Visions of Lady Mary

by Rachel Ann Smith

  Overheated, she pushed back the covers. “I have not informed Valois about the paintings. Perhaps over your meal, you can assess the man’s character and what type of dealings he might have with Lord Burke.”

  At the mention of Lord Burke’s name, Gilbert scowled. “The man is the devil. Burke only associates with those who can benefit his cause.”

  “Or those he can manipulate or blackmail.” Mary closed her eyes as soon as Gilbert’s piercing gaze settled upon her. She had spoken too quickly and revealed too much.

  “What do you know of Burke and his dealings?”

  How was she to explain? Lady Frances had been exceptionally well-connected during her reign on earth but even more so in the spiritual plane and was a constant source of information on the ton and their dealings.

  “My lord, they are ringing the dinner bell.” Greene’s hurried words had Mary opening her eyes.

  Gilbert bent down closer. “We will finish this discussion later.”

  His lips hovered above hers. Mary held her breath. The rapid staccato of her heartbeat in her ears drowned out every coherent thought.

  Gilbert lifted his hand to her face and ran his thumb along the top of her cheekbone. “I prefer you without the powder. Get some rest and keep Greene close by.” He stood and left the room the same way he entered.

  Mary puffed out the breath she had been holding and pulled the covers over her head.

  Where had she seen that tender look in Gilbert’s eyes before?

  Ugh. Her aunt’s sketches.

  Chapter Ten

  Mesmerized by the rainbow of colors flickering off his crystal glass, Gilbert waited for the next course to be served.

  With a sigh, he rubbed the back of his neck, his thoughts preoccupied with the strange conversation he had overheard in the hall on his way to the dining room. Valois had loomed over the petite maid, asking her if she had seen a mark. The maid’s frenzied claims that she saw no mark repeated over and over in Gilbert’s mind. Had Valois sent her to determine if he was a PORF—Protector of the Royal Family? How peculiar that Valois would even know of such matters.

  Gilbert continued to swirl the wine in his glass. He had barely touched the previous three courses, which had included heavily peppered onion soup, a turbot with caper sauce, and salmon with spring onions. Silently he prayed for a course devoid of onions.

  He stifled a groan as a footman placed a plate of sole fillet with truffle sauce before him. His host knew they were English. He could have ordered the chef to prepare at least one meat dish—beef sirloin or a braised leg of lamb.

  Valois asked, “Lord Waterford, something not to your liking?”

  Pushing the fish about his plate, Gilbert answered, “No. The meal is more than satisfactory.”

  “Ah, then perhaps it is the company you dislike?”

  Hadfield interjected. “Don’t mind him. His palate is more accustomed to eating from a tin marching the lines than fine dining. I, on the other hand, appreciate the fine flavors your chief has prepared for us tonight.”

  “Benton—best in France. You will not experience food finer than his.” The arrogant French duke placed a petite bite upon his fork and slowly raised it to his mouth.

  “It is a shame we must depart early in the morn.” Hadfield had timed his response just as Gilbert closed his lips about an overstuffed forkful of fish.

  Valois released his fork, letting it fall to the table. “Why not enjoy my estate for a few days? Let Lady Mary rest and gather her strength before your journey.” Picking up the fork, he twirled it about as if he were considering the matter of their departure. “I wish to get to know my cousin better.”

  Gilbert’s grasp on his fork tightened. His knuckles turned white.

  “We only stopped at Mary’s request. We are expected by the Boucher family.” Hadfield’s reply had been directed at Valois’s objections, but his attention was on Gilbert.

  Gilbert had no recollection of Mary making such a request. What was Hadfield up to?

  Gilbert swallowed. “We appreciate your hospitality, Valois, but we really must be leaving in the morn.”

  Eyes wide, Valois said, “Ah, you are attending Boucher’s annual masquerade, non? I too received an invitation. Comte Boucher’s estate is no more than a three-day journey. Why don’t you reside here while Mary recoups, and I shall accompany you to the party.”

  Hadfield waved off the suggestion. “I believe Lady Mary has an appointment with a modiste—”

  “Madame Auclair.” Gilbert supplied the name that Mary had murmured in her sleep.

  “Oui. My cousin has excellent taste. Auclair produces the finest masks for such festivities. She, along with the most renowned modistes, resides on Boucher’s estate for the event, which is considered the most wanted invitation of our little season.” Valois clapped his hands together and stood. “Settled, I shall accompany your party. I’ll arrange our departure tomorrow. After breakfast. Oui?”

  The duke left the room mumbling and waving his hands about. Gilbert had seen Mary behave similarly, but not in recent days. His hand automatically went to rub the back of his neck.

  He turned to confront Hadfield. “What the devil just happened? When were you going to tell me about the blasted masquerade party?” Pushing his plate away, he continued to rant. “Those events are notorious for couples engaging in scandalous behavior, and the one held by Comtesse Boucher has the worst reputation of them all.”

  “When did you become so overmodest? Relax. I’ll take care of Lady Mary, and you deal with the villains.”

  “I don’t trust Valois.”

  “I don’t trust anyone.” Hadfield rose from the table. “I’d better find where Valois has nicked off to, and you— Well, you know where you should be.”

  Gilbert hastened his steps down the dark stairwell. Valois’s estate was riddled with what appeared to be old but frequently used passages. Why the servants would use pathways that scarcely accommodated his shoulders didn’t make any sense. As he approached Mary’s chambers, a muffled male voice wafted through the walls.

  Heart pounding, he burst into the dressing chamber and came face-to-face with Mary’s maid. The woman quickly placed her small hand over his mouth and motioned him to remain still and quiet. As soon as he nodded his assent, she turned and placed an ear close to the curtain divider.

  Valois’s voice boomed. “And what happened next, ma chérie?”

  Bollocks. Why was Valois in Mary’s rooms?

  Fists clenched, Gilbert shifted to remove their host, but Greene placed a hand up in front of his face.

  Mary’s voice filtered through the curtain. “They refused to play hide-and-seek with me and ran off.”

  Her tone held a twinge of sadness that he had never heard her use before. Anger roared through him as he pictured a young Mary being abandoned, with no one to play with. Being an only child and heir on a remote estate, Gilbert knew all too well what it was like to be alone.

  With a self-deprecating chuckle, Valois said, “Moi aussi. I learned when I was young that it is not wise to share my gift with others.”

  “You consider it a gift and not a curse?”

  The incredulity in Mary’s voice had Gilbert frowning. What were the pair discussing?

  “Ma chérie, I was not blessed with siblings. I would have been lonely had I not had their company.”

  Gilbert moved closer to the curtain only to have the maid swat him behind her. That was twice now that Valois had used the French endearment, and neither time had Mary objected. She was not now and never would be Valois’s sweetheart. Stepping back, he rubbed his temples. He should have shared with Mary his true feelings. Now was not the time to deal with his unrelenting attraction to the woman he had carefully avoided for years.

  Leaning down, Gilbert whispered, “Whose company is Duc de Valois referring to?”

  Greene turned to meet his gaze and steadily answered, “The dead, my lord.”

  “What?”

  “Shh— Listen.”
Greene moved so that he was now in front of her.

  Unable to resist, he peered around the fabric. Valois was leaning against the wall, his arm bent and resting along the fireplace mantle. The man’s intense gaze solely focused upon the chair facing the roaring fire. The white cotton of a shift or nightgown caught Gilbert’s attention.

  If Mary was only dressed in a chemise, no wonder the man’s eyes hadn’t strayed from her.

  Gripping the material, he was about to charge into the room until the sadness in Mary’s usually even voice filtered through his anger-filled brain.

  “My brothers did not inherit the ability, and while they love me, they never quite understood.”

  “But he did.” Valois pointed to the chair next to Mary.

  “Who?” Mary asked.

  “Your Phillip.” Valois scowled. His attention darted between the empty chair and Mary. Ignoring her, he addressed the vacant chair. “Why would you do it?”

  Who was the man speaking to?

  The duke straightened and placed his hands behind his back. Clearly agitated, he began to pace in front of the fireplace. The man’s incoherent mutterings of unreasonable requests, utter madness, and family ties had Gilbert wondering if he was, in fact, engaged in some sort of discussion with another rather than himself.

  Barely above a whisper, Mary asked, “Is he with us now?”

  Absently, Valois nodded.

  “Why can I no longer see him or the others?”

  What was the man up to? Why did he not answer her?

  Valois abruptly stopped and came to stand in front of Mary. He held out his hand, ready to assist her to rise. “It’s late. To bed, ma chérie.”

  From his viewpoint, Mary took Valois’s offered hand and began to stand. Gilbert couldn’t believe his eyes. No wonder Valois couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. With the glow from the fire, Mary looked like an angel in a soft white linen robe.

  The cad pulled Mary into his arms, wrapping his arm tightly about her tiny waist.

  Before Gilbert could push back the curtain, Greene placed a hand on his arm. “Wait, my lord.”

  Gilbert’s whole body tensed as Valois lowered his head. Instead of the man’s lips meeting with Mary’s, his head snapped to the side.

  Mary’s fist connected solidly with his cheek. “Fustian! Cousin, what do you think you are about?”

  A burst of pride at Mary’s actions replaced the anxiety that had swept through Gilbert. With a wide smile, he turned and was confronted by Mary’s maid, who had a deep scowl on her normally pleasant face.

  Greene sighed. “Why did she not give it to him?”

  “Whatever do you mean? The blighter will certainly wake up with a black eye in the morn.”

  “Oh, she can wail upon another with much more force than that. My lady knows all too well how to fight. She grew up with those rapscallions she calls brothers.”

  Gilbert would have to keep that in mind for the future, for he definitely did not want to be the recipient of Mary’s wrath.

  Peeking into the room once more, Gilbert caught Valois rubbing his face.

  Valois stared at Mary. “Tomorrow you will ride with me.” He shook his head and strode out of the room without a backward glance.

  Mary stood, staring at the empty chair that Valois had pointed to earlier. As soon as the latch fell into place with a click, Gilbert rushed to Mary’s side.

  Wide-eyed, she took a step back. He’d never before caught her unawares. Just as his body was attuned to Mary’s presence, the woman always had the uncanny ability to predict when he was to appear, even when he approached from behind. Only this time, he had caught her off guard. Something was amiss, but how to convince her to open up to him after he had spent so many years putting barriers up between them?

  He glanced down at Mary, who was absently rubbing her ruby-red knuckles. Needing to soothe her ache, he reached for her hand and carefully prodded, checking to make sure she hadn’t broken her thumb or any other bones.

  She looked up at him in bewilderment. “I have no idea what came over him. One minute we were conversing like old friends, and the next, he tried to kiss me.”

  Gilbert grumbled. “I do not trust the man.” Keeping ahold of her injured hand, Gilbert placed his other hand on her lower back and gently guided her over to the bed. “He’s definitely hiding something. I don’t know what it is, but I intend to find out.”

  Pulling out of his hold, Mary untied her wrap’s sash and let the garment fall to the ground before crawling up onto the bed. “Are you relying on your intuition?”

  Shifting his weight and redirecting his gaze away from Mary’s bottom, he answered, “I don’t care for the way he looks at you either.”

  “How does he look at me?”

  She must know that Valois’s penetrating looks were not at all innocent. Gilbert took in her perfectly symmetrical heart-shaped face, sparkling brown eyes and cute pert nose. A man would have to be an idiot not to appreciate her beauty.

  He was an idiot. Or he had been.

  Swallowing hard, his eyes latched onto the simple pink ribbon tied into a bow at the base of her throat. “With fondness and not in a brotherly way.”

  Mary abruptly sat up, and the covers dropped to her lap. Through the sheer material, her nipples were taut, and he couldn’t draw his eyes away. Are they rose or russet in color?

  Thankfully, Mary’s gaze cast downward as she fidgeted with the turned edge of the linen. “I can assure you his kind looks are of a unique understanding we share. His actions were simply a mistake.”

  “You are wrong.”

  At his stern declaration, she popped her head up. “And what if it is you who are wrong?”

  The sparkle of defiance in Mary’s eyes that regularly brought about his ire now created a twitch in his loins and an itch in his hands to pull her closer.

  “While I admit you have a mighty impressive right hook, I’m never wrong about such matters.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I have a talent for assessing another’s character.”

  “Ah. Yes. I recall you calling me a witch upon our first meeting.”

  Mary would have to bring up his folly. He took the barb that caused his chest to ache. With a resigned sigh, he said, “And I was correct, for you have obviously cast some type of spell over Hadfield and Valois.”

  She slid back under the covers and pulled them over her head. Mary grumbled, “I’m tired. Please leave.”

  He wasn’t going anywhere, and it was about time she realized it. “Hadfield and I agreed, I will oversee your safety tonight.”

  Mary threw the covers back and peered up at him. “Safety? Who would cause me harm?”

  “We do not know what business Valois has with Lord Burke nor anything of his character. I’ll make a pallet and sleep upon the floor.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. There is enough room in this bed for three or more.” Mary shifted closer to the edge and then proceeded to build a wall between him and her with pillows.

  Weary from traveling, he was in no mood to argue, and the idea of the hard floor terrified him. If he was reminded of the cold hard nights he spent sleeping upon the ground, nightmares of his days killing and maiming others would surely return.

  “Do you not trust me?”

  She shouldn’t, not after the way he had manhandled her in the carriage and his treatment of her in the past, but for some reason, her answer was important to him.

  “I’ve been told I sleep like a pinwheel.”

  “How would anyone know?”

  “Well, when your maid comes in to wake you and your feet are in the top corner and your head at the bottom opposite corner, I’m sure it is not a hard conclusion to come upon. It’s for your own safety.”

  Gilbert grabbed the pillows and rearranged them. “I think I’ll take my chances and use these as they are intended, to rest my head upon.”

  After repositioning the pillows to his liking, he stood to remove his clothing. He preferred to sle
ep in his smalls, but that would not be appropriate. Removing his jacket and waistcoat, he paused and debated whether to remove his breeches. From the corner of his eye, he caught Mary staring. Best not to scare the woman. He pulled his tails from his breeches but left them on as he sank back into the mattress. He turned to lie on his right side, the position he preferred, but it put Mary in his direct line of sight.

  Without a thought, he reached out with his left hand and pushed back a tendril of hair behind her ear. “Close your eyes. It’s time to sleep.”

  As he withdrew his hand, Mary turned her cheek into his palm. Her soft skin was like a balm beneath his toughened skin.

  Unable to resist, he cupped her face while his thumb stroked down the bridge of her nose before resting upon her lips that were full and lush when not pulled into a tight line.

  Mary’s eyes fluttered closed. His mind screamed at him to remove his hand, but the devil in him wanted to know how Mary would react if he ran his thumb over her lips. Before he could decide, she opened her mouth as if to speak, and simultaneously his thumb met her tongue, and her lips closed around him. It was the most erotic image he had experienced in years. A deep guttural growl escaped him. He pulled his hand away. “I’m sorry.”

  Why wasn’t she yelling at him?

  He pulled his eyes from her lips, and the chit still had her eyes closed.

  “Gilbert.”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” She tucked her hands between her cheek and pillow. “Good night.”

  “Good night, lass.”

  He waited until her breathing slowed and steadied before he closed his own eyes, but the images of Mary’s honey-brown eyes and rose-pink lips continued to haunt his dreams as they had every night since he promised Phillip to take care of her. At first, he had believed her brother had placed a curse upon him to ensure he carried out his vow. But tonight, he was overwhelmed with the reality that she was mere inches away, and all he could think of was protecting and cherishing her. Cherish. Where in the world did that thought come from?

  Chapter Eleven