The Perfect Gentleman (Valiant Love) (A Regency Romance Book)

by Deborah Wilson

  “In order to get me away,” he said.

  “Your arrangement with my father will never work,” she said in response. “There’s no need to continue on.”

  He put that matter to the side for now. “Well, it just so happens that your plan would have worked. I’ve been with the steward in the stables for an hour now, dealing with a great matter.”

  “Is there truly a problem?” she asked with true concern.

  He nodded. “Come. Let me show you.”

  She closed her eyes and sighed. “Actually, I would much rather remain where I am.”

  He narrowed his gaze and then, without thinking, reached for her.

  * * *

  Brinley gasped as Lore wrapped a hand around her ankle and bought her leg up over his own. Finally, she sat up. “What do you think you’re doing? This is not proper. I must insist that you…” She gasped and then moaned. Slowly, her back found the couch again, and she closed her eyes and another moan escaped her.

  Lore was kneading her calf, working his fingers deep into the muscle. It was bliss. It was better than anything Brinley had ever felt before.

  “What was that?” Lore asked as he massaged the soreness right out of her. “You insist that I stop?”

  “No,” she groaned. “Don’t stop.”

  He chuckled and continued his work in silence.

  Brinley pressed her lips together to control her outburst of pleasure at his attention to her body. When he started on the other leg, keeping quiet became nearly impossible and Brinley noticed that as the pain began to subside, another more urgent feeling started in her most intimate of places.

  It was Lore touching her. Lore’s fingers stroking her skin, taking care of her. He ran the heels of his palms up to her knees and his fingers worked themselves down.

  She opened her eyes and found him watching her, not his hands, but her face. His expression was unreadable.

  His voice was different, heavy with an emotion she didn’t recognize. “Where else does it hurt?” His palms slid up her legs again, but his time, he didn’t retreat. Her skirts here just above her knee. How they got there, she didn’t know.

  His hands stroked her knees and then a little higher, getting closer to the new place she’d begun aching.

  She was embarrassed by how much his touch pleased her. She shook with need. Her breathing slowed. The air that came through the windows no longer seemed like enough. She fought for every lungful.

  His hands went higher. His thumbs drew circles on her inner thighs. “Here?” His eyes held dark humor.

  “Yes.” She bit her lip. It did hurt there actually, but all thoughts of pain vanished under her desire.

  Desire for a man she knew she couldn’t have. What was she allowing? She closed her eyes and shook her head right before she grabbed his hands. “T-that’s quite enough, thank you.”

  She opened her eyes just in time to watch him lean down, kiss one of her knees, and stand.

  The kiss was startling, as it endeared him further to her.

  He held out his hand. “Come on then.”

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  2 5

  Brinley clung to him as they walked to the stables. Though he was sure he’d made her feel much better than she had previously, her legs were likely still sore and would be stiff in the morning if she didn’t keep on them.

  He’d thought to offer to carry her but knew she’d protest such an action. She was not ready to be swept off her feet. Literally.

  He’d been unsurprised to find her legs just as soft as her cheek and lips. At first, he’d only wished to make her feel better, but then Lore had realized how much he’d wanted to explore every part of the woman that made up Lady Brinley Soulden.

  And then a want of another kind had assaulted him when he’d seen desire fill her eyes. Had she not stopped them when she had…

  He’d have taken things further, until those little moans she’d released when he’d been kneading her flesh turned to outright screams of passion.

  He wanted to give that to her. He wanted to watch her face as she reached her completion.

  He was nearly desperate for it.

  He’d thought about their kiss far than he thought he should. He had to remind himself that he and Brinley were nothing more than friends, playing a game where they both knew the score.

  Nothing more.

  Inside the stables, he introduced her to Mr. Ross and showed her the wood beams that had had to be taken down from the roofs and walls. The dark wood that had once wrapped around the interior now sat in a pile to be burned in the yard. The pieces seemed fermented or treated in some way.

  “Deathwatch beetle,” Mr. Ross said. “We’ve tried everything to rid the stables of them and to stop them from boring holes into what remains of the original wood but can’t seem to manage it.”

  “You can’t get rid of them,” Brinley said. “They don’t live for long anyway. The only way to make sure they don’t return is to replace the old oak. That is what they like.”

  Lore lifted a brow and noticed Mr. Ross also looked surprised.

  Brinley shrugged. “Everly had had the same issue at her own home.”

  Lore turned to the steward. “What is your plan?”

  “If what the lady says is right,” Mr. Ross began. “I would suggest replacing the wood with fresh oak and burning what we have.”

  That idea saddened Lore.

  “It’s just wood,” Brinley said as she picked up a piece of the timber and looked between the men. “It is not?”

  “No, my lady,” Mr. Ross said. “It is actually wood from the Mora.”

  “The Mora?” Brinley looked at Lore. “He doesn’t mean the ship, does he?” Her face lost all color. “He can’t mean the ship.”

  The Mora was William the Conqueror’s final ship from his time as a Viking. All of Lord Ayers’ properties had pieces of their family’s history hidden within the fabric.

  The stables had actually once been a long hall but had been converted to a stable years later, housing some of England’s greatest racehorses. Jupiter would one day live here. Lore would see to it.

  “Are you related to William I?” she asked.

  “No,” Lore said. “But apparently, I have a great-great… a relation who sailed with him.”

  Brinley stood blinking at him.

  He smiled. “Don’t worry. It is likely only legend that this wood came from the ship.” He turned to the steward. “You’ve my permission to take it down.”

  “No!” Brinley cried. “We must preserve it.” She now looked down at the wood in her hands as though it were worth more than gold. It likely would be if it could be proven to belong to William I.

  Lore took the wood from her hand and threw it into the pile. Then he steered her away.

  “Lore! You can’t burn that wood.”

  “It’ll be fine. While I commend my steward’s efforts for trying to save it, there is more of it in the main house and the castle. You saw the horned chandelier, did you not?”

  That settled her.

  He took her back to the house, where they ate and discussed a new design for the stables. Brinley really liked what she’d seen but had her own ideas of how to make it even grander. Lore liked them all and invited her to return with a full design plan for the steward.

  It was nice having her company for an afternoon meal and to discuss such small matters like what the stables should look like. He liked her and enjoyed how animated she became when speaking of architecture.

  “I love your home,” Brinley said. “I love the area. Let me buy some of your land from you.”

  He laughed. “You already have my horse. You want my home as well?”

  Her cheeks heated, but he saw the laughter in her eyes. She knew his words held no anger. “I would give you a great sum of money for it.”

  “You or your father?” Lore asked.

  She straightened. “Me.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “You’ve been earning money?” A
lady was not to pursue a career even if her family were in dire straits and Lord Tellock, by every account, was not.

  She looked down at her empty plate and then returned her eyes to him. Her expression was careful. “I told you I have a plan for myself that doesn’t include marriage. Did you think I would leave my future in my mother’s hands? Or even my father’s?”

  She’d be wise not to, Lore agreed. Brinley had almost been his wife over a horse, and Lord Tellock didn’t know Lore well enough to say he’d have treated her fairly or made her happy in the least. Her mother clearly didn’t care for Brinley’s wellbeing either.

  Once again, he was impressed by her, especially if she thought herself to have the means to pay him for a place like Chesterhill. With its warm summers, rich soil, and access to fresh water, it was a prime piece of property, costing more than even some nobles could afford.

  He smiled. “Are you certain you could handle being my neighbor?”

  Her smile bloomed once more. “There are worse neighbors in the world, I presume.”

  He chuckled. He actually liked the idea of having Brinley so close. Having her at the property had made the day more bearable yet he was still reminded of his failed duties to his father. “I should return you back to the castle before anyone puts two and two together and realizes we were heading for the same destination.”

  “There’s no need to rush,” she began. “I doubt that if anyone were to hear that I walked to Chesterhill they’d believe I’d made it. In fact, I’m sure half the ton and even the servants believe I died of exhaustion out there in the woods.”

  And he’d be unable to tell anyone the truth or he’d risk damaging her reputation.

  “I know you made it,” Lore said. “No one else’s opinion matters.”

  She laughed and stood.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  2 6

  Lore had a carriage readied and allowed Brinley, Sarah, and Robert to ride inside while he rode his horse.

  He rode ahead so that he’d arrive long before Brinley and readily engaged in the conversation about him. Many of them had just returned from town themselves and had gathered in the stateroom that sat by the castle’s façade.

  The stateroom was rarely used when guests were not present. In fact, Lore had only been in it himself on just enough occasions to count on his hands. It had been designed to awe the visitor and not for everyday use.

  Reddish wooden flooring matched the paneling around a marble fireplace that had two somber soldiers carved into his surface. The paneling reached halfway up the wall. The rest was a velvet from Utrecht with the molding, doors, frames, and windows all parcel-gilt to make the room glow.

  The ceiling was like a menagerie of stone, the spirited lion the most notable of creatures in the artwork.

  This was also the room that held the sword his family had always believed to be Excalibur itself. It, along with other fabled weapons, hung over the mantle.

  Legend in his family said one of his ancestors had designed the sword and dutifully named it after himself.

  Paintings framed the other walls. Elongated windows brought in the light of setting sun.

  He explained the room’s grandeur to those who asked and was listening to a group of young ladies speak about their purchases when Helen finally approached.

  She’d come to him during a certain lull when the rest of the group had moved on.

  The perfect opportunity to speak to him alone, he supposed.

  With lowered translucent blue eyes, she asked, “Would you stroll with me around the room?”

  He extended his arm and stiffened when she touched him.

  When they were well away from other ears, she said, “I understand why you are angry with me.”

  “Do you?” he asked and then chided himself for doing so. He’d planned to let her talk and then rid himself of her as soon as possible. Yet her every lie irked him.

  “I… humiliated you that night in my room.”

  Lore laughed and drew the eyes of the few others who were in the room. “If only it were a simple case of humiliation, but it does not matter, my lady. As I said before, you are well and truly forgiven.”

  She finally lifted her gaze. “I do not feel forgiven at all. I feel much like the woman from the Bible who was given up to be stoned to death. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.”

  Lore laughed again. “Forgiveness does not mean I am to play the fool again. God never called anyone to foolishness.”

  She put on a smile for the crowd even as her eyes filled with tears. “’Be kind to one another,’” she began, quoting the bible yet again. “’Tenderhearted, forgiving one another…’”

  “Forgiveness does not equate to trust,” he whispered, though, by his tone and the look in his eyes, he gathered she understood not to say another word.

  She closed her mouth dutifully.

  “A mother can forgive her son for taking money from the cupboard to purchase opium, but she’d be a fool to continue to keep her money there. Sometimes, when someone does something wrong, a consequence follows. King David lost sons. Moses didn’t get to see the Holy Land. You have lost my trust.” And then he leaned closer and said, “And let us be clear, you and I both know who you truly are and what you are capable of. I believe that same Bible you refer to says you will know them by their fruit.”

  Suddenly, all frailness vanished from her face. As if by magic, she transformed to the confident woman he knew her to be. She was like a chameleon. “I never told you why I did what I did, Lore. But that never mattered to you, did it? Not once did you have any concern for me. Did you ever wondered why I cried that day or even thought to blame you for what happened?”

  “I know why you did so.” He smiled, glad to be speaking to the true Helen. “You did it so you’d not get in trouble with your father. If he thought it consensual, you’d have never been forgiven, yet if you were forced...” He’d become the villain of their tragic tale.

  “It was more than that, Lore.” Her gaze was pleading though she no longer quivered like a frightened bird. “There is so much you don’t know. My father had a plan for me and Lord Norton...” She lowered her head.

  He studied her for a moment and then began to calm as he thought her words over. There was a part of him that wanted to tell her to take her lies to the other side of the room.

  She’d accused him of taking her against her will and then had allowed the lie to go on for years.

  Only someone truly evil would do such a thing.

  Yet, he then thought of Brinley. Her father had also had plans for her, plans that included Lore. Lord Tellock would have given his daughter away to anyone, Lore was almost certain of it.

  Was Helen’s story similar?

  Against his better judgment, he asked, “What happened?”

  “Not here.” Her eyes widened. “I couldn’t bear to tell you the story here. In front of others.” She squeezed his arm as she glanced around. “Meet with me. Alone. I’ll tell you everything, I swear it.”

  “Absolutely not.” He began to walk quicker, leading her to her father, who stood by a chair and table that had been made of ornate antlers, bones, and fur.

  “But don’t you wish to know the truth?” Helen asked. “Don’t you want to know why I’ve allowed it to go for so long?”

  He did. A great part of him wanted to know, but he told himself he would not be an idiot. “There is no reality where we will ever be alone again. I believe I made myself clear when I said I don’t trust you.”

  He left her with her father just as Brinley came in.

  It was an hour later. and he could tell she’d changed and freshened herself. A new cap was on her head and he missed the way she’d worn her hair loose at Chesterhill.

  Denhollow approached before Lore could walk over to her. “Lore, don’t.” His friend grabbed his arm and frowned. “Have you been listening to any of the gossip? People are beginning to think you half in love with the girl.”

  Lore looked
at him and tried to figure out the best approach. “Do you think me in love?”

  “No, I believe this is about something else.” The marquess lifted a brow. “Is it the horse?”

  Lore had stopped paying attention as he noticed Sillian approach Lady Brinley and after a short exchange that looked pleasant, the viscount steered her to a group of scholarly minded people in the room. She was a little stiff, likely from the walk she’d taken that morning, but Lore was certain only he’d noticed.

  The gentlemen who surrounded her seemed glad for her presence. A moment later, they were all laughing.

  She looked to have not a care in the world.

  Lore smiled.

  Denhollow motioned for them to walk in the opposite direction and said his next words very low. “You’ve had her, haven’t you?”

  Lore turned to his friend and closed his expression. “Never speak those words or anything like it again.” He’d not have Brinley’s reputation ruined.

  Denhollow’s smile made him look like a vicious cat. “I wouldn’t blame you if you had. She’s not hideous, and I have tousled a curvy woman or two myself. There’s nothing like it, I can assure you. Soft, isn’t she? It’s like burying yourself in the warmest place imaginable.”

  Lore made no comment. He couldn’t speak. His mind was now filled with doing just as Denhollow described, but the woman he took was not some nameless lightskirt who worked in the brothels of London.

  It was Brinley.

  The very thought of taking her poured fire into his veins.

  He knew it wrong to consider it, especially after his conversation with Helen, yet there it was.

  Denhollow chuckled. “Women like her are always eager in bed. They’re hardly touched so when they finally get a man’s attention, they—“

  “Enough. I’ll not let you talk about her in that manner.” He made his eyes cold. “Do you forget her to be a lady?” And someone Lore deeply cared for.

  Denhollow lifted his hands. “I wasn’t speaking about the lady, I swear. I said women like her.” He laughed again and lowered his hands. “I simply wanted you to know that I support you, but don’t get caught. You don’t wish to end up with her for a wife, do you? Look at her clothes. The woman does not know how to present herself.”