Bronwyn Scott - Rake in the Regency Ballroom - The Viscount Claims His Bride / The Earl's Forbidden Ward

It was easy to see why. She was doubly glad she’d given him up years ago. He was far too handsome for his own good now that he’d come into the fullness of his adulthood.Anyone less wise than she would be easily distracted by the silky sleekness of his dark hair. She knew from experience how simple it was to spend an evening thinking about running hands through those ebony skeins.

If the hair didn’t distract one thoroughly enough, there was the trap of his piercing jade eyes, the angular planes of his chiselled face, the sensual promise of his lips, the caress of knowing hands, firm and confident as they learned the contours of one’s body and the pledge of his own body, all muscles and hot strength beneath superbly tailored clothes. Ah, yes, Valerian Inglemoore was a walking minefield of passion—promising pleasure but delivering heartache to the unsuspecting miss. It was good she knew better. That was one trap she would not fall into again.

Valerian gave her a slight nod, a smug smile playing on his lips. She felt herself blush. He’d caught her looking. She hadn’t meant for that to happen.

The butler entered and intoned the announcement for dinner. Philippa felt herself breathe again. She started towards Lucien, eager to escape the scrutiny of Valerian’s gaze. A warm hand on her arm stayed her.

‘Would you do me the honour of allowing me to escort you into dinner?’ Valerian asked, his voice low next to her ear, his message just for her.

Philippa shot a look at Lucien, but he would be of no use to her. He’d already acquiesced to the situation, a hard look in his eyes that belied the friendly tenor of his words. ‘You’ve got her then, St Just? I remember now that the three of you grew up together.’It was said pleasantly enough, but Philippa didn’t miss the tightness of Lucien’s smile or the covert scrutiny in his eyes.

Valerian seated her at the foot of the table and put himself promptly on her right, leaving Beldon and the vicar to juggle Mr Danforth between them.

Philippa couldn’t decide if she preferred Valerian next to her or next to Lucien. Both positions offered their own forms of temptation. She could either have him next to her and struggle with his physical nearness or spend the entire evening fighting the distraction of his handsome visage down the table. But it hardly mattered, she reprimanded herself. He didn’t affect her either way. Her current reaction was merely the shock of seeing him again without warning.

She wished she could read Valerian better. It would be a small measure of comfort if he was struggling to adapt as well. Did she have any effect on him at all? All at once, she vividly recalled the hardness of his erection, the feel of him pulsing through his trousers in their youth, how he’d taught her to caress him. Was he hard now? Or entirely immune? No matter that he’d once claimed only the shallowest of feelings for her, he’d roused to her none the less.

She had to stop! Philippa reached for her wine glass and took a generous sip. These were unseemly thoughts. They were base in nature and had no place at the dinner table, especially coming from a woman who had spent the years putting the memory of his kisses behind her.

The footmen removed the soup and served up the fish course. Conversation lagged as they performed their duties. Once the course was settled, Lucien picked up the threads of small talk. ‘St Just, are you home for good or has the Continent enchanted you?’

Valerian patted his mouth with a fine linen napkin before speaking. ‘I am home for the duration and proud to say it. I terminated my affiliation with the diplomatic corps while I was in London over Christmas. I can now devote my time to my estate, my much neglected gardens and my nursery.’

The statement was ambiguous. Anyone knowing Valerian as she did would wonder if he meant his flower nurseries or perhaps a nursery of another sort. No one was ill bred enough to ask for an explanation, but apparently such probing was not beyond the pale for Mr Danforth, who hadn’t known Valerian for more than the time it had taken to eat the soup.

With a smug masculine tone to his voice, Danforth said, ‘You mean to marry and beget an heir. Very good thinking. I hear you’ve quite a fortune. You’ll need an heir to look after things.’

At the head of the table, Lucien nearly sprayed a mouthful of wine at the tactless comment. It was practically an art form to make such a faux pas as mentioning ‘begetting’ and money in the same poor comment.

Valerian met the rude comment evenly. ‘In fact, I do mean to marry as soon as possible. Enough time has been wasted, I think. I find myself eager to embrace matrimony. With the right woman, of course.’

‘Naturally,’ Danforth agreed, oblivious to the social faux pas he’d committed. ‘A wife must have certain qualities. She must be pretty, biddable, malleable, open to a husband’s training and all that. No man wants to spend his life leg-shackled to an opinion-spouting shrew, no matter what her dowry.’

Philippa stiffened at Danforth’s belittling remarks. ‘I think finding a wife is altogether different than shopping for a brood mare, Mr Danforth. At least it is for those of us who hold marriage as something more than servitude.’

Beldon coughed and the vicar looked nonplussed. There was more she’d liked to have said to the sputtering Danforth, but Valerian’s hand pressed heavily on her thigh beneath the damask cloth in warning. She fought back a smile. Was he remembering her infamous temper?

Valerian smoothly intervened with the honed skill of a diplomat. ‘For myself, Mr Danforth, I am looking for different qualities in a wife. I prefer a more mature woman, a woman who can speak for herself, who can hold her own in an argument. In short, a woman of independence.’

Danforth bristled. ‘Yes, I’ve heard that about you.’ His beady gaze met Valerian’s directly in a surprising show of spine.

Everyone at the table stopped eating. Philippa wondered how Valerian would confront his ‘reputation’, as it were. Would he deny it? Part of her wished he would.

Valerian smiled. It was not a friendly smile, but a wolfish one that suggested he was not, nor ever would be, the prey. ‘Then you will have also heard that I am not afraid of a woman’s opinions, that I am not a man who will cower behind old-fashioned thought and conventions when it comes to the suppression of the fairer sex. Much would be missed in our world if we neglected half the population. Take, for example, the excellent champagne our host is serving from his excellent cellar tomorrow night.’

Valerian turned to Canton. ‘Pendennys mentioned you’d be offering aVeuve Clicquot, an outstanding champagne thanks to the revolutionary efforts of Clicquot’s widow. Did you know, Danforth, that she is responsible for inventing the remuage process? We have a woman to thank for clear champagne. Without her efforts, we’d have nothing more than a cloudy, fizzy novelty.’Valerian raised his glass. ‘Here’s to Madame Clicquot.’

In a few short sentences Valerian had eloquently smoothed over Danforth’s uncomfortable claims and moved the conversation into the safer realm of wine. Danforth did not venture out to play with verbal fire again.

Dinner went smoothly after that if Philippa did not count the unnerving sensation of Valerian’s body in such close proximity to her own. In all the numerous dinner parties she’d attended, she had not ever noticed the intimate closeness she was now exceedingly aware of with Valerian next to her. His knee touched hers; she dropped her napkin and his hand brushed her skirt as he bent to retrieve it, beating the footman to the task.

By the time dessert was served, Philippa’s nerves were jangled beyond reason. She stood as soon as it was politely possible. ‘Gentlemen, excuse me. I’ll leave you to your port and cigars.’