Читать книгу Valerian Inglemoore - Bronwyn Scott - Страница 12

Chapter Four

‘He made you look the whore last night,’ Lucien bit out crisply over breakfast late the next morning in the library.

Well, there it was. Philippa had expected as much when she’d received the note requesting they privately break their fast together, away from the other guests. Lucien was a stickler for propriety. Not one of his more desirable traits. Apparently, he was covetous too. She’d not had reason to notice that before. But no one had ever posed a threat to his claims on her time.

Philippa buttered her toast calmly, unbothered by Lucien’s pique. ‘You can hardly be jealous because I danced with an old friend.’ That wasn’t to say she was pleased with her behaviour the night before. She had indeed let her guard down with Valerian, a behaviour she did not indulge in with anyone. But Valerian’s enthusiasm had been contagious and in his arms she’d felt the responsibilities of her world lift for a moment.

‘Old friend? The word is too tame,’ Lucien scoffed, reaching for his coffee. ‘I’ve never danced with the sister of an old friend the way he waltzed with you. He desires you, Philippa. One cannot not notice. He makes no effort to hide it. Such behaviour is better suited for a brothel than a ballroom.’ Lucien set his cup down and looked at her squarely. ‘St Just needs to understand in specific terms that his attentions are not welcome, even if they were encouraged in the past.’

Philippa met his stern gaze evenly, bridling at his insinuations about her virtue. She was the Dowager Duchess of Cambourne. She would not be commanded in such a high-handed fashion. She chose to ignore Lucien’s subtle probe into her past. Whatever had transpired between she and Valerian was their business alone. Lucien could speculate all he wanted. She hadn’t even told Beldon.

‘Are you suggesting I am forbidden to see him?’ This possessiveness was exactly the kind of behaviour she’d been trying to avoid in a relationship with any male acquaintance of her circle since Cambourne’s death. She didn’t need to take direction from well-meaning men who thought she couldn’t manage the reins of her estate or social life on her own. In Lucien, she’d thought she’d found a liberated man who would tolerate her independence.

It had been the basis of her attraction to him. Lucien had been a welcome friend during a difficult transition period for her. He’d been a loyal escort and adviser when she’d begun rebuilding her social circle after Cambourne’s death. She’d believed they complemented one another well and had a comfortable companionship between matched intellects and interests.

She’d helped him too in a myriad of ways, like acting the hostess when his busy sister wasn’t available. It had been the least she could do in return for the assistance he’d given her throughout the years.

‘What right do you have to make such a demand of me?’ Philippa flicked him a tight glance.

Lucien’s eyes flashed. ‘What right? We have been together for years.’

‘We are hardly married, Lucien,’ Philippa warned. They’d not explicitly talked in such terms before, although it would be unfair to say the issue had not arisen in other ways in the last year.

‘Perhaps we should be. Married, that is,’ Lucien said coldly.

‘Is that a proposal? Your lack of enthusiasm makes it rather hard to tell,’ Philippa shot back. Damn Valerian for this, Philippa thought hotly. Lucien’s proposal, if one could call it that, was all his doing. He had to come rushing in and wreck everything with hot kisses and knowing caresses, making her remember the possibilities.

Philippa put down her napkin and rose, leaving her toast untouched, but it didn’t matter. Her stomach couldn’t tolerate a bite of food now. ‘I regret to inform you that I have no intention of accepting a proposal articulated with such lacklustre ardour. It bodes ill for the marriage.’ She tinged her voice with exaggerated ennui. The sooner she was out of the room the better. She hoped she made the door before she gave full vent to her temper.

Lucien rose, the glacial calm that usually accompanied his demeanour, melting at her comment. ‘My displays of “ardor” have been quite acceptable to you right up until St Just began stealing kisses on the balcony right under my nose.’

Philippa stiffened. How could he have known? But to accuse him of spying on her would mean admitting he had the right of it. She turned to face Lucien before sweeping into the hallway. ‘You’ve shown yourself in a poor light this morning, Lucien. Jealousy does not become you.’

Wrapped in a heavy wool cloak against the damp weather, Philippa stormed out to the gardens. No one else was about in such inclement weather. She was glad for it. She would make terrible company. She would be hard pressed to behave politely when all her thoughts were focused on less than polite behaviour.

Valerian and Lucien were worse than two stallions in season fighting over a mare and now Lucien had proposed, no doubt prompted by his sense of honour and apparently the belief that she needed protection from the likes of Valerian. In the three years of their association, Lucien had never once pressed her for a discreet affair. There had been nothing beyond a few private, dry kisses, a gentleman’s touch on the dance floor or helping her in and out of carriages. Nothing at all to compare with Valerian’s very public seduction.

Lucien’s kisses were preludes to nothing. They inspired no wish to lose control, to cross over the boundaries of propriety. Valerian’s kisses lit a raging fire in her, forced her to abandon her grip on control. Valerian’s kisses were an invitation to decadence.

The very thought of Valerian’s audacious assumptions brought colour to her wind-whipped cheeks. Lucien was right. Valerian made no secret of his sensual habits. The differences between the two men could not be more clearly illustrated if she drew a line in the dirt. On one side there was Lucien with his icy good looks and restrained passions to match his rigid sense of honour. On the other, there was Valerian, all devil-dark hair and hot eyes, flouting honour and convention at every turn. If the disparities were so obvious, why did she hesitate?

The answer gnawed at her. She was no longer sure Lucien’s companionship would be enough for either of them. She was hard pressed to believe Lucien was happy with the dry affection that passed between them. Certainly, he must wish for more. Surely there must be another reason why he’d forgo physical pleasure. She wished she knew what he’d gain to make the sacrifice worthwhile. She could understand if he openly declared he needed to marry for money. But she did not appreciate hidden motivations. They were usually dark and dangerous and wrapped in lies.

Valerian leaned on his cue stick in the billiards room, pretending to watch Beldon take a shot. In reality, his gaze was fixed on a point just beyond Beldon’s shoulder, through the window. Philippa was walking in the garden, alone. He’d been disappointed to learn she and Canton were taking breakfast privately when he’d come downstairs late in the morning. He could imagine what they’d talked about. Canton was none too pleased with him.

Beldon cleared his throat. ‘Val, it’s your turn.’

‘So it is,’ Valerian returned, but his interest in the game had waned. ‘Beldon, would you mind if we finished our game later? I suddenly remember some pressing business I need to see to.’

Valerian didn’t stay long enough to let Beldon quiz him on his sudden business. He slowed his pace only when he neared Philippa. It wouldn’t do to appear the over-eager swain. She needn’t know he’d interrupted his billiards game to rush after her the moment he’d glimpsed her.

She looked lovely, her colour high and her hair less than perfect from the wind. Desire surged in him, raw and elemental like the weather. She turned and spotted him at the gate.

‘Nice day for a walk,’ Valerian offered drily, striding towards her.

‘I found the house a bit stifling,’ Philippa said shortly, bending to study a dormant plant.

‘The house or our Mr Canton?’ Valerian pried shamelessly. ‘I heard the two of you were closeted together over breakfast. I hope he wasn’t angry about last night.’ The last was a lie.

‘You are too bold, St Just.’ Philippa straightened, her eyes flashing as they studied him. He liked the feel of her gaze on him. Let her look and see that he desired her.

‘But yes, Lucien has asked that I make our relationship clear to you.’

‘So to speed my departure,’ Valerian mused aloud uncharitably.

‘Be fair, St Just. Lucien has done nothing to earn your enmity besides stand my friend.’

Valerian studied her. ‘Is he your friend? I did not know him from before. He must be a new friend.’

‘Why, of course he’s a friend and he’s perfectly acceptable. He’s the oldest son of a viscount with excellent prospects of his own. He’s not a new friend, not to me anyway. I’ve known him since John…’ she hesitated here and then corrected herself ‘…Cambourne’s death. He was with John the day of the accident and he’s been with me ever since.’ Her sharp tone had softened at the mention of her husband.

Valerian matched it with a quiet tone of his own. ‘Beldon mentioned the accident briefly. Cambourne lived a while afterwards,’ he prompted, liking the quiet intimacy that had sprung up between them.

Philippa turned bittersweet eyes on him, her gaze far away with her memories. ‘Lucien got him home and arranged for a physician, even though he was hurt himself. We stayed by John’s side for the next few days.’ She shook her head. ‘The doctor had known immediately that there would be no recovery. I was afraid to leave him out of fear that he would slip away the moment I was gone.’

Valerian took Philippa’s hand, stroking her knuckles with his thumb, pleased that she hadn’t snatched it away. A queer pang jabbed at him. He was both grateful that Philippa had cared for her husband and yet envious that those affections had been given to another. ‘You cared for the duke, then?’ he asked curiously, wanting to know the nature of the relationship she’d shared with Cambourne.

‘I grew fond of him. He was a good mentor to me and he denied me nothing. He let me use his wealth and his name to build a model school for miners’ children in the village. It’s the one the vicar is modelling his own school after. He was a good and tolerant man. I sincerely missed him when he was gone.’

‘But Lucien was there,’ Valerian prodded.

‘Yes. He helped with all the details of transferring the estates to me and to John’s heir. That can be tedious work and Beldon was so busy settling the Pendennys estate in those days it was a relief not to burden him with my worries as well.’ Philippa sighed.

The bastard knows how much she’s worth to the farthing. He’s had an intimate look at her holdings. The thought was unworthy, but it was the first one that came to mind. How convenient everything was for the man. That raised an alarm for Valerian. He no more believed in ‘conveniences’ than he believed in Beldon’s blasted ‘serendipity’. A man made his own luck. Lucien Canton appeared to have manufactured quite a lot of it.

Valerian’s talk with Philippa in the garden did not go unremarked. Mandeville Danforth let the length of curtain drop in front of the library windows. ‘Look at them, close as courters. He’s holding her hand, damn it. Canton, how could you let him upset things so quickly and so thoroughly? He’s turning her head.’

Lucien pierced the man with a cold stare. ‘I didn’t know he was coming. He and her brother arrived unannounced, much like yourself,’ he said pointedly. ‘How was I to know that he was more than her brother’s best friend?’