Once Upon a Scandal. Delilah Marvelle
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stared up at him, dreading whatever he had in mind. “You were hoping I could what?”
He shrugged and glanced away. “I … wanted to give you something, is all. Something that would—”
“You had better not be asking me for a kiss, Remington. Because you won’t get it.”
He cleared his throat and shook his head before setting his broad shoulders. “No. I … in truth, I wanted to give you something that will help bring Flint back.”
She sighed. “A whistle won’t be of any use. That dog hates whistles.”
“It’s not a whistle.” He drew closer, his wet hair glistening as black as night, and dug into his soaked trouser pocket. He held up a dainty, gold-and-ruby ring by the tips of his fingers. “Here. Take this.”
Sometimes, men were utterly useless, weren’t they? “I do believe my intelligence is being insulted. How is a ring supposed to bring my dog back?”
He let out a gruff laugh and grabbed up her chilled hand, forcing it open. Holding the ring up between them, he set it against her palm and pressed her hand tightly closed. Water from the sleeve of his shirt dribbled onto her hand, raising more gooseflesh on her already cold skin.
He lowered his voice. “My mother gave this to me shortly before she passed eight years ago. She and I were very close. From what I am told, a Gypsy gifted it to her. All you need know is that the worth of this ring will prove itself to you in time. Believe in its magic, and I assure you, all will come to pass. I am giving it to you so you can wish for anything you might ever want or need whilst I am away.”
Victoria opened her hand and blinked down at the ring. She glanced up at him. “Surely, you jest.”
“I do not.”
“You are a man of nineteen. You don’t actually believe in real magic, do you?”
“Age should never exempt one from hope. Which is what defines true magic.” He tapped at her hand, still holding her gaze. “Place the ring on your finger, whisper to the stone whatever it is you most desire and it will come to pass. I promise.”
She snorted. “Are you trying to melt butter in a wig? There are no magic rings in this world.”
He lowered his chin and drew closer. His hand reached out and brushed her cheek, his warmth making her cool skin tingle. “How do you know there aren’t?” he murmured, staring at her lips. “Have you whispered your most intimate desires to every single ring that exists in this world?”
“Well, no, I …” She froze, fully aware that he was inching in closer. His dark head lowered as he tilted his face toward her own.
She gasped, scrambling out of his reach, and stumbled, her bare feet sliding across the cold marble floor. She didn’t want or need her father to catch her being irresponsible. Not when her coming out was only seven months away.
She bustled toward the dim, sweeping stairwell, and chanted to herself that she needed to leave. Her hand, which still held his ring, trembled, though not from the cold.
“Victoria. Please. Don’t leave. Not yet. I need this moment between us to last. It may be as many as ten months before I see you again.” There was a tender huskiness in his voice that made her melt with yearning. It was a yearning she didn’t think she’d ever feel for anyone. Or want to feel for anyone. Not after the losses she’d endured.
Though she did pause, her pride insisted she not turn, lest she give in to the pathetic yearning she felt by flinging herself at him like a squirrel into a pile of nuts.
He cleared his throat. “I don’t go about seducing women, if that is what you think I am doing. Ask Grayson. My father was a true gentleman to his very last breath, and since his passing, I have honored his legacy. So much so, in fact, that I haven’t even allowed myself to kiss anyone.”
She spun back toward him and met his gaze across the short distance between them. “You’ve never kissed a woman? At your age?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve already kissed some lucky bastard, or I will hang myself for admitting what I just did.”
She bit back a laugh, realizing how serious he was. She shook her head, her wet braid clinging to her shoulder. “Of course I haven’t kissed anyone.”
“Good. Because I am not one to share with others.”
Her fingers tightened around the ring he’d given her, the sides of the stone digging into her palm. “I wouldn’t worry about others. I’m not even allowed to be alone in the presence of a man who isn’t a relative. You know that. Even this would be considered very …”
He closed the distance between them. “Very what?”
“Improper.”
His dark brows came together. “Genuine intentions could never be improper. I swear upon my honor that I have never once pursued a woman the way I am pursuing you. But this … you … us … it is meant to be. I can feel it.”
“You can feel it?” she drawled. “Oh, dear. That cannot be good. You may require leeches.”
He glared at her. “I am being quite serious.”
She giggled. “Yes. A bit too serious, I see.”
“Victoria.” He lowered his voice, leaning toward her. “I am not being insincere. I am merely conveying what I feel. What I have always felt. Destiny has been whispering your name to me ever since our eyes met. I cannot let this go. I cannot let you go. To do so would be to walk away from everything I feel.”
Victoria gawked up at him. It was as if he really did believe in all the silly things that existed in storybooks. Silly things like magic rings and destined courtly love meant to conquer all. Why, she hadn’t believed in such nonsense since she was … thirteen, when her mother died and shattered not only her father’s life, but her own. And when Victor had died … the last of whatever true happiness she’d known had died, too. Love could conquer quite a bit, that she knew, but it couldn’t conquer death. Which was why she wasn’t about to let it conquer her.
“How can destiny be whispering anything to you?” she challenged. “You don’t even know anything about me, aside from all of our superficial banter.”
“I know quite a bit about you.”
“You do not.”
“My dear, I have exhausted myself with all the inquiries I’ve made about you. I believe I know more about you than I know about myself.”
“Oh, is that so?”
“That is exactly so.”
“Then tell me. When and where was I born?”
He tilted his head and pushed away her wet braid from her shoulder. Her heart fluttered from the touch and she felt herself leaning toward him.
“I need more of a challenge than that, Victoria.”
“So you don’t know.”
“I do know.”
She jabbed his wet chest. “Then answer it.”
He caught her hand with his, keeping it from poking him. He smiled and lifted it to his mouth.
Full, warm lips brushed against her chilled skin, sending tingles of heat darting through her entire body. Wild tingles that made her breath and her pulse catch.
Meeting her gaze, he rubbed his fingers against her hand and indulgently replied, “Both you and Victor were born on the ninth of April in the year eighteen hundred and seven in the east wing of this house. You came first and your brother second. Whilst you thrived at birth, Victor was very frail. Though physicians did not expect him to live, he did, and as a result, your parents were always very protective of him. In time, however, you became far more protective and mothered Victor to