Anabelle Bryant - Defying The Earl

Two women stood cooing over an open book while a third female, a petite miss in a muted lavender-colored gown, had her back to the room as she faced the far shelf. Valerian watched as the woman traced a gloved finger down the spine of a tall volume, pausing as if considering her selection with great deliberation, before moving on to repeat the action with each subsequent volume. Her lingering stroke down each title caused his heart to tighten and his groin to heat, the visceral reaction catching him off guard. Perhaps the brandy impaired his reasoning.

Otherwise, there existed no rationalization for the quickening of his pulse and the innate level on which his body responded to the stretch of her palm tipping the binding, the subtle caress of her fingertip as it traced the gold lettering, and surprising most of all, her intense deliberation, though sight unseen, as she made a final decision and selected a volume from the shelves lining the back wall. He shook his head to extinguish the absurd fascination and forced his attention to the conversation underway.

Leonard launched into proper introductions but Valerian heard little, temporarily distracted as the petite miss turned, a cascade of wavy hair the exact color of burnt honey falling over her shoulder with the action. Before him stood the winsome miss who’d pulled him into a mud puddle the day before. Her eyes flared with recognition and he stifled the immediate chuckle that danced on his tongue. Oh, but the evening would prove interesting.

How could it be? Wilhelmina held her breath as introductions concluded, but the maddened beat of her heart drowned out all voices and words. Before her, impeccably dressed in fine grey wool, stood the mysterious tyrant who assisted her from the wheel ruts after she’d met with Lady Rigby on Oxford Street. His memory invaded her daydreams ever since, but her musings had been wrong, her assumptions incorrect. He was not devilishly handsome, his eyes not entrancing in the least. He was more. Much more. Her brain sputtered to produce some adjective that applied but all paled in consideration.

Good heavens, she would appear a bird-wit.

Wilhelmina extended her hand as he reached forward, only to drop the book she’d just claimed. With increasing mortification, she knelt to retrieve the volume and he did in kind. They bumped heads effectively on the way down to the carpet. His velvet murmur of amusement warmed her to the core, tracing over her skin and settling deep in her belly with a joyful fluttering.

“Now this is a surprise.”

There they crouched, two adults at knee level among the gowns and suits of a crowded drawing room affair. The filtered candlelight cast his chiseled features in shadow and all she could see clearly was the sharp angle of his nose, the dark slash of his brows. Wilhelmina’s heart stopped beating. She raised her eyes to his as someone adjusted their position above, allowing a fleeting sliver of light within their shadowed rendezvous. When his eyes met hers, midnight blue pierced her soul. Dragging a ragged breath, she failed to produce words, flippant, eloquent or otherwise.

“It would appear, my sweet, you have it in your mind to extinguish my existence; first by drowning in a mud puddle, and now by a rap to the head.”

If only something charming came to mind, but she felt a stuttering loss. Would her sharp tongue suddenly fail her when she needed it most? This disruptive grip of nervousness was his fault. He unsettled her to the core.

His lips, that delightful cleft in his strong chin, were but a whisper away, so close she could feel the heat of his exhale across her cheek, and his pervasive fragrance, a mixture of neroli and cloves, filled her nostrils and drenched her soul. What would it feel like to be kissed by such a dashing gentleman? She could only wonder, the intimacy unfamiliar, although that fluttering renewed in her belly…and other places too.

She swallowed hard as good sense forced a reply past her lips. “The fault is all mine.” With no wish to draw attention to their prone forms the words whispered from her lips as if an illicit proposition instead of an innocent plea for pardon. A sketch of a smile tilted his mouth and their gazes locked.

“Very well then, I claim no harm.” He clasped the book more firmly and placed a gloved hand below her elbow, bringing them once again to eye level. His arm brushed against hers as they re-entered the circle and his muscles, hard through the cloth of his waistcoat, caused her breath to catch and her brain to question the sudden and uncomfortable awareness of his body so near to hers.

Then he did the unspeakable, and reached forward to tap the front of her temple, his bare fingertip brushing through the wisps of her hair. “I presume the knock did not so much rattle your brain as your constitution. I assure you no one knows of the blunder beyond this congenial circle of friends.”

How dare he be charming and make mortifying matters worse? She’d never be able to converse, to engage Leonard and Fiona in flirtatious interplay, if he stood nearby watching, breathing . She cleared her throat and steadied her nerves.

Conversation had resumed when someone lifted the volume of poems from his grasp, and flipped it open to a random page. Wilhelmina gathered her wits and forced a smile. Best she ignore Lord No Name and carry on as if he didn’t exist.

But her vow proved impossible as he plucked the volume from Lord Rigby’s hand next and began reciting poetry in a delicious tenor that caused `flesh to prick her skin, no matter layers of clothing protected her heart. Her cheeks warmed and, all of a sudden discomfited, she could only focus on his voice reciting one of her favorite Byron poems. It was as if she was hearing it for the first time, his exacting enunciation and emotional intonation spoken in the most wonderful tones until he uttered the last syllable. Her heart beat a rapid applause.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a romantic, Dashwood.” Leonard Rigby nabbed the volume at the poem’s end and darted a glance in Fiona’s direction.

“Public presentation must be a family trait. Your brother and Lord Beaufort were walking through Mayfair last night reciting a Shakespearean sonnet.” Lady Childs twittered after the confession. “Or at least I believe it’s what the gentlemen attempted. Your brother keeps lively company while in town, does he not, Lord Dashwood?”

“Jasper and I are as salt and pepper, naturally paired, yet drastically different depending upon one’s taste.” His witty reply caused a ripple of laughter in the conversation while the ladies offered fawning eyes in his direction.

Lord Dashwood . At least now she had a name. And a brother named Jasper. Younger, perhaps, from the protective note buried in his flippant retort. She glanced in his direction as he conversed with Lady Childs, the lady seemingly delighted with his attention and blatantly flirting beneath lowered lashes. Some unreasonable emotion made Wilhelmina urge to disrupt the moment, but then distracted by Lord Dashwood’s fine profile, she lost the objective.

“I have always favored Byron, although I am fond of most poetry. The harmony of each verse and the fluidity of the words never fail to bring serenity to my soul. Who do you prefer, Lord Rigby?” Lady Fiona fluttered her fan and sent a coy glance in Leonard’s direction.

The action jolted Wilhelmina’s awareness to her purpose. Enough of pondering Lord Dashwood. His presence was more nuisance than aid. Here lay the perfect opportunity to fortify her effort and bring the matched couple together.

“I’ve always believed the same. By all means, let me begin.” Leonard Rigby cleared his voice and slanted his body as if reciting for Fiona alone. Wilhelmina admired his devotion.