The Devil and the Viscount, page 4
Brimming with uncontrollable laughter, she ran with him, out of the gate and along the path.
“Told you,” Darblay said, pausing with a grin at last. “Can’t stand the screeching. Hope you weren’t enjoying it too much.”
“I enjoyed the harpist. She’s very good.”
“Do you want to go back? I can stick some grass in my ears.”
Gina laughed again. “You would, too, wouldn’t you? No, let’s do something else.”
“The pond is this way. We could take out a boat if you like.”
They did. Darblay handed over a penny for the privilege and climbed into a small rowing boat before handing her in. She sat on the wooden bench while Darblay took off his coat and rowed them around the artificial pond, carefully avoiding the other two boats out at the same time.
Watching his easy strength stirred something within her. When his shirt plastered itself to his skin and she could see the play of his muscles, the feeling sharpened. I like him. But this is more. This is…desire. Unladylike, physical desire. What is wrong with me?
Shocked by the insight, she looked away, at anything other than him. He is my friend. He is the kind of man—
Not the kind of man. The man she might have wanted to court her, to marry her. She had never felt such physical tumult before, and now she would never know its outcome. There would only be Lord Longton, more than twice her age, stout and sagging with over-indulgence. She had thought she could bear it, endure it…
“Gina?” Lord Darblay had stopped rowing, frowning at her in concern. “What is it?”
“I… Is there no way out for you, other than to marry an heiress you do not like?”
His hands fell away from the oars. “I haven’t met one I do like who’d be prepared to marry me. Everyone knows my family’s circumstances. It’s never been a secret. No wellborn girl would be allowed to marry me. The only people who would benefit from an alliance with me are the nouveau riches who are prepared to buy their way into nobility.”
“Like me,” she said bleakly.
He locked the oars and moved to sit on the bench beside her. There was scarcely room, and the boat tipped alarmingly, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Not like you,” he said firmly. “Like your family maybe. I suppose we are both being sold, but at least I have nominal control over whom I sell myself to.”
“Will you bear it?”
“I’ll have to. Will you?”
She gave him an unhappy smile. “I’ll have to. It’s different for men, though, isn’t it? Will you still have your ladybirds?”
He didn’t even laugh this time. “In all honesty, I probably will. Light relief. The best I could be, once I have an heir or two, is a complaisant, straying husband. My best hope is for a tolerable, cordial marriage.”
“But that isn’t what you always wanted, is it?”
“Never thought of it,” he said ruefully. “I lived in the present, mostly. When I went to Oxford, I was desperate for a pair of colors, to fight under Wellington. My father wouldn’t hear of it, so I sulked and went to the devil. Then I developed an interest in the science of agriculture and realized how we could save the estates, but my father wouldn’t hear of it from a brainless wastrel like me, even when my brother-in-law and his stewards vouched for me. So, I carried on to the devil. I knew, in theory, I would have to marry one day, but until the old man curled up his toes… I’ll be a terrible husband. I shouldn’t complain about a less than perfect wife.”
He was silent, gazing down at her until she looked up. “Who did you want to marry? Is there someone Longton is taking you from?”
“No.” Her breath caught. “Yes. But I don’t think I could marry someone and stray.”
He raised one hand, touching her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “No, you wouldn’t. You could elope.”
“And shame myself and my family? Ruin the chances of my sisters who are depending on me. And Lord Longton.”
He leaned into her. “It’s a muddle. We can still be friends. If you like.”
Her heart warmed and she smiled. “I do like.” His face was so close to hers, that she could kiss him. What would his lips feel like on hers? How did he kiss? With more grace, she knew instinctively, than the fumbling slobbers she had occasionally been treated to in her youth.
He bent nearer, and for a wondrous, terrible moment, she thought he would kiss her. Her heart seemed to dive with all those butterflies.
“Damn, I’m going to sink us,” he said and heaved himself back to the rowing bench. But he wasn’t embarrassed. As he took up the oars again, he smiled at her, and she smiled back, as a daring, shocking, wonderful idea began to form in her mind.
Chapter Four
“Is there no way out for you, other than to marry an heiress you do not like?”
“I haven’t met one I do like.”
Except he had. Gina’s question had forced him to acknowledge the truth—that he would easily have chosen her over all of them. Over anyone. Her money would save the estates. He was nobleman enough to keep her family happy, even if he wasn’t an earl. And he would be content, happy. He wouldn’t even stray. Probably. And he would do his best to make her happy, with far more chance than old Longton.
But even if it wasn’t official, her family had made the bargain with Longton and would stick to it. Her family probably could not afford the scandal of jilting one’s betrothed, not like a lady of his own class. Except the betrothal was not yet public. If Longton had been shouting about it, more fool him. Let him find another heiress.
In the grip of more hope than he could remember since his brother-in-law had let him “apprentice” himself to his steward, Rollo pulled on the oars, speeding them around the lake, until he noticed what he was doing and slowed.
Could he convince her? What would she say if he asked her to marry him instead of Longton? Would it ruin their friendship? Would she be so offended that she’d storm off? He couldn’t imagine the latter, but one never knew with women, and although Gina Wallace was different from any other woman he’d met, he had not known her a full day.
Do I really want to do this?
God, yes.
He wanted her very badly. And for more, much more than an afternoon of sweet diversion.
He opened his mouth to speak her name.
“My lord,” she said decisively.
“Rollo,” he corrected. “I think we’re familiar enough for that.”
A funny little smile flickered across her face and vanished. “Rollo. Would you mind if I asked you a rather personal and quite improper question?”
“Have at me,” he invited, intrigued.
Color deepened along her delicate cheekbones. Her fingers pleated nervously at her gown. “I think you are a man who has a good deal of experience with women,” she said in a rush.
“I’m flattered you might think so,” he said, startled, “but—”
“You have at least one ladybird—”
“Had,” he interrupted.
“…And I doubt she was the first or the only. I am not judging you,” she added hurriedly, “it just seems to make you the right person to ask.”
Rollo stopped rowing again. “About what?”
“Intimacy,” she said, blushing fierily from her forehead to where the base of her throat vanished inside her spencer. “Between a man and a woman. I suppose it must be enjoyable, else you would not do so much of it?”
Rollo, torn between laughter and acute discomfort, managed to say breathlessly, “Yes, but you shouldn’t be talking to me about these things.”
“Yes, for men,” she pursued. “But… Can women enjoy it, too?”
She was scared. Scared of marriage, especially with such a specimen as Longton, and she had no mother, no married sisters to confide in.
“Most definitely.” But would she enjoy physical intimacy with Longton? No one could say the man had no experience, but he was hardly love’s young dream. The whole idea made Rollo feel ill, so God knew what it was doing to her. “Gina—”
“Then I have a favor to ask you,” she blurted. “Would you show me?”
He stared at her. In fact, he was very afraid he goggled, which can’t have done much for his attraction either. He swallowed. “You want me to make love to you?”
“If you wouldn’t mind.” She was gazing down at the demented pleating of her gown. “I have been led to believe that men are less picky than women, but—”
“Jesus Christ, Gina!”
She closed her eyes, so clearly covered in shame for what she had asked and what she probably saw as his rejection. He locked the oars in place, abandoned them once again, and risked capsizing by joining her on the bench. This time, lest there be any doubt, he flung his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to his side.
“Gina, any man would be honored, delighted beyond words to be welcomed into your bed. But think what you are offering.” And to whom. Longton might be older and fatter, but Rollo was hardly a catch either. Gina deserved better than either of them.
“I will do it,” she said in a small, hard voice. “I will marry Longton, and I will be a good and faithful wife to him. But I am not a stone, Rollo. If I make all the sacrifices, should I not know a little happiness first? Before I am tied for life to another man? If I am worth that, then I would like it to be with you. If you don’t dislike the idea.”
Rollo’s anatomy approved the idea enthusiastically. His mind was speechless.
“Would he know?” she asked.
Rollo scowled. “Not from me! For God’s sake, Gina—”
“No, I mean…on our wedding night. Would he be able to tell that I was not…”
“A virgin?” Rollo said bluntly. “Not necessarily. There are many reasons a hymen may not remain intact.” And he doubted Longton would care. Since she was still reluctant to look at him, he pushed up her chin so that he could see her face. “You are very trusting,” he said helplessly. “No one has ever trusted me before.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “Because I am not a good man. I’m going to the devil and everyone knows it.” Making love to Gina would send him even farther along that path, cross yet another line, for he had never yet deflowered a virgin. The really bizarre part was, as he gazed into her eyes, it felt more like redemption.
“You are a good man,” she said stoutly. “You, too, are making a sacrifice. And maybe you can find a little happiness with me first.”
“Oh Gina,” he groaned. “Where do you get these strange ideas? I should row you straight back and return you to your Mrs. Fitz before I do something we’ll both regret.”
“Is it against your honor?” she asked anxiously.
“No.” He dropped his forehead against hers. “It’s against yours.”
With the softness of a butterfly’s wing, her fingertips touched his cheek, his lips, and he couldn’t breathe. “No,” she whispered. “It will give me courage I didn’t know I needed.”
This time it was Rollo who closed his eyes, fighting his desire not only for her body but to please her, to make things easier for her. Had he not already offered to help her if he could?
“Would it really help?”
She nodded, her forehead sliding against his.
Rollo sent up a prayer, his first for many a year and entirely wordless. He touched his lips to hers. Silk and fire, sweetness and astonishment. He couldn’t allow himself to linger or he would devour her. “Then how do we manage this?”
She swallowed and drew back. “I can come to your rooms when everyone is asleep. They retire early.”
He heaved himself back to the oars. “You can still change your mind. I will understand.”
“So can you,” she said generously, then with a quick, half-frightened glance. “Do you think you will?”
He could lie and be free of this temptation, go and get drunk with his friends in town. Or he could be as honest as she. “No. I won’t.”
*
He didn’t treat her differently after her shocking proposal. There was no lack of respect as he handed her out of the boat, no disgust when he offered his arm to walk on through the gardens. In fact, she thought he was deliberately amusing her until she recovered something of her old comfort in his presence.
But she could hardly forget what she had asked of him. And his big, elegant person strolling along beside her only filled her veins with anticipation and excitement.
She was going to be wicked for the first time in her life. She was going to enjoy every last moment of it.
And then, she would be good for the rest of her life, with the memory of Rollo Darblay buried in her heart.
“It is almost teatime,” she said. “I should go back to Mrs. Fitzwilliam and take my turn reading to her, at least. I… I have not appalled you, have I?”
They were on one of the higher paths among the trees, deserted at this time. Even so, Rollo glanced up and down before drawing her behind a tree.
“Never think it,” he said, almost harshly, dragging her hand to his heart. “You make my heart sing. And when we meet again…I will not be a polite lover. But I will make your whole being dance with pleasure—or die trying.”
Before she could respond, she was crushed in his arms, and his mouth came down on hers.
Nothing had prepared her for such a kiss, not even the sensual, butterfly brush of his lips in the boat. Nor was there anything remotely fumbling or slobbery about it. Instead, his mouth was firm, warm, and urgent—and curiously elegant, like Darblay himself. The kiss blended with his embrace, his body pressed to hers, giving her a taste of his muscular strength, the hard ridge of his arousal, his passion. And hers, for everything in her leapt in helpless response. “I will make your whole being dance with pleasure…” Dear God, what had she taken on?
Her body had no such fears. It was pushing back against him with delight, and her arms were around his neck, her hands caressing his nape, fisting in his hair.
And then it was over. His mouth and his arms loosened. While she gazed up at him in bemusement, he straightened her bonnet and tucked an escaped lock of hair beneath it.
“Until tonight,” he murmured in her ear, and then he was gone.
For several seconds, she stared stupidly after him as he sauntered back down the path. She touched her lips in awe, and they smiled beneath her fingers. Oh, my. Oh, my goodness…
Giving herself a brisk little shake, she stepped around the tree, back onto the path, and walked in the opposite direction to Rollo, toward the hotel gate. Her whole being was already singing.
*
Gina passed the rest of the day in an unprecedented state of excitement, nerves, and anticipation. While she drank tea with Mrs. Fitzwilliam, read to her, and dined quietly in their private sitting room, Lord Darblay was never far from her thoughts.
She decided halfway through the rather tasty fish course that she must always have been rather wicked. Because she had made an assignation with a man, just like Rollo’s ladybird, only Gina had every intention of keeping hers. She was not even ashamed. This was a mere treat she was allowing herself before the rest of her life, a marriage she did not care to think about but which she would make the best she could.
And her treat harmed no one. She felt no sense of betrayal toward Lord Longton, who wanted only her money and her body to provide an heir. He had not even proposed to her personally, merely come to her father’s home to look her over like a horse. His manners had been genial, respectful enough, but she had felt almost superfluous to requirements. Marriage had been discussed between Longton and her father and an agreement was made. She would travel to London where the betrothal was to be made formal. She would be introduced to society, and her father would join them for the wedding ceremony.
Gina was bound by her father’s agreement, but she herself had accepted nothing, promised nothing. She would, of course, because anything else was unthinkable, but for this day, a small, rebellious part of her that had always found the arrangement of her life infamous seemed to have risen up with relish and taken over.
She was grateful to Rollo Darblay. Without him, she would never have thought of this treat… At least, she hoped it would be a treat. Anticipation and nerves made it hard to concentrate on either dinner conversation or the game of cards that followed. Fortunately, Mrs. Fitzwilliam was much recovered and chattered for both of them. She was looking forward to a leisurely drive into town tomorrow, in time, perhaps to pay a few calls and join the throngs in Hyde Park where, apparently, one had to be seen at five of the clock.
Gina agreed to everything with an amiable smile. She would be a different person by then. She would have a secret she would never tell, a precious, few moments with a man who brought her fun and laughter, who made her heart flutter and her knees weak with his kiss. And she would not, could not, think beyond that.
Before retiring, Mrs. Fitzwilliam decided on a gentle walk around the hotel grounds. Gina, donning her hat and a warm cloak to accompany her, both hoped and feared to glimpse Lord Darblay prowling nearby.
“The grounds are pretty.” Mrs. Fitzwilliam sounded surprised. “Is this where you walked all day?”
“No, mostly in the pleasure garden, which is just over there. The gardens are lovely, and there was music to listen to, jugglers to watch.”
Mrs. Fitzwilliam sniffed. “I always heard Maida was even more vulgar than Vauxhall or Ranelagh. But the hotel is very comfortable, don’t you think?”
It was also, fortunately, quiet, since few travelers had arrived on a Sunday. There were no raucous parties spilling into the foyer, and the ladies’ sitting room contained only two spinster ladies drinking tea. After a civil conversation, the spinsters began to put away their needlework, and Mrs. Fitzwilliam pronounced herself ready for bed.
Gina dutifully accompanied her upstairs to their rooms and delivered her into the devoted hands of her maid before joining Little in her own bedchamber.
“Just unfasten me, if you please,” Gina said. “I believe I shall sit up and read for a time and will blow the candles out myself. I expect you need your rest after a hard day in the sick room.”
