Just Another Viscount in Love Page 5

  A day ago, he would have agreed with her quick supposition. After all, he wanted to gain a sense of certainty about the women under consideration. Now, however, he couldn’t seem to recall a single one of them or the reason he’d extended the invitations.

  “I believe the three of us may have a mutual friend. Juliet, Lady Granworth—or rather, Lady Thayne, now that she is remarried,” he clarified and paused for Gemma’s and the dowager duchess’s nods. “It was her suggestion that a party would aid in my decision.”

  “Juliet is full of clever ideas,” the dowager duchess interjected. “Both she and Lord Thayne are touring libraries all across the continent for their honeymoon. I have never heard of such an original idea, but it suits the two of them quite well. It is always nice when young people find their counterparts.”

  Gemma snapped a hard gaze to her aunt in clear warning.

  Sam laughed at the dowager duchess’s blatant inference. “Ma’am, I do believe that you would get along famously with my parents.” The only difference was that Father would have mentioned marriage and Miss Desmond directly.

  When Gemma cast Sam an apologetic look, a fresh blush on her cheeks, they shared a look of commiseration. The sardonic shake of his head must have eased her mind because she smiled in return.

  “And I would look forward to renewing the acquaintance . . . if given the chance.” The dowager duchess lifted her shoulders in a shrug and stepped toward them. “However, I shall leave that decision to Gemma. In the meantime, I should like to climb the rest of the way toward Prospect House. The tower is simply stunning in the sunlight. From here, the pale shimmer of color makes it appear as if it is made of velum instead of stone, and so I must see it up close before it can blow away. Yet before I go”—she reached into an unseen pocket in her lavender walking costume and withdrew a green velvet pouch, tied with a braided gold cord—“I want to give my favorite niece a small token to mark this most splendid day forever in her memory, as it will surely be in mine.”

  “Aunt Edith, what have you done?” Gemma chided fondly.

  Then the dowager duchess glanced at Sam. “Lord Ellery, I hope you will pardon this level of familiarity I am employing, but I admit I feel quite at my leisure to do whatever I please in your presence.”

  Gemma cleared her throat and pressed her lips together, as if to keep from smiling, but the phantom of one revealed itself in the lift of her cheeks.

  “You do me a great honor, ma’am.” Sam inclined his head. He felt a measure of contented relief to know that Gemma’s aunt enjoyed his company. In his way of thinking, that won half the battle ahead of him.

  Gemma took hold of the pouch, her hesitation marked in the sluggish movements to untie the knot. She even glanced at him apologetically. “This is unpardonably rude.”

  “Only if you keep us waiting,” the dowager duchess said with impatience.

  Gemma issued a breathy sound that was surely half exasperation. Yet when she finally managed the knot and peered inside, she gasped.

  “Oh, Aunt Edith,” she whispered, drawing out a slender strand of coral. “It’s beautiful and just like the one in my mother’s portrait.”

  A startled laugh escaped the dowager duchess as Gemma suddenly embraced her. Then her expression turned wistful with a touch of melancholy, giving Sam the understanding that Gemma’s mother was gone. He imagined that was the reason she hadn’t mentioned her parents. Thus far, she kept her conversation centered on the here and now and observations on whatever was around them. There was still so much he did not know about her.

  “The clasp on this is quite tricky, with a hook and a bronze shell to cover it,” the dowager duchess said. “I daresay, we will require Lord Ellery’s assistance in managing it this first time. That is”—her glistening, pale gaze alighted on Sam—“if he is amenable.”

  Gemma straightened and stepped out of her aunt’s embrace. She shook her head. “That isn’t—”

  “Yes, of course,” he said in the same instant.

  “Good. Then it’s all settled.” The dowager duchess dabbed her eyes with a lace handkerchief and took hold of her parasol as if it were a walking stick, pressing the tip into the grass at her feet. “And now for my walk. I’m certain you will be along presently?”

  Sam nodded and then was left very much alone with Gemma. The Dowager Duchess of Vale was quickly becoming one of his favorite people.

  Gemma watched her aunt depart and then shyly slid her gaze to him. “You do not have to, you know. I can manage.”

  “And risk your aunt hunting me down with that vicious parasol of hers? Never.” He stepped closer, his pulse thrumming at the mere thought of touching her.

  She smiled and held the necklace in her palm, offering it to him. He wasted no time in fitting his hand over hers. The cool hardness of the polished coral beads against his flesh stood out in contrast to the softness of the kid leather. All the same, he would prefer to feel her skin against his. Yet through the thin layer of her glove, there was no mistaking the reflexive hitch of her fingers as they curled into his palm. Was she feeling it too, this inexplicable need to touch him as much as he needed to touch her?

  Because of his inability to gauge a woman’s interest with complete certainty, he could only guess the answer. And hope.

  When she faced away from him, he worked the clasp free and lifted the two ends of the necklace over her head, resting it against the base of her throat. It was a warm day, even here in the shade, but standing this close caused the temperature to blaze. He drew in a steadying breath, thick with the sweet scent of her skin and the intoxicating musk of her perspiration. With her hair gathered up in a twist at her crown, the nape of her neck was exposed and adorned with wispy dark curls.

  Not wanting any to tangle in the clasp, he brushed the silken hairs aside. Her skin responded instantly, pebbling in gooseflesh, and her breath quickened. Witnessing her sensitivity to his touch sent a heavy pulse of arousal through him. He’d been battling it all day. It was more than the simple fact that he found her attractive. There were scores of pretty women in London, and a few of them attending his party. But standing beside them, talking to them, or even dancing with any of them had not felt half as good as it had with Gemma. She possessed a vibrancy that captivated him and seemed to fill him when he was near. How could he resist wanting to spend every possible moment with her?

  And that was the crux of his problem. He could only spend time with her if she chose to attend his party.

  He exhaled, inadvertently parting her curls with his breath, and she shivered. Oh, how he wanted to press his lips there, to taste her flesh. It took a feat of willpower to focus on his task. Then as one more act of torture, as he fastened the clasp, one curl wound itself around his fingertip in a soft clench that sent a corresponding sensation behind the fall of his breeches.

  “There,” he said at last, his voice hoarse as he took a step back. He wondered how he’d survived.

  She was slow to turn and face him, and he was thankful for it because the effect from touching her was quite evident. So he bent to take the handles of the picnic basket and held it awkwardly in front of him.

  “Thank you,” she said, her face flushed, her fingers skating over the coral strand.

  Sam adjusted his hold on the basket as they began their climb up the hill. “My pleasure.”

  “I hope the clasp was not difficult.”

  He was about to tell her that it was easy but then inspiration struck. “Exceedingly so. In fact, it may take up to a fortnight before the mechanism can be fastened with ease. I would not be a gentleman if I did not offer my assistance, though our close proximity would be required. Coincidentally, I’m hosting a house party . . . ”

  “You don’t say.”

  “I believe it is in your best interest to accept my invitation.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at him, one corner of her mouth curling wryly. “And all because of my necklace?”

  “Well, that and your enjoyment. I can guar
antee it. I’ve planned picnics and outings on horseback, lawn billiards, and so much more.” He was doing all he could to make Dunnock Park irresistible.

  “Hmm. But what if you have a guest who simply desires to sit by the pond and sketch or read a book?”

  “Then I am happy to say that Dunnock Park hosts many wonders worthy of ink and paper, not to mention a fine library. I confess, however, that most of the books are more about history, horticulture, and agriculture.” Even so, he was quite proud of his collection and found himself spending many an hour happily ensconced in the past, but from the comfort of a chair by the fire. All he wanted was to find someone who would enjoy sitting beside him. “Though I recently acquired several novels for this party as well.”

  He stopped to step over a fallen oak that blocked their path. Setting down the basket, he offered his hand to her.

  “I hope you are not suggesting that women only read novels.” She tsked, chiding him playfully as she stepped up on the low end of the tree. Then, releasing him, she set her arms wide and proceeded to follow the trunk to the spindly branches that lay ahead. “Some of us are quite enthralled by reading about ancient civilizations as well as various varieties of flora and fauna. I’ll have you know that I routinely engage in debates with my cousin Liam over certain artifacts in his collection and the functions they might have performed. Additionally, I have plucked a variety of leaves from the garden and studied them beneath the lenses of my cousin North’s microscope. I find it all fascinating and have spent many a night poring over books in his library and—why are you smiling at me that way?”

  He might have fallen in love with her right then and there. It was difficult to tell because his heart was clamoring too loudly within in chest, twirling noisemakers and setting off fireworks. “Because I . . . I must insist you attend the party. Your merriment is at stake.”

  “Sam,” she said with a short laugh, not knowing what calamitous things hearing his name on her lips did to his heart and lungs. “As I said before, I would know none of your friends.”

  “What better way to know them?”

  Her expression—the wry tilt of her mouth, the glint in her eyes—was caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “I fear that whatever answer I give, you will only declare it as a new opportunity to convince me.”

  He stroked his chin in a show of appearing thoughtful. “Hmm . . . possibly true. You may as well give in now. I shall send a carriage for you in the morning.”

  Her hands fell to her hips once again, the action drawing the muslin taut over the perfection of her breasts. “You speak as if I have already given my consent.”

  “Aye, you have.” Sam grinned up at her as he reached up to assist her to the ground. Slipping through her bent arms, his hands settled at her waist. “I can see the future, Miss Desmond.”

  “Ah,” she said, breathless, her face bright with excitement as she laid her hands on his shoulders. “That must have been what you were doing at the pond yesterday—divining the future with your friend, Mr. Pike.”

  He stayed there, as they were, for a moment longer, knowing that when he lowered her to the ground he would have to release her. “I should like to hear your consent all the same.”

  She held his gaze and something—he wasn’t certain what—passed between them. Then, after a moment, she nodded. “Very well.”

  Elated, he lifted her from the log and swung her around in a half circle before he set her down on her feet. Then he winked. “Mr. Pike knew it all along.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  From the carriage window, Gemma looked out at the sprawling brick manor that was Dunnock Park and felt a tight, guilty churning in her stomach. She should not be here. Today was the day of Lord Ellery’s party, and her presence could ruin everything for him.

  Across from her on the green velvet seat, Aunt Edith exhaled a contented sigh. “ ’Tis a fine house, is it not?”

  Gemma nodded, believing the house to be perfectly situated. She loved the towering shade trees flanking either side and the pale stone surrounding the broad doorway and mullioned windows. Additionally, the flower boxes beneath the windows of the east and west wings gave the façade such a bright cheerfulness that she was almost eager to see inside.

  If it weren’t for guilt, she might have allowed herself to be excited.

  “And what a surprise that we should be here at all”—Aunt Edith paused long enough to tsk—“with your determination to refuse Lord Ellery’s invitation.”

  Gemma wondered where her resolve had gone. She knew that nothing could come of their association. However, instead of confessing the reasons she could not attend, she’d accepted his invitation.

  What had she been thinking?

  Finding a loose thread on the side of her lace mitts, she began to pick at it. “I do not know quite how it happened.”

  Aunt Edith’s penciled brows lifted as a pleased-as-punch grin stole over her lips. “I, for one, am glad of it. We were fortunate he called yesterday to rescue us from our spoiled plans. He did a fair job of lifting our spirits after . . . well, we needn’t speak about it again.”

  Neither of them wanted to talk about Lady Donrolin’s missive.

  Gemma nodded absently. She should have known that spending the day with Sam would turn out in the end. She should have known that his charm and engaging personality made him . . . irresistible. He often caught her unawares with something to make her smile or laugh, when she was typically more guarded. For most of her life, she’d had to be.

  It was an exhausting way to live, always shielding herself from others. But with Sam, it was different. She wasn’t entirely sure she could hide herself from him. A terrifying truth.

  “I still don’t know what came over me. Though I suspect he orchestrated the entire day in order to whittle down my reserves.”

  Of all the travels she’d had in her life, and of all the exotic and not-so-exotic places she’d been, spending the afternoon on Leith Hill had been the best day of her life by far. And she feared it was not because of the fine view of the towering Prospect House but because of one particular companion.

  Aunt Edith sniffed with censure. “A well-sprung open carriage on fine roads, the weather being neither too hot nor too cold, trees and rolling hills as far as the eye can see, a sumptuous basket laden with succulent fruits, decadent cheeses, pastries, breads, and those delightful meringues—heavens yes, I can see why you might despise him for that.”

  “Don’t you see? It was too wonderful,” she said in dismay. A full day later and she still felt her pulse quicken at the memory of his fitting the clasp of her necklace, his breath stirring the downy hairs curling against her nape, his bare fingertips grazing her flesh.

  Gemma’s exhale came out in a shudder, and she quickly bit down on the corner of her lip. Wanting to hide the fact that flames were surely rising from her cheeks, she turned to look out the carriage window once more. “He made me forget . . . things.”

  Namely, that the presence of Albert Desmond’s daughter would likely spoil his grand party. Perhaps they should turn the carriage around before it was too late.

  Yet in that same instant, the front door of the manor opened. As if he’d been watching for their carriage, Sam stepped out and onto the stone path, with that brilliant, easy smile on his lips. When he waved, her heart floated upward, lodging at the base of her throat.

  Yesterday, he’d made it impossible to allow her mind to veer to any unpleasantness. Likely, that had been the reason why—when he’d settled his hands around her waist to assist her from the fallen tree—she’d given in to impulse and accepted his invitation to his party.

  His sublime expression had made her want to freeze that moment in time and stay there forever, just gazing down at him and feeling the way the moon must feel when it gazes down at the earth—bright and blissfully happy. And when he’d winked and stated that Mr. Pike had known the outcome all along, she’d had the most startling urge to kiss him.

  First an ur
ge to fling her arms around him and then to kiss him? These impulses were dangerous, indeed. Thankfully, they’d shocked her enough to jolt her back to her senses.

  Yet she feared the damage was done all the same. Since then, she hadn’t been able to stop wanting to do both.

  “I need to tell Lord Ellery the whole truth before I begin to . . . ” Gemma’s frantic whisper trailed off as she met her aunt’s wistful gaze.

  “To care for him?” In receiving a nod, Aunt Edith reached out and patted Gemma’s hand. “I’m fairly certain it’s too late for that.”

  “No. It cannot be,” she said quickly. “I’ve learned to be cynical and untrusting when it comes to meeting people.” A lesson taught to her most recently at her first, and only, London ball.

  Lord Markham had been the one to teach her. He’d lured her onto the terrace at Lady Simpkin’s ball, alone, and under the guise of friendly conversation. Yet the fiend had actually expected a tryst.

  She’d been fortunate that Juliet had arrived in time to save her from his advances. Even so, that had not stopped his spiteful words. “She has no future in society, no fortune, and nothing to appeal to a man with serious pursuits. And most of all, she comes from bad blood. There is no man who would willingly choose her to become his wife. At least I am offering her a chance to become something other than a shriveled-up spinster.”

  Whatever hope she’d had of marrying for love had died that day. It was quite clear that no decent man would have her. And after living her life surrounded by thieves and scoundrels, Gemma knew she only wanted to marry a good, decent man. But she would have to settle for any man willing to share his name.

  “Unflappable cynicism tends to lock the doors that guard one’s heart,” Aunt Edith said softly, squeezing her hand. “I hope you left a window open for our Lord Ellery.”

  Gemma was afraid of that very possibility.

  Sam spent the entire morning pacing the foyer floor, peering through the windows, and listening for the first sounds of Gemma’s carriage. Mr. Fentum, his butler, likely thought he’d gone mad but had been good enough not to say a word.