Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Next day
Valentina took the first step down the wide, magnificent staircase of Casa Windermere, wearing a peacock-blue, borrowed-and-hemmed riding habit, and resisted the urge to turn tail and run.
After all, the Windermere brood standing at the base of the stairs hadn’t yet noticed her. They were too busy loudly debating some topic or another. There was always a topic up for debate in this household.
She’d never worn clothing so fine, or so fitted.
It would seem this riding habit had come from the closet of Miss Windermere, who, while taller than Valentina, was about the same size everywhere else.
Except for one area. The bosom. Between the tightly laced stays and the fifty or so buttons up the bodice, her breasts had nowhere to go but up—nearly to her chin.
They were making quite a spectacle of themselves.
The scales were tipping heavily toward tucking her skirts into her drawers and seeing how fast she could leg it, when Lady Delilah’s eyes swung up, and the rest followed, and it was entirely too late for Valentina. She was trapped.
Continuing her descent, she attempted to keep her gaze averted from Archie, feeling sheepish and unready after last night’s kiss.
Now that she knew the taste of his lips that was how she thought of him. Archie.
But her attempt failed. She had to know how he would look in the full light of day.
It turned out he looked exactly like his usual self—not at all like his night self. Dressed in riding clothes and lightly slapping a crop against his muscled thigh, his day self was as handsome as his night self.
He flicked a quick glance her way, but his gaze didn’t linger. She could almost convince herself last night had been a dream.
If her lips weren’t still tingling from his kiss.
“Well, that’s a relief,” he said to Lady Delilah.
“What are you speaking of, dear brother?” asked Lady Delilah, mischief in her eyes.
“I thought it fully possible you would cause some mischief and lend Miss Hart a nun’s habit,” he said. “You’re contrary that way. No use denying it.”
“Why would I deny it?” she asked. “It’s one of my defining characteristics. But you’re likely correct. Nestor wouldn’t take to a prudish sort of contessa, but rather the obvious sort.”
Valentina bristled with sudden umbrage. “Are you saying I’m an obvious sort of woman?”
Lady Delilah—in fact, all three sets of eyes—gave her a quick up-and-down once-over. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” said Lady Delilah, hands spread wide in a gesture of helplessness. “But, yes.”
One, then two, heavy beats of time ticked past as everyone waited for Valentina’s reaction.
It was Miss Windermere who broke the silence. “In the loveliest way, of course.”
Valentina couldn’t decide if she’d been insulted or complimented.
Archie gave his thigh another slap with the riding crop. “Right.”
Valentina kept searching for the slightest hint of last night in his eyes, but found nothing. Perhaps it had been a dream…
“Now we ride on to Rotten Row,” he said, moving toward the door along with his siblings.
Valentina hadn’t been looking forward to this moment, but there was no more avoiding it. Her feet remained planted, and she cleared her throat. “There’s a problem.”
One by one they pivoted to get a look at her. It was Archie who asked, “What’s that?”
She would have to put it bluntly. “I’ve never set bottom on a horse in all my life.”
Stunned silence followed. Lady Delilah broke it with her laugh. “Oh, this is too delicious.”
Archie’s dark blond eyebrows collided in the middle of his forehead. He looked utterly flummoxed, as if her confession refused to harmonize with his view of the world. “Everyone rides, don’t they?”
“No,” said Valentina, firm, definite.
“Right,” he said slowly.
“Well, then you’ll just need a quick lesson,” said Miss Windermere with an encouraging smile.
That seemed to rally Archie. “Of course, a quick lesson.” He swung the front door open and waved at Valentina to follow him. “You have ten minutes to become a skilled horsewoman, Contessa.”
Ten minutes later
Valentina had managed to climb onto the horse’s back.
And stay there.
That was something.
For now.
Reins clutched to her chest for dear life, a thin sheen of perspiration coating her body, she kept her gaze fastened onto Archie’s back, as Lady Delilah and Miss Windermere rode to her rear.
“If she comes unhorsed,” Lady Delilah had said, “Juliet and I can scoop her up.”
Not exactly words of reassurance.
Seated on a sidesaddle, and even with one knee hooked over the pommel, Valentina’s position felt precarious and unbalanced. All she wanted to do was set feet on dear terra firma again.
Who had devised this mode of riding for women, anyway?
It would be far better if she rode with the sort of saddle that allowed her to straddle the horse.
But, oh no, that simply wasn’t done. Archie had laughed as he’d made that last point.
Apparently, she would look like the world’s biggest hoyden straddling a horse in Hyde Park.
Every clip-clop of the horse’s hooves rattled her teeth inside her head. While, just ahead, Archie rode ever so smoothly, as if he’d been born in the saddle. She snorted. Mayhap he had been. She was learning that the lives of aristocrats were as eccentric as the gossip rags made them out to be.
Countess Gives Birth in the Saddle.
The headline wouldn’t shock Valentina one bit.
For now, however, she had more practical realities to consider for Archie had urged his mount into a trot. How was she to keep pace? Fortunately, or unfortunately for her rump, her horse seemed to have an idea as it fell into step behind him, leaving her no choice but to notice things about him.
Like, how attractive he was with his hair glinting gold in the morning sun. And how broad his shoulders appeared in his impeccably cut riding coat. And the way his body moved with utter command and a certain looseness as they rode across London streets that were now waking to the day ahead.
At last—though it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes—they reached the verdant environs of Hyde Park.
Archie slowed his mount to a walk and drew abreast with her.
“You truly are a terrible rider, Miss Hart,” he said.
“I’ve never witnessed anyone less suited to a horse. Can’t you simply relax into the ride?”
“No.” It was that simple.
His mouth widened into his too-charming smile. “Aw, but Miss Muffet is truly a sweet, old girl,” he said, reaching over to stroke the mare’s mane.
Valentina had a very different relationship with sweet, old Miss Muffet. “She nipped at me.” She still felt sour about it.
Archie shrugged. “Well, that’s down to you. You really should have brought her a sweet.”
The cheek of the man! “I know nothing of horses.”
Again, he shrugged. “Now you do. Anyway, it’s a good thing you’re so good-looking. Perhaps Nestor won’t notice that you don’t know one end of a horse from the other.”
Even as she considered defending herself from such slander, her mouth snapped shut.
A sliver of heat from his suddenly intense gaze cut through her—to a place deep and dark and interior. It stole her breath away; that heat, from this man.
To incite and capture the heat of a man like Lord Archer—a man who appeared to sail through life with blithe cool—it felt strangely special.
Then he shifted his gaze and fixed his mouth into the smile she’d come to know. He leaned in her direction. “We’re on.”
She followed his gaze. There, twenty yards ahead, was Lord Nestor riding toward them.
Disgust surged through Valentina. Here was the man who’d decided it was his lordly prerogative to take what he wanted and ruin good men and families in the process.
He was vile, and though she had her doubts about Archie’s methods, Valentina was suddenly grateful for his involvement in securing her family’s savings.
“Nestor, old chap,” Archie called. “You made it out.”
“You’re the one who’s late, Archer,” groused Nestor.
Lady Delilah laughed. “We Windermeres tend to have a loose association with timekeeping.”
“In short, we don’t have any use for it,” said Archie unapologetically.
Nestor’s gaze settled on Valentina. His eyebrows drew together quizzically. He was probably wondering why this Italian contessa, who he’d never met, was scowling at him. She made an attempt to relax her face and offer a smile.
Her lips lifted a fraction.
This approximation of a smile would have to do.
“Greetings, Contessa,” he said with a tip of his hat.
Valentina opened her mouth to reply, when Archie jumped in, “Poor thing doesn’t speak a lick of English.”
Her mouth snapped shut. Even as irritation streaked through her, she saw the wisdom of the choice. Nestor would know her for a low-born country bumpkin the instant she spoke her first hello.
And that would be good-bye.
Nestor shrugged indifferently and cast his gaze about. “Where’s the Arabian?”
All charm, Lord Nestor.
“Oh, I convinced the contessa not to bring him up to Town.”
Nestor’s mouth turned down at the edges. It seemed to have found its customary position. “Smart of you, Archer,” he said a bit meanly. He was the sort of man who needed to make everyone who happened across his path feel inferior so he could feel superior. Vile.
Archie leaned in conspiratorially. “We wouldn’t be able to contain the hordes of gentlemen clamoring to get a look. No, the Arabian is being transported to Epsom Downs as we speak.”
Nestor nodded slowly, the wheels of his mind turning for all to see. A skepticism hung about him this morning that hadn’t been there yesterday when he’d been in the fresh throes of greed. Perhaps overnight, the idea had occurred to him that Lord Archer might be playing him for a fool.
The very idea set Valentina’s nerves on edge, because, well, he’d be absolutely correct. Lord Archer was, indeed, playing him for a fool.
And all for a lark.
But to look at him, one would never know it, for he showed no sign of nerves. Valentina wanted to run her fingertips over his palm, just to see if she found a slick of sweat. She suspected she wouldn’t.
“Just look at her, old chap,” said Archie.
It only occurred to Valentina that the her in question was…her.
All eyes were suddenly upon her. She tried not to squirm, mostly so as not to give Miss Muffet any ideas of bolting.
“I’m not sure she’s feeling all that great about your spirit,” he continued.
Lord Nestor’s face darkened, and his eyes narrowed on her. Valentina’s heart kicked into a sprint, but she saw what Archie had done. He’d sensed Nestor’s misgiving and turned it around on him.
Of a sudden, Lady Delilah opened her mouth and began spewing rapid Italian at Valentina.
She recognized one of every four words, in particular the word fugazi.
It seemed Lady Delilah, with a broad, blameless smile on her face, was calling Lord Fester a fake to his face.
Valentina nodded and inserted the odd, “Mm-hmm.”
These Windermeres were unequal to nothing.
Once Lady Delilah finished her thorough dressing down of Lord Nestor, which he accepted with a blank stare, Archie’s head cocked. “Nestor, I do believe your pocket just meowed.”
Valentina braced herself. She’d forgotten the promise of a small, furry gift.
On a sigh, Lord Nestor opened his riding coat and dug into an inner pocket. “Ouch!” His hand recoiled to reveal an alarming amount of blood on the tip of his thumb.
Archie flashed Valentina a quick glance. Equal parts of amusement and alarm shone in his eyes. Then the man winked.
She should be annoyed, really she should, but instead, she found herself biting back a smile. This was serious business, his wink seemed to say, but why couldn’t serious business be fun, too?
The view of the world he offered was unlike any she’d ever encountered, and she thought she might like it.
She might even like him.