece of paper. “Read the message,” she urged him.
Reluctantly tearing his gaze from her face, Richard returned it to the faded page with the silvered edges. It had been written in the quaint style of another century. A pair of hand-painted swans, their necks drawn to meet in the shape of a valentine, graced the top of the page. Yellow stains of age had spread over the words, but he could still make them out.
Turning to let the firelight spill over them, he read aloud,
“Moste suitors chouse theyr love by chance,
Yet, I disdayne to follow such a dance,
But take my plesyure from the birds above,
To plight my troth in steade to truest love,
That this won yeere shall turn to lyfe.
When Valentyne shalle bee my wyfe."
Finishing, Richard turned over the paper to see how it had been directed. In a flowing hand, he read, “To Mistress Anne Trevellian” and the signature of the sender, “Mr Joshua Payley Esquire.”
Feeling Selina's eager gaze upon him, he raised his own eyes. “Where did you come by this?” he asked.
“It was among the few belongings my father brought from his parents’ house. It had been tucked away inside a small volume of Milton's poetry, which was published in l645. My father received it as a gift from his father and took it with him to Cambridge."
Her gaze faltered. “It is the only piece of family history Augustus and I have. My uncle, who never speaks to us, has the rest of the family papers. My father never did return home from Cambridge. He was not received."
“And you think the book had been in your family for many years?"
Selina nodded, her face filling again with hope. “I know it had. My father said that was the significance of the gift."
Richard looked down at the valentine again and felt a wave of conflicting emotions. Sympathy warred with his common sense.
“Do you attach any significance to the fact that it had been so preserved?"
“No.” Selina's calm voice reassured him that she had not imagined some improbable, Gothic plot. “I think it had been overlooked for years. For more than one hundred years."
He raised his head at that.
“If you'll remember—” the glow of eagerness lit Selina's face—"Cromwell forbade the practice of any custom he considered pagan in origin. Choosing valentines was one of these, yet we know that such laws were never strictly obeyed. The common people are not easily discouraged from having their celebrations, and the gentry usually follow suit. Still, Cromwell's rule was so severe, they would have hidden any evidence of their crimes."
“So,” Richard said, “you are supposing that the valentine was hidden in a book and only came to your father by chance?"
“Yes. But Papa took little interest in keeping it. My mother was the one who found something in it to cherish. She said it meant that our ancestor Mr. Joshua Payley had married Miss Anne Trevelyan."
“But—” Richard did not want to discourage her, but he had to make her see sense—"but how could she be so certain? I know the message speaks of marriage, but that does not mean they ever wed."
The light in Selina's eyes flickered. “Mama told me that, more often than not, valentines used to marry at the end of the year. Just as the verse says."
“I know, I know. But, dear girl, surely not all valentines would marry. Such a custom imposes no strict adherence. What is to say that this is anything more than a whim on your ancestor's part?"
“A whim?” Selina's color was rising. “He hardly employs the tone of a whim. Look again—” she leaned closer, jabbing at the words with her first finger—"he speaks of her as his truest love.” Her tone softened as her fingers drifted over the swans. “And, see here. He painted swans, which are known to mate for life. How can you miss the significance?"
Richard had not missed the significance, but right now, he was more than a little distracted by Selina's closeness.
The age-softened lace on her wrapper was tickling the back of his hand. Her shoulder was pressed against his, and her touch warmed him from neck to toe. As he breathed in her sweet scent, desire swept the length of his body.
He closed his eyes and tried to focus on her question, but the urge to make love to her had much too firm a hold. He struggled with his wishes. The last thing he should do would be to take advantage of a girl in her position. Alone at night.
“Richard?” Her questioning tone brought him back to the problem at hand.
He stammered, “I—I quite see where you are leading, but you still have no proof that his love was returned."
Selina smiled, and the wistfulness behind that smile nearly proved his undoing. “What girl could refuse such a lover? He sends her poetry. He pledges his undying love. He braves Cromwell's wrath to send her a forbidden valentine. And ....” Selina paused long enough for a dimple to punctuate her cheek... “And besides. He was a Payley."
Richard answered with a grin of his own, though he longed to hold Selina instead. He wanted to plant a kiss in the hollow of her cheek to see what that dimple would feel like. He wanted to loosen the ribbons from about her lovely neck and slowly watch the night-rail fall from her magnificent shoulders. He wanted to forget who he was long enough to drink his fill of her.
All of this he wanted, but his hands were paralyzed by the deceit he had practiced upon her. By that, and by his native caution.
He wanted her as much as he'd ever wanted a woman, more in fact than any other to date, but what did she mean to him?
He couldn't be sure yet, but he did know one thing. Selina Payley did not deserve to be trifled with. And if he did not know where he wished to lead her, he would have to keep hands off.
“Selina—” he yanked his mind back to the issue at hand. “I have no wish to discourage you. Truthfully, I do not.” And he had found he did not. “But, surely, you must see why the Garter had to refuse your request? Even if this valentine is to be believed, it links your family and—and the family of Trevelyan through the female line."
“There is precedence for taking the name of a female ancestor,” she said stubbornly.
“Yes, but the evidence— You must know a valentine is not a legal document."
“Yes, but—” As she stammered, all the fight seemed to leave her. The light in her eyes had dimmed. “Why can he not search to see whether a more solid piece of evidence exists? That is all I ask. This valentine—” she caressed the bit of paper in his hand—"is the only thing I have."
Richard watched her hand moving over the faded paper so lovingly, and his desire rose to a fever pitch. To stop himself from acting rashly, he cleared his throat, which made her suddenly stop.
Seemingly aware for the first time of their close proximity, she inched her hand away from his—as if by inching she could evade his notice—then her shoulder and her hip. When they were no longer touching, Richard turned, to place another few important inches between them. With his gaze awkwardly averted, he handed her back the family relic.
Closing her wrapper more snugly about her now, Selina returned the valentine to her mother's chest, which gave Richard time to draw a deep, restraining breath.
“I had best get back to the inn, or Mr. Croft will wonder what I've been doing."
As Selina's head came up, her startled look quickly changing to a blush, Richard wished he had used a more felicitous turn of phrase. He had not meant to imply what he had implied, but the truth was, Mr. Croft might be ready to jump to certain conclusions. Richard had stayed much longer than he ought. Certainly long enough to ....
With an effort, he diverted his mind from such wishful thinking and drew himself up stiffly. Selina seemed to misinterpret his motion, for she raised her chin in the air.
“I will sho
w you to the door. Thank you again, Mr. Lint, for bringing Lucas home."
She turned her back with a swish of her long, lustrous hair, making Richard feel like the blackguard he knew he was. If she only knew what restraint he had shown .... However, at the sight of that back, so slim and strong, he knew he could not leave her like this. Had he not asked how he might help?
“Selina...” He placed a hand upon her shoulder to turn her. As she faced him, he kept it there, and his other came to rest in a similar place. “I would like to help you. Truly, I would ...."
But as she gazed up at him with wide-open eyes, he wondered what he could do. What could he do to strengthen her application?
Richard admitted he would be pleased to acknowledge her and Augustus as members of his family. A man could do much worse than to have these two claiming kinship with him. Why, when he thought of Wilfrid ...
At the thought of Wilfrid, a notion did enter his head. The last time he had seen his cousin, Wilfrid had been eager to do something to make up for his most recent sins. He had been quite contrite ... for Wilfrid, and anxious to prove his attachment to the Trevelyan family.
“Selina,” Richard began again, enjoying the warmth of her shoulders beneath his palms. “Would you have any idea where your Payley ancestors came from?"
She gave her head a little shake, as if her mind had wandered. “Of course. They come from Cuckfield."
“Cuckfield? You mean here?"
“No.” She smiled, and her delightful dimples peeped at him again. “Cuckfield. This is Uckfield, remember?"
“Yes, of course.” Now it was Richard's turn to shake his head, but the truth was his mind was fogged by the soft feel of her beneath his hands. She had not stepped back, as she might have, but had taken a step closer as if to search his face for his intent. His hands, of their own volition, had begun to stroke her back. He willed them to stop, but he could not bring himself to remove them entirely.
“Then ... where is Cuckfield?” he said, trying to keep the two names straight in his brain.
“It is west of here, still in Sussex, but across the Heath."
“Near the Brighton road?"
“I think so.” She flushed a warm, rosy color. “I am ashamed to admit it, but I never have been so far from home."
Oh, do not blush, dear, Richard begged her silently, as the warmth of her color rushed through him. You are much too tempting when you blush.
He cleared his throat again and said aloud, “And how long would the Payleys have lived in that region?"
“Forever, I should suppose."
“Then there must be record of their marriages in a church near Cuckfield.” His voice was growing husky. He could barely think. “A marriage between Anne Trevelyan and Joshua Payley might be found."
Selina's face lit, then clouded over immediately. “Yes, but I cannot leave The Grange to go in search of them. I had hoped the Garter might instigate a search—"
Richard interrupted her with a shake of his head. “No, it will be up to you to produce the relevant documents."
“But I cannot leave! If I do, who will milk Clarissa and feed Nero and keep Caesar out of my garden—"
“Hold on, hold on!” Richard chuckled at her increasing frustration. She was so beautiful in a temper, he might have provoked her on purpose just to see the result, but he preferred to comfort her instead.
And somehow, with that soothing, his hands had slipped down her back and he was holding her within the circle of his arms. Lowering her lashes, she placed her palms upon his chest.
Richard suppressed a groan. He was going to kiss her, unless he could think of something to prevent himself. The brush of her negligee against his breeches was driving him mad.
Wilfrid. Think of Wilfrid, he told himself, rubbing the tops of her arms. Then, once more master of himself, he held her away, trying to ignore the puzzled look his motion aroused.
“I have a cousin,” he said, over the desire trapped in his throat. “A cousin who resides in Brighton. I could write to him and ask him to search for such a listing."
His offer temporarily wiped the hint of injury from her expression, leaving a frown in its place. “But will he be willing to undertake such a mission for someone he does not know?"
Richard grinned, for once quite sure of where he stood. Since he paid Wilfrid an allowance, his cousin was at his beck and call. “Yes, never fear. He is in my debt, so to speak. The last time we had words, he assured me of his eagerness to do me any service."
Or perhaps not any service, Richard corrected himself. Nothing would persuade Wilfrid to lead a more disciplined life.
Selina's eyes turned a deeper shade of brown as she searched his face with concern. “Are you quite certain?” A note of hope had entered her voice.
“Quite, quite certain,” he told her, raising one finger to wipe away her frown. The brush of her eyebrows against his fingertips aroused him as no other woman's kisses ever had.
Was it the country air that made his desire for her so overwhelming, or was it something more?
Feeling unable to sort out his feelings—not with guilt so prominent among them—he reluctantly let go of her. Before relinquishing her entirely, though, his hands lightly swept the length of her arms.
Richard could tell from the hurt in her eyes that his actions had confused her, but he could not explain himself until he knew his own mind. He wished that he could kick himself, but the laws of physics would make that extremely difficult. He would have to devise a different punishment for himself, but that ought to be easy, since it would be sheer torture to work alongside Selina for the next week—or weeks—without touching her.
“I shall write my cousin in the morning,” he said, half turning away. “Then, I shall stay until he reports to make sure there is nothing else I can do."
Her voice shook as she responded, “That would be very kind of you. You've been—"
Richard cut her off with a raised hand. “Please, don't say it. Every moment I've been here has been a pure delight."
He could not regret this admission, for his words did something to erase the hurt in her eyes. A wavering smile touched her lips as she bid him goodnight.
Selina showed Richard out, still smarting from his withdrawal. She had been so sure, so certain, that he was going to kiss her.
Her pulse was still jumping like a kettle aboil, and now it threatened to explode. How, and why, and how dared he stop holding her when he did?
Selina tried to put the whole incident out of her mind, to focus on the assistance he had promised her instead, but her treacherous heart kept returning to the feel of his palms upon her back. His large palms. His warm, pressing palms, which had awakened a fierce longing deep inside her.
How dared he? How dared he brush her brows with his fingers, leaving the hint of a kiss in their wake?
How dared he rub against her like a Tom-cat wishing to be petted, then jerk away as if he meant only to tease?
Selina reached for his cup and saucer intending to slam them in the bucket to wash, only to find that the cup had not been used. She had forgotten to pour his tea.
A wave of mortification swept over her. That had been it. That had certainly been the reason he had changed so suddenly before her eyes.
He had decided that she was not good enough for him to kiss because she had the manners of a peasant. Or worse—she gripped his cup tighter—he had thought that any girl who neglected her guest's comfort while attempting to seduce him in her mother's wrapper was no better than she should be.
A wave of tears threatened. Selina fought them off with an angry pass at her cheek. Richard had misread her. She would never have so forgotten herself as to ....
A wish for a kiss did not amount to a seduction, even if she had forgotten his tea.
Leaving the cups and saucers and milk and the brimming pot of tea until morning, she took the stairs to her room, remembering at once her last journey this way.
The sight of Richard carrying a man ov
er his shoulder as if he were a featherweight had made her stomach flutter. She was ashamed to recall her wayward thoughts at that moment, for her brain had sprung to the conclusion that if he could carry a man so easily, he might carry her just as well.
“So would Romeo,” she said now, giving each step an angry stomp, “and yet you have never let him put you in such a dither."
No. And she had never wanted Romeo to kiss her or even to hold her hand. Selina admitted that all she felt upon seeing Romeo Fancible was a strong desire to hide, just as she cringed whenever he opened his mouth.
But not so with Richard. Every day he had spent at The Grange had seemed the best of her life. He had hardly spoken before she had cast her heart at his feet. And even now, when he had trod upon it—softly to be sure, but still he had trod—even now she ached to see him tomorrow.
At the thought of facing him, Selina uttered a groan. She reached the head of the stairs and hurried to her bed to burrow under the covers. She still was shivering from the excitement of his touch, the warm look in his eyes, his gaze at her lips as he'd brushed the frown from her forehead.
She had not imagined those things. She felt a leap of hope. How could she have imagined a look she had never seen before?
But, if Richard was attracted to her in the least, why had he suddenly left without saying a word of what was in his heart?
Selina pounded the pillows on her bed, frustrated by her lack of experience. If she had ever lived in town, had ever entertained gentlemen suitors, she would probably be much more capable of judging masculine thoughts. As it was, she had nothing to go on but that certain look Caesar got in his eyes when Clarissa spurred his interest, for certainly Richard would not bellow in pursuit the way Caesar did, giving all away. And she thought she had glimpsed something of that look tonight.
She mused until the nature of her thoughts made her reel in disgust. How could she be so coarse as to compare any gentleman to a bull? What would Richard think of her if he knew? That she was a peasant, and he had been right to hold her off.
“Well, let him think that,” she muttered. “Let him think whatever he wants. And if he believes me unworthy of him, I will show him who's unworthy until he cries aloud for mercy!"
A Country Affair Page 9