Suzanne Robinson Read online

  If old Beaufort had hidden his traitor’s gold here, the clue to its location had been lost. This thought darkened Emmie’s humor, and it didn’t improve when the gentlemen invaded the salon. North joined her immediately, took her hand, and placed it on his arm.

  When she tried to remove it, he placed his hand over hers and murmured with a smile, “Remember our agreement. You’re besotted with me.”

  Wishing she could kick him in the shins, Emmie gave him a counterfeit smile.

  “I hope your face freezes in that nasty grin,” she said.

  “Now, my dear,” North said in a loud voice. “You mustn’t dote on me so. If you begin this way, I shall be terribly spoiled even before we’re married.”

  “You bloody—ow!” Emmie hissed at him. “Stop pinching me, you vile hypocrite, or I swear by the saints I’ll black your eye.”

  “Lower your voice and smile, dammit.”

  Emmie bit her lip, then beamed at Aunt Ottoline as the older woman joined them. “Dear Lady Ottoline.”

  “Do call me Aunt, my dear. After all, we’ll soon be family.”

  “Dear Aunt, do you know what Valin has just told me? In a few weeks when the guests are gone, he wants to return to London and celebrate our engagement with a wonderful finish to the Season. Lots and lots of balls and dinners and parties and musicals. He wants you to plan as many as possible, with hundreds of guests.”

  North dropped her hand. “What!”

  “Oh, my.” Ottoline stared at her nephew with wonder and gratitude. “How marvelous, Valin. I’m so pleased you’re going to allow me to help you introduce your fiancée in this manner. You and Emily will be the toast of London if I have anything to do with it. Now let me see. We’ll open with a ball, and we’ll see if we can’t persuade the Queen and Prince Albert to come, although they almost never do.”

  While Ottoline chattered Emmie pretended to listen, beaming at Valin.

  North was shaking his head. “Now, Aunt, I’m not sure—”

  “Don’t worry about a thing, my dear,” Ottoline said. “I’ll do all the planning. Oh, I shall be of use to you at last.”

  North’s lips stretched, revealing white teeth in what was supposed to be a pleased smile and ended up resembling the grimace of an enraged lion.

  “How generous of you, Aunt. And now if you’ll excuse us, I promised Emily I’d take her for a walk in the gardens. She wanted to see the maze in moonlight.”

  “No, I don’t,” Emily said quickly.

  “Nonsense, my dear. Aunt won’t mind at all, and it’s proper now that we’re to be married.”

  Emmie felt his hand grip her arm hard, and she was steered outside through the tall French windows that opened onto a stone terrace. Once they were out of sight of the salon, North sped up and dragged her after him as he went down the long flight of stairs to the Elizabethan maze. Tall yews had been cut in a complex pattern in which guests were continually losing themselves. Emmie trotted after her captor, pulling back only to be yanked forward as they darted into the labyrinth. After a few twists and turns, she was lost in the darkness.

  She grabbed a thick branch and dug in her heels. “Release me.”

  North turned, plucked her hand from the branch, and tugged her after him without a word. Suddenly the yews opened and they were in a court lit with moonbeams.

  Emmie tried to pry North’s fingers from her wrist, but without warning he dragged her against him, capturing her arms and lifting her until her eyes were level with his.

  “You broke your promise, Emily No-name. And I’m grateful, because now I can show you what happens to a naughty lady adventuress who doesn’t keep her word.”

  9

  Valin felt Emily de Winter tremble as he drew her closer. The shivering penetrated his arms. No, no, it was he who was shivering! Valin stopped trying to pull the struggling young woman to him as he realized how little mastery he had over himself. When he stopped, she quit fighting him and remained still, catching her breath. She was close enough for him to see her softly curved face bathed in silver moonlight, and he forgot his ire.

  “Peace?” he whispered. She said nothing.

  For long moments they stayed as they were, each waiting for the other to do something. Valin watched the patterns of moonbeam and shadow formed by the yews play over her face and illuminate the pearls in her hair. The distraction didn’t help him in his fight for control. Somehow he found himself bending toward her. She watched him warily, but didn’t move.

  He was closing the space between them, but it seemed to take him hours. Every second he expected her to bolt. Even when his lips touched hers he expected her to push him back, but her body melted into his, and he wrapped his arms around her as he explored her mouth.

  In spite of the barrier of gown and corset he sensed when her breathing quickened and grew ragged. She caught him off guard when she responded to his kiss by hooking her arms around his neck and lifting herself to him, pressing her mouth to his and chasing his tongue with hers. Suddenly it was she who led and he who responded. On fire now, Valin slid his hand to the neck of her gown.

  At this touch, Emily uttered a strangled cry deep in her throat, tore her lips from his, and sprang out of his grasp. As she moved she thrust him away. The abrupt change was a shock. Valin stumbled and caught himself before he fell, but Emily was already halfway across the court.

  Desperate to mask his frustration and disappointment, Valin laughed. “Where are you going, Miss No-name? You don’t know the way out.”

  “I’ve gotten out of plenty of rum spots, and this place doesn’t compare!”

  He heard a swish of skirts, and she was gone. Valin allowed her a minute to get lost, then went after her. This time his grin was anticipatory. He’d never had to literally chase a woman before, and it was exciting. Rushing out of the court, he hurried to the first dead end. She wasn’t there. He tried the next, but only startled a nightingale. Bursting into a run, he chased after a sound he thought was Emily. By the time he reached the next dead end, he was lost. It was too dark, and he hadn’t paid attention to where he was going.

  “Damn.”

  In answer to his exclamation he heard a light laugh, the rustle of silk, and the click of slipper heels as Miss Emily de Winter walked unhurriedly back to the house.

  He called after her in a loud whisper. “Come back here at once.” He listened intently. “Emily? Dammit, woman, where are you?”

  He heard her shut the terrace doors in response. She’d left him out here. Curse the girl. She knew he’d gotten turned around, and she’d left him to stumble about in the dark, the little beast.

  With resignation, Valin began to backtrack, trying to find a familiar path among the yews. As he walked, he grinned to himself. Matching wits with Emily de Winter was much more fun than spending time with any other woman he’d known.

  “Fun,” he said to himself.

  He hardly ever used that word. It was an Acton word, a Courtland word, even, but not one of his words. His words were duty, responsibility, honor. His days were filled with such words and their corresponding obligations. His responsibilities had been drilled into him as long as he could remember.

  Once he’d known how to have fun. He could remember being young and in love with the feeling he got from climbing high in an ancient oak and allowing his body to be carried with the sway of the branches in the wind. He and Acton had played tricks on their governess, Miss Ickleton. Once they’d put a hedgehog into the foot of her bed beneath the covers. Another time he’d put a frog in the poor woman’s bonnet while it was hanging on a peg. Acton had rolled on the floor, weak with laughter at the sight of their dignified governess with a frog on her head. Luckily Miss Ickleton had possessed a sense of humor.

  When had he given up fun? Not long after the frog incident, when he was eight, his father and mother began impressing upon him the nature of his duties and responsibilities as heir. From then on, all his actions, all his words were judged by those standards.

  H
is mother’s favorite phrase became, “Such conduct is unworthy of your father’s heir.”

  Father was more direct.

  “A Marquess of Westfield does not whine, sir,” he would say. Or, “The Westfield heir knows how to sit a horse, sir, and he doesn’t do it like a costermonger out for a country treat.”

  Being heir had ruined fun, that was certain. No wonder Acton scoffed at him. No wonder laughing with Miss de Winter made him feel as if he was coming back to life after having been dead for twenty years.

  Even more invigorating was her mysteriousness. Society had no members whose names were unknown, and he’d never met a woman of breeding with such a vocabulary. What epithets might she use if he made her truly angry? The prospect was intriguing, but he wasn’t going to gain Miss de Winter’s cooperation by making her furious. That much he learned tonight. Could he gain it by more subtle methods, more honey than horseradish?

  Valin found the center court of the maze at last and began to retrace the way out. Perhaps he’d find out more about his fiancée by making her his friend and ally. He didn’t want a repeat of her behavior this evening, that was certain. There was no telling what misery she might cause him if he made her angry enough. Already he was committed to returning to London to finish the Season. The thought was enough to make him want to howl at the moon.

  Stepping out of the maze, Valin caught a glimpse of Emily through the French doors. She was laughing with Acton and Courtland in the center of a pool of golden light from a chandelier. For a brief moment she seemed a creature of enchantment—unreachable, ephemeral, elusive, casting spells upon all who came within her province. Then she turned her head and looked outside, and he could have sworn she knew he was there looking at her.

  Was she so magical that she could sense him across such a distance? While others talked around her, she gazed into the night, a slight smile playing on her lips. He remained where he was, hoping urgently that she would leave his brothers and come to him and make this imaginary enchantment real.

  The spell was broken when Acton bowed to her. Emily turned and allowed him to lead her away from the window. Valin let out his breath; he hadn’t realized he’d been holding it. He rolled his shoulders to rid them of the tension that had built up simply from beholding Miss Emily de Winter. This wouldn’t do. He had to break free of these foolish notions she put in his head merely by coming near him.

  He would try to make peace with her. Perhaps they’d become friends. So mundane a relationship would banish these fancies. One didn’t lust after a friend. He couldn’t indulge in absurd imaginings about someone he hardly knew, who was, after all, a common adventuress, however well mannered.

  That was the answer. He and Emily would settle into a friendly arrangement that would allow her to tell him the truth about herself. Once the puzzle of Miss de Winter had been solved, he could get on with his search for a suitable wife. There would be no distraction of a young woman veiled in mystery. No longer would she intrigue him with her exotic behavior, her wildness, and her courage.

  Valin nodded to himself. Once he knew her secrets, he would no longer want her so unbearably. He began to walk toward the house. Best start immediately, tomorrow morning. Before Miss de Winter had time to get him into more trouble than she already had.

  The next morning Valin stayed behind when the rest of his gentlemen guests went shooting. He was on his way to the archery butts that had been set up on the lawn stretching between the gardens and the park behind Agincourt. He was hurrying down the terrace stairs when Acton called his name and came running after him from the house.

  “I want to talk to you,” he said.

  Valin waved him away. “I’ve already arranged to settle all your debts.”

  “It’s not about that.”

  Valin sighed and gazed over the balustrade that separated the next terrace from the formal gardens and the yew maze. It was a cool May morning that wore a coat of silver dew and new leaves. He was sure Acton would spoil it.

  “About this engagement,” Acton said. “Are you mad?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We know nothing of this Miss de Winter. We don’t know her parents.”

  “They’re dead.” Valin could see the ladies aiming at the archery targets.

  “Or her people.”

  He couldn’t see Miss de Winter. “They live in France and in Northumberland.”

  “And her face and fortune are mediocre,” Acton said.

  Valin dragged his gaze from the archers to stare at his brother. “Are you maligning the young woman I’ve asked to be my wife?”

  “I’m surprised, that’s all. And you have to admit there are dozens of girls much prettier and richer.”

  “She has enough money to suit me, and I think she’s lovely. Of what possible interest could either matter be to you?” Valin narrowed his eyes and said quietly, “Ah, I see. You’d rather be marquess yourself, but if I’m to be it, then you want me to marry someone whose fortune will serve as a reserve bank for you.”

  Acton flushed. “That’s a damned lie.”

  “Then you’re concerned for my future happiness? How touching.”

  “I just don’t see why you’re in such a hurry to get married,” Acton snapped. “You weren’t before, and I know why.”

  Valin rounded on his brother. “Be careful, Acton.”

  “You were afraid no woman would have you. You were afraid the old rumors would start again. Have any of them asked you about—”

  “Shut up, will you?”

  “Are you going to tell Miss de Winter?” Acton sauntered around Valin, a quizzical look on his face. “Or would you like me to do it, since you never like to talk about it? I could, you know. I’ll say to her, Oh, by the way, Miss de Winter, pay no attention to the silly rumor that my brother burned our father and stepmother to death in the old lodge when he was seventeen.”

  Acton held up a finger. “And there’s no truth to the rumor that he seduced my stepmother. No truth to it at all. Those fights between him and my father were over boyish pranks at school, not over dear Carolina. Not at all.” Acton stood grinning nastily at Valin.

  “You are a bastard, aren’t you?” Valin said.

  “I’m only offering to help you, old fellow.”

  Not trusting himself, Valin went down the terrace steps, then stopped. “Acton, do you remember the last time we had a fight? A physical one, that is.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you remember who won?”

  Acton scowled at him.

  “If you speak ill of me to Miss de Winter, you’ll spend the rest of the Season in bed recovering from our next fight.”

  He left the terrace swiftly, fearing he’d lose control and tie Acton’s legs around his neck. Acton had a talent for ferreting out one’s weaknesses and using them as weapons. Valin had learned not to let his brother see that his barbs drew blood, but this attack had been so unexpected that he’d lost his temper. The old memories flooded his senses, and he was seeing images over a decade old.

  Father had been married to Carolina for several years, and that day he’d gone to a neighbor’s to see about the purchase of a Thoroughbred. It was high summer, one of those hot, bright days when the heat bakes flies into a stupor and insects sing to the sun. He was home from school for a few weeks and had been riding that morning. Arriving home, he found a note from Carolina asking him to meet her at the old lodge.

  Carolina made him nervous. She was only eight years his senior, but she had an air of experience about her. When they were in each other’s company Carolina would fix him with an appraising look that made him turn red. His confusion never failed to gratify her.

  What was worse, she had a habit of making embarrassing remarks under her breath, making sure only he heard them. Once, before dinner, they’d been alone in the drawing room, and he’d knelt to stoke the fire. Suddenly she was beside him on the floor with her hand on his thigh. He’d nearly fallen on his ass scrambling to get away from her.


  Why was she at the lodge? He had no desire to meet her there to become the mouse in her game of hunting cat. Valin tossed the note in the wastebasket in his room, but hesitated as he started to remove his riding coat. The last time he’d refused to see Carolina she’d complained of his rudeness to Father. If he displeased her, it would only end in unpleasantness. Perhaps he should meet her and come to some understanding; if he made it clear to her that he was unwilling to play games with her, there would be less trouble all around.

  Valin pulled his jacket back on, returned to the stables, and was soon riding through the park. The old lodge was a hunting box built by an ancestor when King James was a frequent visitor to Agincourt Hall. Its red brick facade concealed an interior gloomy with dark wood paneling. The narrow windows had been enlarged, but their diamond-shaped panes still kept out too much light. It was used infrequently, and Valin disliked its tiny rooms and numerous drafts. The place was so dark and cold that one had to light candles and keep the fireplace running even on a summer day.

  Upon reaching the lodge, Valin knocked but received no answer. He went inside to find the rooms on the ground floor deserted. With growing irritation he realized Carolina had probably forgotten her summons and wasn’t even here.

  Then he heard her laugh. He was about to call to her when he heard her again. This time she was singing to herself. Valin followed the sound upstairs, but his steps slowed when he recognized the tune. It was a bawdy tavern song with which no lady should have been familiar. As he hesitated, a silence fell.

  Anxious to get this interview over with, Valin hurried across the landing to a half-open door. His fist was raised to knock on the portal when Carolina’s voice reached him.

  “Come in, Valin. I’ve been waiting much too long.”

  He recognized that teasing, suggestive tone. Torn between leaving at once and the need to placate his stepmother, Valin went into the room. Carolina was standing in the middle of the chamber wrapped in a brocade dressing gown. She had lit a fire and placed dozens of candles around a four-poster bed. She gave him a little mincing smile and opened her dressing gown.