Four
In the interest of dutifully preserving the charade, Philip rode off from Mayfield three days later with Pudding in tow. Their destination was formally announced to be the estate north of Egham that he was to view for his ward, but instead they devoted a pleasant day at a rousing boxing match held several miles away.
Philip managed to come away several pounds richer, although his day had been somewhat marred by the realization that Miss Bella Lowe had never been far from his thoughts.
Perhaps because she was nothing like he had expected. She was bold, but not brass or vulgar, and while she was clearly stubborn beyond reason, there was a decided hint of vulnerability that had caught him off guard. And perhaps most startling of all, was the knowledge that he was thoroughly enjoying his little game.
He enjoyed bantering against her swift wit and watching that delightful blush stain her cheeks when he uttered a provocative remark. He enjoyed the feel of her satin skin beneath his fingers. And he enjoyed her constant struggle to sheath her claws and pretend to be a demur companion when she wanted nothing more than to slap his face.
Of course, over the past few days, she had gone to excessive lengths to avoid his companionship. She seemed to have discovered the need for an endless stream of visits to the poor, to the vicarage, to a bedridden widow, and the local school. When she was at Mayfield, she never strayed from the side of Lady Stenhold—which only sparked his purely male determination to outwit her at her own game.
With that thought in mind, he forced Pudding to leave his entertainment and return to Mayfield earlier than anyone could have suspected. Despite Pudding’s dramatic protests that he would expire if he were forced to leave before the final bout, Philip’s efforts were rewarded when he entered the estate and discovered that Mrs. Smith was currently in the hothouse choosing some flowers for Lady Stenhold.
With a hurried step, he made his way through the vast house to the east wing that was attached to the hothouse. He did not bother to consider why a small smile was curving his lips or why his step was so brisk.
Instead, he readied himself for his role as the determined seducer. Entering the hothouse, he swiftly spotted Bella standing beside a bank of daffodils. Just for a moment he came to an abrupt halt, captured by the sight of her almost unearthly beauty. With the sunlight shimmering off her golden hair and the simple amber gown revealing her slender form, she might have been the goddess of spring come to life.
His gaze lingered on the sweet curve of her mouth, the line of her jaw; then as it slowly lowered to the tender curve of her bosom, he abruptly came to his senses.
Good lord, this was no young maiden to be admired. It was his ward. A five-foot bundle of trouble that had caused him nothing but headache since the unfortunate day she had become his responsibility.
Schooling his wayward thoughts, he determinedly stepped forward. “What a beautiful vision,” he murmured.
At the sound of his voice, she turned sharply, her peaceful expression changing to one of utter annoyance. “My lord.” She struggled to keep her voice civil. “I did not realize you had returned.”
His lips twitched as he strolled forward. He had no doubt that if she had suspected he was about to return, she would have scuttled far away. “The estate proved to be most unsuitable, so there was no need to linger. Besides, I was in a hurry to return to Mayfield.”
Trapped among the flowers by his broad form, she had no choice but to brave out the unexpected confrontation. “It seems you shall have to search elsewhere for your ward’s new estate.”
Philip shrugged, not about to be dismissed so easily. “I still have the vicarage to view.”
Her lips tightened. “I am surprised you are going to such effort. Surely an agent could locate a suitable residence?”
“I am not a thorough ogre, my dear,” he purred. “I wish to ensure that any estate I purchase will provide a comfortable home for Miss Lowe.”
Not surprisingly, she appeared far from impressed by his concern. “How thoughtful.”
“I do try.”
Her grip on the flower basket was so tight her knuckles were white. “And you expect her to appreciate your efforts?”
His grimace was genuine. “I would have to be a witless fool to expect appreciation from my ward. I have done all in my power to make her happy, only to have my good intentions treated with childish tantrums and inexcusable behavior.”
A decided frost entered her dark eyes at his disparaging words. “Perhaps you would be better served to ask her what she desires, rather than presuming that you know what is best for her.”
“But I do know what is best for her,” he retorted with an arrogance that obviously rankled the young maiden. He took full pleasure in the taut line of her jaw. Lord knew that she had rankled him often enough. “Which is precisely why her father requested I become her guardian.”
Her shoulders squared in a militant manner. “In my experience, gentlemen always presume they are better capable of controlling a lady’s life than herself.”
“And you do not agree with such sentiment?”
“No.”
He stepped close enough to smell the scent of her hair and feel the heat of her satin skin. “So you believe I should simply turn my back on my ward and force her to make her way through the world on her own?”
She shivered, but her gaze never wavered. “Does she not have an income of her own?”
Philip paused, wondering where the minx was attempting to lead him. “A small inheritance currently under my care.”
“Then why do you not allow her to establish her own home? She would then no longer be your concern.”
A home of her own? Did she think he was daft? He would as soon leave a babe on the streets of London. “And leave her vulnerable to every lecher and fortune hunter who might pass by? I hardly believe that was what her father would wish.”
A surprising flash of pain rippled over her delicate features. “I would think that if her father truly cared for her, he would wish for her to be happy above all things.”
With an effort, he hardened his heart against her vulnerability. Of course her father would wish her to be happy. Just as he wanted her to be happy. But first and foremost, he had to ensure that she was securely settled with a suitable husband. Once she was wed, she would realize that everything he was doing was in her own best interest, he assured himself. Perhaps someday she might even thank him.
Fah. She was more likely to sprout wings and fly, he acknowledged dryly, Still, he would do whatever was necessary to save her from her own foolhardy self.
“Happy and secure with a suitable husband,” he retorted.
Her expression hardened. “You seem to have an answer for everything.”
“Yes.” He deliberately stroked his gaze over her stiff features. He would prove that life with a respectable husband was preferable to a life at the mercy of disreputable males. “Of course, I did not seek you out to discuss my ward. You have been most elusive, my dear.”
She instinctively stiffened as his tone dropped to an intimate fashion.
“I have been occupied.”
“A pity.” He reached out to lightly stroke the curve of her lush lower lip. He felt her tremble. “I particularly wished to see you.”
“Why?” she croaked.
“Many reasons. To tell you that your hair reminds me of the sunrise, your skin the richest cream, and your eyes a midnight sky.” His voice became husky as his hand moved to cup the back of her neck. “And to do this . . .”
With gentle determination he pulled her close; then, lowering his head, he captured her lips in a searching kiss. He felt her stiffen in shock at his blatant intimacy, but wrapping his arm about her waist, he kept her from pulling away.
Beneath his mouth, her lips were as soft as rose petals, with an innocent sweetness that was more seductive than any amount of expertise. Deepening his kiss, his eyes unconsciously slid shut. He had intended to teach her a lesson in the dangers of men, but as her soft form pressed to his own and her lips opened slightly, his thoughts scattered and a piercing pleasure flooded the pit of his stomach.
How small and tender she felt in his arms. How perfectly she curved into his hard frame. Far more perfect than any other woman he had held so close.
His hand moved from her neck to stroke the tender line of her jaw, his heart quickening at her telltale quiver. She was as delicate as a spring blossom with the sweetness of honey. A most potent combination.
The thought flashed through his mind at the same moment he came reluctantly to his senses. Good Lord, what was he doing? He had nearly forgotten that this was no actress ripe for a bit of seduction. This was his ward. An innocent maiden that was entrusted to his care.
With an effort, he disentangled his lips and stepped away. It took a moment to regain his forgotten composure; then he regarded her flushed features with a narrowed gaze.
At least his ploy appeared to have some effect on the stubborn chit, he reassured himself. Her cheeks were flushed while her breath was tortured, as ifshe had been running for miles.
A trembling hand raised to her reddened lips as she gazed at him with accusing eyes.
“You . . . Why did you do that?”
A hint of amusement entered his silver eyes. “Because I could no longer resist.”
“Really, my lord, you are no gentleman.”
“I assure you that I am very much a gentleman.” He gave a low chuckle. “A gentleman who appreciates the charms of a beautiful lady.”
The flush deepened. “Well, I assure you that I do not appreciate being . . . attacked in such a fashion.”
“I merely kissed you.”
“Much against my will,” she charged.
He reached out to stroke her cheek. “I do not recall you struggling. Indeed, you seemed to be quite enjoying yourself.”
She jerked from his lingering touch, her eyes almost black with distress. “I was shocked.”
“Because I kissed you, or because you enjoyed my kisses?” he demanded softly.
Her startled fear was swiftly replaced by her ready temper at his accusation. “Perhaps the ladies in London consider you irresistible, my lord, but I do not.”
He smiled with a smug satisfaction. “Ah . . . We still play the game, eh, Mrs. Smith?”
“You . . .” Words failed her as she glared into his dark countenance; then, as if she could bear no more, she pushed her way past him and fled the hothouse with furious haste.
Philip’s smile only widened as he bent down to retrieve the flower basket that had been forgotten during the passionate kiss. “Yes, it is coming along quite nicely,” he murmured as he straightened. “Very nicely, indeed.”
* * *
Two days later, Bella reluctantly left the sanctuary of her room and entered the large book-lined library. As with the rest of the estate, the furnishings were classic in design, with a pretty green-and-ivory-striped pattern on the small sofas and matching curtains that covered the floor-length windows. On the ceiling, a molded plaster displayed the monogram and arms of the Stenhold family.
Bella, however, was in no mood to appreciate her elegant surroundings. After two days of running herself haggard in an effort to avoid the annoying Lord Brasleigh, she was anxious for a brief respite. Thank goodness the two gentlemen had left early that morning to view the vicarage. She would at least have a few hours of uninterrupted peace.
Not that site felt much peace, she acknowledged as she moved to the window seat and gazed over the distant lake. Ever since that unforgivable kiss, her emotions had been in chaos. It was ridiculous. Although she had never before been kissed, she could not believe that a simple touching of lips should cause such turmoil.
But it was undeniable that those brief moments had been branded upon her brain—the feel of his lips pressed to her own, the hardness of his body, and the utterly enticing heat that had flooded through her blood.
No, she sternly chastised herself. Not again. She had relived and rehashed those moments in his arms a hundred times. There was simply no explanation for why she had not struggled to free herself or why her lips had parted as if in invitation for further intimacies. No rational explanation, at any rate.
Just a few more days, she told herself attempting to soothe the panic that always hovered a breath away. Lord Brasleigh would view the estate today, and he would have no further reason to linger. He would be on his way to London, and she would be forever free of his obnoxious presence.
Dwelling on that happy thought, she was suddenly interrupted as the door to the library was pushed open and Lady Stenhold stepped inside. Attired in a rose satin gown, she appeared younger than her years, but it was her searching gaze that had Bella slowly rising to her feet. “Lady Stenhold.”
“Here you are, Anna.”
The older woman smiled, although Bella was uncomfortably nervous that Lady Stenhold had not missed the pallor of Bella’s countenance or the shadows beneath her eyes.
“I wondered where you had disappeared to.”
“Did you need anything?”
“Only a bit of company,” Lady Stenhold assured her. “I have quite grown accustomed to having someone to share my tea.”
Bella’s wariness melted beneath the widow’s open kindness. “As have I.”
“Mrs. Clarke should be along with the tray. Why do you not join me?”
Moving across the room, Bella settled next to her hostess on the sofa. In spite of herself, she couldn’t help but make sure that she was still safe. “Lord Blackmar has not yet returned?”
“No. I could hold tea if you prefer to wait for their arrival?”
“Certainly not.”
Lady Stenhold studied the heat that rose to Bella’s cheeks. “Tell me, Anna, you were not previously acquainted with Lord Brasleigh?”
“N-no,” Bella hastily denied. “I have never traveled to London.”
“It just seemed . . .” Lady Stenhold’s words trailed away as she gave a sudden shrug. “Well, never mind.”
Desperately attempting to maintain a measure of her composure, Bella was relieved when the housekeeper entered the room to place a large tray on the table. Rising, the servant glanced toward Lady Stenhold. “Miss Summers is here to see you, my lady.”
“Oh.” Lady Stenhold gave a blink of surprise. Miss Summers was the daughter of the local vicar, and as a rule was rarely allowed to travel about the countryside without her overbearing father in tow. “Please send her in.”
The housekeeper left, and in a moment the short, rather plump young lady attired in a threadbare gray gown entered the room. As always, Bella felt a pang of sympathy for the awkward young maiden with mousy brown hair. She was utterly downtrodden by her father, and was seemingly without friends or relatives to ease her loneliness.
The bully of a vicar could be vastly improved with a bit of humor and kindness, Bella had always thought.
Crossing to the center of the room, Miss Summers bobbed a curtsy.
“Oh, Lady Stenhold, so kind of you to see me,” she stammered. “Father absolutely insisted that I call.”
Lady Stenhold smiled kindly. “We are always delighted to have the pleasure of your company, Miss Summers.”
“So kind.” The maiden shifted her attention to Bella, her gaze lingering rather enviously on the lemon muslin gown that she wore. “And Mrs. Smith, what a pretty gown.”
“Thank you.”
“Father forbids me to wear yellow,” she artlessly confessed. “He tells me that it makes me appear to be a pear.”
Bella had no trouble imagining the vicar making such a cutting remark, and her tender heart was immediately roused to sympathy. “I should think you would look lovely.”
“Oh, no . . .” Miss Summers protested in embarrassment.
“You should wear what pleases you,” Bella insisted.
“Father is very particular.”
Clearly sensing Bella’s desire to inform the young woman that her father was a pompous imbecile, Lady Stenhold diplomatically turned the conversation. “Was there a reason you called today?” she gently inquired.
“Oh, yes. So silly of me. Father wishes to ensure that you will allow the spring fete to be held at Mayfield again this year.”
“You may inform the vicar that I should be quite happy to have the fete here. And he may safely leave the details to me.”
“Thank you,” Miss Summers gushed. “It is always such a lovely occasion.”
“It is the least I can do.” Lady Stenhold waved a hand toward the tray. “We were just about to enjoy tea. Will you not join us?”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t intrude,” Miss Summers declined; then as the door abruptly flew open and two large males entered the room, she immediately flushed with nervous confusion. “I . . . oh . . .”
Bella’s reaction was no less dramatic. Her face paled even as Lord Brasleigh stepped into the room, and immediately turned to closely examine her delicate countenance and slender form.
Blast.
How the devil did he manage to view any estate so swiftly? Surely he could do no more than gallop past the place before turning back to Mayfield?
Aggravating man.
An awkward silence fell, before Lord Blackmar stepped forward with an engaging smile. “Forgive us, Aunt Caroline. We did not realize that you were entertaining.”
“You are welcome,” Lady Stenhold insisted. “I wish to introduce you to Miss Summers. Miss Summers, my nephew, Lord Blackmar and his companion, Lord Brasleigh.”
“Oh . . .” Miss Summers stammered.
Both gentlemen approached to make their bows.
“Miss Summers,” Lord Blackmar dutifully retorted.
Lord Brasleigh, on the other hand, offered one of his most charming smiles as he made her a bow. “A pleasure, Miss Summers.”
Clearly overwhelmed by the raven-haired lord breathtakingly attired in top boots and breeches with a blue coat that molded his exquisite form, the poor maiden stumbled backward. “Oh . . .”
“Careful.” Lord Brasleigh reached out as Miss Summers hit the tiny table that held a Chinese vase filled with daffodils. He was too late, and becoming tangled in the skirts of her gown, Miss Summers tumbled to the floor, taking the table and vase with her. There was a loud crash and Bella and Lady Stenhold rose to their feet.
“So clumsy of me,” Miss Summers whispered in acute embarrassment. “So clumsy.”
Quite unexpectedly, it was Lord Brasleigh who rushed to her aid, bending down beside her to tenderly help her to her feet. “Not at all,” he denied kindly.
Glancing at the overturned table and shattered vase, Miss Summers gave a small cry. “Oh, I have broken your pretty vase.”
“Think nothing of it, my dear,” Lady Stenhold insisted.
“Here, allow me.” Lord Brasleigh once again bent, righting the table and picking up the shards of the vase. “A most inconveniently placed table.”
Miss Summers lifted her hands to her painfully hot cheeks. “No, no. It is all my fault. So clumsy. Please, my lord, do not cut yourself.” “Nonsense.” Righting himself, he deposited the shards on the table. “There.”
“I am so d-dreadfully sorry,” Miss Summers stammered.
In thorough astonishment, Bella watched as Lord Brasleigh produced his handkerchief and lifted Miss Summers’s pudgy arm that was wet from the water in the vase.
“Let me dry you off.”
With great care, Lord Brasleigh wiped her arm dry, clearly unaware that the poor maiden was about to swoon at his solicitous attentions.
“Oh . . .”
Finished, Lord Brasleigh stepped back with a small smile. “I fear I can do nothing for your gown.”
With a flustered motion, Miss Summers waved her hands. “It will soon dry, thank you. I should be leaving.”
“I did not see a carriage when we returned. Are you walking?” Lord Brasleigh demanded.
“Yes, it is only a short distance.”
“I shall accompany you.”
More flustered than ever, Miss Summers gave a nervous laugh. “There is no need, my lord.”
“I will not take no for an answer.” In his arrogant fashion, Lord Brasleigh finJlly took her arm and began leading the bemused maiden toward the door. “Beautiful ladies should not be walking through the countryside on their own.”
There were no further protests as the maiden adoringly allowed herself to be whisked from the room. Just for a moment, Bella attempted to convince herself that Lord Brasleigh was simply acting true to form. As a hardened rogue, he simply could not resist seducing any lady who happened to be near. But she failed to convince herself.
There had been nothing flirtatious in his manner. Instead, he had revealed an innate kindness. and generosity of heart that had quite caught her off guard. Had she ever met another gentleman who would have reacted with such compassion?
“Well, I must say that was most elegantly done,” Lady Stenhold said, breaking the silence with obvious admiration.
“Yes. Philip has always possessed the oddest sympathy for those ladies most would consider an antidote,” Lord Blackmar concluded with a smile.
“A true cavalier,” Lady Stenhold stated.
Lord Blackmar shrugged. “Yes. It was really quite amazing to watch the most beautiful debutantes in London vying for his attention only to be passed over for some forgotten miss in the corner.”
Bella tried not to listen. She did not want to consider that Lord Brasleigh was not the black-hearted rake she had labeled him. Still, she could not deny that it was a struggle not to admire the gentleman Lord Blackmar was describing.
“I recall his father possessed a similar kindness toward those less fortunate,” Lady Stenhold murmured.
“Which is no doubt how he landed himself with Lady Brasleigh.”
Lady Stenhold grimaced. “Yes.”
“Thank God my own mother possessed the sense to cut my leading strings,” Lord Blackmar stated in firm tones. “Poor Philip is forced to cater to that harridan’s constant demands.”
“Richard,” Lady Stenhold protested.
“It is true. She might pretend to be on her deathbed, but she manages to play Philip for a fool. It is little wonder that he has avoided marriage like the plague. He has enough troubles with his mother and, of course, his unruly ward.” Unaware that Bella’s eyes had widened at the condemning referral to Lord Brasleigh’s ward, Lord Blackmar gave a faint bow. “Excuse me. I must change for dinner.”
He left the room, and Bella tightened her lips. Unruly? She would like to see how he would react if he were the one about to be hoisted up the aisle. And besides, Lord Brasleigh might be the perfect gentlemen toward his mother and unfortunate misses, but he had revealed a decided lack of sympathy toward his ward.
And as for his behavior toward her since coming to Surrey . . . Well, there was nothing cavalier about it at all.
No, she had no reason to feel a prick of guilt.
None whatsoever.