Rake in the Regency Ballroom: The Viscount Claims His Bride / The Earl's Forbidden Ward. Bronwyn Scott
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and he knew it, putting off the news as long as he could, storing up every memory of her—beautiful, innocent Philippa, believing in the purity of his love when he’d come to prove her beliefs ill founded and her heart played falsely. It would be years before she would understand this was a sham designed to protect her family.
‘What is it, Val? You didn’t come out here to show me roses,’ Philippa coaxed.
‘I spoke to your father earlier this evening.’
Her face lit with joy. A little cry of delight escaped her lips. She clapped a gloved hand over her mouth. He replayed the words in his head the way she would hear them. He knew he’d mis-stepped. She thought he had come to propose. He must be more careful, more convincing.
Valerian shook his head in warning. ‘No, Philippa, it is not what you think. Your father has told me of your betrothal to the Duke of Cambourne. He accepted an offer for your hand this afternoon.’
Philippa furrowed her brow, disbelief and confusion warring across her face. His words had achieved their goal. This pronouncement was so far from what she’d expected she couldn’t even be angry. She couldn’t get angry with him until she put the pieces together. The poor girl hadn’t even known Cambourne was interested, although the betting book at White’s had been full of wagers over when the widower Duke would make his move. The men about town had privately acknowledged Cambourne’s interest in the Season’s finest débutante weeks ago. Valerian had hoped to wait out the storm. He might have succeeded if the Baron’s need for funds hadn’t been so desperate.
‘Cambourne? You must be mistaken, Val.’ She was all naïve logic, standing up and shaking out her skirts, convinced she only had to march into the ballroom and explain the situation to her father. ‘He loves you. Nothing would please him more than to welcome you into our family. He would want this for me, for us.’
‘Wait, Philippa.’ Valerian kept his voice even and cold, not betraying the emotion threatening beneath his hardening veneer. ‘I came out here to encourage you to accept Cambourne’s offer.’
‘What do you mean? You want me to marry Cambourne?’ Philippa exclaimed, horrified. ‘He’s old enough to be my father! I don’t love him. Beyond a few dances, I hardly know the man at all.’ Her infamous temper started to show now that the initial shock had passed. Valerian did not relish being on the receiving end of her sharp tongue.
‘You have the rest of your life to get to know him, Philippa.’Valerian dismissed her argument with callous disregard. ‘He’s an excellent catch for you, if you think about it.’ Valerian made a show of ticking the other man’s merits off on his gloved fingers. ‘He’s from our part of the world. You’ll still be close to home and your family. He’s wealthy. He loves horses as you do. He’s not a cruel or unattractive man. You could find happiness with him. he will offer you stability and security.’
‘But not love,’ Philippa fired back. ‘Here you are, laying out his assets like a business merger. But the only one I care about is love. He can’t possibly love me. He doesn’t know me. You know me, Val. If those criteria are so important to my father, then why won’t you suit? You live in our part of the world, you love horses, you’re kind and attractive, you have money. Under those conditions, I don’t see why your offer isn’t as good. What was wrong with you, Val? Let me talk to my father. We’ll be engaged by midnight. You’ll see.’
Valerian looked into the azure depths of her beseeching eyes. It was deuced awkward playing the jilt. If he was successful, she’d walk out of the garden thinking he was unaffected by the turn of events. She’d never know he’d carried a ring in his pocket for the last two weeks, hoping against hope that Cambourne’s suit would come to naught.
The ring was still there, in the left pocket of his evening coat. And there it would remain. He strongly doubted he’d ever give it to another. It was slow torture to outline Cambourne’s merits to her, to offer her reassurances that all would be well when in fact he didn’t think he’d ever be well again. His stomach was churning.
‘What was wrong with me?’ Valerian echoed with feigned flippancy ‘For starters, I don’t want to be engaged by midnight. Secondly, I didn’t ask.’
More lies. He had asked anyway, even knowing the situation. Her father had explained plainly that the young viscount didn’t have enough money—at least not until he was twenty-seven and came into his inheritance. But Baron Pendennys couldn’t wait that long. It had hurt enormously to realise his dreams had been sold for golden guineas. He would be a wealthy man for ever living without the one thing his money couldn’t buy.
‘What? You never asked?’ Her eyes filled with tears, her voice full of disbelief. ‘I don’t understand.’
God, she was beautiful. Valerian fought the urge to pull her against him. She stood so close it would hardly be an effort to do so. He could smell the light fragrance of her lemon-scented soap rising from her skin, the lavender rinse of her clean hair.
She sat down hard on the stone bench, grasping at the logic of it all. ‘I thought you loved me. I thought you wanted to marry me.’
Valerian fought the urge to follow her down, and take her hands in comfort. He had to stop touching her or she’d know it was all a lie.
‘Keep your voice down. We don’t want to draw attention,’ Valerian scolded, covertly casting his gaze about the area. ‘The last thing we need now when it’s all over is to be compromised.’ He’d meant it to be a set-down. She seized on it as the answer to their troubles.
‘That’s it!’ Philippa said wildly. ‘If you compromise me, Father will have to let us marry and Cambourne will have a gracious out. Everyone would understand he couldn’t marry me then.’
Valerian felt himself rouse at the very idea. It would be easy enough to compromise her, but he loved her too much not to warn her of the consequences—consequences she couldn’t fathom through the lens of her innocence, but with three years of town bronze on him, Valerian could. ‘Philippa, no one in London would receive us. We’d live a life of exile and I could not doom you to that. I could not doom myself to that,’ he added selfishly.
Philippa could not be fooled, and her face tilted, perplexed by the incongruous statement. ‘Do such things matter to you? I thought if you had your horses and your gardens and me, it would be enough.’She rose and moved into his embrace, her head finding its way to his shoulder.
Valerian let her, although he held himself stiff, his arms wooden at his side. He was tired of fighting on all fronts. It was inevitable now. He was down to last things. He would not see Philippa after tonight. He’d decided already that he could not go back to his home in Cornwall and watch her become the wife of a neighbour. It would drive him insane to know she and her husband lived only a day’s ride away. He’d known when he met her tonight what he had to do. He’d known she would try to argue against her father’s choice. He’d known he would have to resist her entreaties no matter what form they took. He had not known how painful it would be.
In her desperation, Philippa was arguing with all the tools at her disposal, even her body as she was doing now. Early on in their relationship, he’d revelled in teaching her about a man’s body. There was something heady about tutoring one’s beloved in the sensual arts. He’d never dreamed he would not be the one to teach her the ultimate love lesson. He fought back the wave of nausea sweeping his form.
Philippa raised her head from his shoulder, a lock of her long hair falling from its loose coiffure. Valerian involuntarily reached out to brush the russet strand back from her face. How many times had he made that gesture in the past months?
‘If you won’t marry me or compromise me, at least give me one night of passion. Let me be with you, as we intended to be together,’ she whispered.
Just hearing her utter the words completed his growing erection. A small moan of regret escaped his lips as he shut his eyes, gathering his strength. With her head on his shoulder, thankfully she could not see the torture on his face, although he knew she could feel his desire straining against her stomach. God