Chapter 2
Victor Carlow, the Earl of Seaborough, had not quite realized how much he loved a woman with a parasol until he had seen this woman wielding one, if rather shakily, doing her best to thwart Nathaniel Allworthy, son of the Duke of Lindly.
Oh, what a perfect sight it had been to watch her put that idiot in his place!
Yes, he had followed her, having come upon the encounter too late to intervene but still wanting to ensure she was all right.
He’d known whatever had transpired had been unpleasant, but Allworthy was a disgusting human, and if his opinion of the man couldn’t go any lower before, it certainly had now.
Victor stared into the young woman’s eyes. Seeing the genuine fear there, he knew exactly what he was going to do once he had freed her, once he had assured her well-being, and once he had wedged himself firmly into her life.
He was going to rip Nathaniel Allworthy limb from limb, something he should have done when they were at Eton together, and it was going to be an exceptionally good time.
He’d start out, of course, by punching the man in the nose, then the jaw, then the kidney, then perhaps the stomach, and the nether regions might also be up for grabs, as one might say.
But now? Here? Standing this close to the lady who was all but tied up by Cupid and Psyche, he found his breath doing the very strangest of things. He had not seen her face when she’d bashed Allworthy.
He had barely caught sight of her person when he had witnessed the altercation and she had fled. Mostly, he had noted her bravery and her yellow spencer flicking like liquid sunshine as she’d raced through his garden. But now here with her…
Victor was a rake.
He always had been. He loved women. He loved everything about them.
He loved enjoying them, and he suddenly knew without hesitation or argument that he was going to enjoy her.
He did not know how. He did not know the method by which it would come about, but there was something within his brain that said it would be so.
But first, he had to make her safe.
Slowly, carefully, he reached for the ribbon of her bonnet. She did not flinch but gazed up at him, stunned, his words having silenced her.
Slowly, he let his fingers wander to the silk ribbon that was caught on Cupid’s arrow and very carefully began to unwind it.
She was trapped by the statue, up on her tiptoes, and so the action caused him to become quite close to her.
Astonishingly, their breaths mingled, their bodies danced against each other, and she looked as if she wasn’t certain if she should pop him one or if she should throw herself into his embrace.
Frankly, he wouldn’t mind either.
He loved Shakespeare’s comedies, which pitted ladies and gentlemen as witty, sparring enemies who then became lovers.
She tilted her head to the side. “This is most unusual.”
“It is,” he agreed. “But you are in quite a fix, and I am having trouble getting your bonnet free. You really are in quite the situation.”
“I can’t argue with you,” she said. “This is not at all how I thought my day was going to go.”
“Nor mine. I’m accustomed to rescuing damsels,” he said, “but not from statuary.”
She laughed, and he was relieved to hear the sound.
“I don’t want you to feel afraid of me,” he said, as he worked at the twisted material, trying to figure out which way to turn it.
“I’m not,” she blurted.
“Truly?” he asked, pausing. “You looked quite out of sorts there for a moment.”
“Well, you’re rather large,” she said, “and I didn’t know if you were going to prove to be friend or foe. Don’t you think it wise for a lady to be hesitant, especially when one is ensnared by a statue and cannot make her escape?”
“You do have your parasol,” he said. “You could beat me with it. I saw what you’re capable of.”
She laughed again, and the tension in her seemed to fade. “I do have my parasol and I could beat you with it, but I have fears that it really wouldn’t do the trick. Not with you.”
“Oh, I guarantee it would,” he replied jauntily, at last spotting how to unwind the ribbon. “It would have me on my knees in a moment.”
Her brow furrowed. “You are a mystery, sir. Are you suggesting that I could beat you so easily?”
“Oh, indeed, madam. One little blow of your parasol and I would be at your feet forever.”
She tsked. “You, sir, are as mysterious as this whole endeavor.”
“Well, let me undo the mystery then.”
And he pulled the ribbon free from Cupid’s bow and she stumbled against him.
Her parasol clattered to the grass and she leaned into him, her body pressing into his.
Her curves were perfect. For a moment, he couldn’t think.
Instinct demanded he mold her to him and memorize the feel of her breasts and hips against his form.
He had had many bodies pressed against his. It was no singular thing, and yet, dear God in heaven, the way she felt against him was a revelation, an awakening, something altogether different.
With all his will, he kept his better self in charge as he peered down into her face, wanting to keep her in his arms and protect her forever, to keep her safe.
“I promise you,” he said, “I will avenge your rotten day and make certain that those gentlemen also have a terrible one.”
Her lips twitched. “I won’t argue with you as long as you promise that you won’t land yourself into any particular trouble of your own.”
He laughed. “Do you think I could find myself trouble with those fellows?”
“Well, when one decides to make trouble with the family of a duke, it does seem as if it might set off a chain of events that one can’t control.”
“Well said,” he replied, holding still, not wishing to cause her to retreat, but dear God, he loved the feel of his hands upon her lithe back, feeling her warmth through her spencer. “But I have no interest in controlling things. I act first and think later.”
“Oh dear,” she said. “That sounds like a most dangerous thing to do. Have you no fear of the ramifications of things?”
He shrugged. “I don’t need to fear the ramifications of things. I’m an earl,” he said.
Her brows popped up. “You are?”
“Yes,” he said. “I’m the Earl of Seaborough.”
“This is your collection,” she gasped.
“Indeed, it is.”
She began to pull back and oh how he hated it. He wanted her to linger against him for as long as possible.
“Do you like it?” he replied.
“Of course I do,” she exclaimed, her face transforming with delight, all thoughts of the odious men seemingly gone. “It is one of the best collections of Roman statuary that I have seen in London.”
“Have you seen a great deal of Roman statuary?” he asked, his brows rising.
“A fair bit of it,” she admitted without a hint of chagrin. “Whenever there is any Italian exhibition, I go to see it. Thank you for opening your gardens to make certain that more people could see things like this.”
Since she had pulled away from his embrace, he gave her an elaborate bow with a twirl of his hand.
“Anything to please you,” he said.
“Oh, don’t,” she replied.
“What?” he asked, surprised. His grand gestures were usually well-received by ladies.
“Say things like that. You can’t possibly mean them.”
“Why not?” he replied.
She rolled her eyes. “Gentlemen don’t say things like that to me. They give me a difficult time or they ignore me entirely.”
“That seems hard to believe,” he breathed. Who could ignore his parasol-wielding goddess?
“It’s not,” she returned swiftly, clearly not believing his admiration.
“I don’t generally spark the interest of men, and I’m not generally interested in them,” she said.
She bit her lower lip, then added, “What happened just a few moments ago? With those men? That was a few men having good sport because they were bored. And they chose me because they think I’m powerless.
And I am powerless to the likes of them. ”
“Except for when you’re whacking them with your parasol,” he pointed out. “I’d pay to see that again.”
She laughed, her eyes lighting with amusement at his repartee. “You enjoyed that, did you?”
“Oh, yes. It made my day,” he replied.
“Did it?” she asked.
“Oh, yes. Gentlemen like that always need a set down, and you did give them one, but I promise you mine shall be far more effective.”
“Well, I appreciate that then, and for one particular reason.”
“What is it?” he asked.
She drew in a long breath as if she was deciding how honest to be and then clearly decided that there was no point in holding back.
She rushed, growing more heated with each word, “Frankly, there are many ladies that would not have the audacity to whack a duke’s son with a parasol, and I fear for them.
If he is not stopped, he is going to harm someone, if he hasn’t harmed them already.
Ladies are in such a terrible position,” she burst. “They can’t argue for themselves, you see, because if they do, they’re labeled troublesome and can get their families into difficulty. It’s not right and it’s not fair.”
He gazed down upon her, his heart aching at the injustice of it. “Very eloquently said and I couldn’t agree with you more. I’ve spent a great deal of my life, if I must confess, advocating for the ladies, and I’m happy to take up future ladies, as you suggest.”
He wished he could tell her about Jenny. But he couldn’t. Not now. Jenny was his secret memory. His failure. And he wouldn’t ever fail a lady again.
“Thank you,” she said. “Though I probably should argue that you take the path of pacifism, I don’t think I will. Not today.”
He smiled slowly. “A little bit bloodthirsty, are you?”
“I suppose I am when it comes to gentlemen like that.”
He winked at her. “You’re more Italian than you know.”
“I? Italian in some way? I should like to think so,” she said, smiling slowly, as if the thought pleased her. “But for now I am forced to be fully and totally English.”
“Well, you seem passionate,” he said, “and that’s Italian.”
She winced. “I cannot wait to get away from this place.”
“From my garden?” he teased gently. “You just said it was wonderful.”
“No, from England,” she corrected.
“And where will you go?” he asked, shocked at how much he hated the idea of her leaving these shores.
It was completely irrational, but he’d long ago realized that feelings and rational thought had nothing to do with each other.
Her face suddenly shone with hope. “Italy,” she replied. “I’m going to go to Italy.”
“Have you ever been before?” he queried.
“No,” she said, her shoulders sinking. “But I’ve read a good deal about it, and I’ve already secured a villa. Well, almost. And as soon as I can, I’ll be away from people like the Duke of Lindly’s son.”
“And me,” he said softly. “You’ll be away from me.”
Her eyelashes fluttered, stunned by his statement. “Well, you’ve had the good fortune to go to Italy, haven’t you? I suppose you could always go again.”
“Are you inviting me,” he whispered softly, “to visit your villa?”
She licked her lips. “Sir, it has never even entered my consciousness to invite you anywhere.”
“Well, if you’re going to be a free lady of pleasure in Italy, perhaps it should cross your consciousness,” he said. “And I would be happy to be your guest at any time.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you crossing, sir, into the land of the second son of the Duke of Lindly? Are you about to make things difficult for me?”
“I should never wish to,” he replied. “And if I am at all on the same footing as him, I shall change tact immediately.”
“Good.”
“But…I must be honest. I like you. Miss…?”
She licked her lips. “Foxley. Miss Ernestine Foxley.”
Of course, she was a clever vixen. What a perfect name. For he did not doubt she was earnest somehow too.
“I cannot lie to you. Despite what you say about gentlemen not noticing you, I have noticed you. And I find you very tempting indeed. But I will abandon all such talk if it makes you uncomfortable. Is that what you wish?” he said.
She sucked in a breath. “Frankly, sir, I do not know. It is our first conversation.”
He stepped back from her. “But it shall not be our last. I promise you that.”
Her eyes flashed as she spotted someone in the distance. “My cousin is coming.”
He could see she didn’t wish to have to explain all this to her cousin, and so he gave her a bow, not wishing to make her uncomfortable any longer, and departed as swiftly as he had arrived.
He would have to be far more careful.
He’d forgotten entirely how innocent she was, but he reminded himself as he headed away from her, away from Cupid and Psyche.
He had not missed the irony of that couple as he had slipped her free.
Was the universe laughing at him? The Fates? Had they all but handed her to him on a platter?
He was looking for a wife. She was interesting. She was bold, she loved Italy, and she was clearly more like him than others, since she was willing to use her proverbial fists and a parasol to defend herself.
That was exactly the sort of young lady he wanted and, perhaps, exactly the sort of young lady he would fight to make his own.