Defying The Earl. Anabelle Bryant

in Devonshire. Acres of rolling countryside, herds of sheep, and a majestic parkland home. It’s no surprise you’d prefer rural living to the congestion and pollution we endure here in London. I had the pleasure of your father’s invitation years ago.”

      “You’ve quite a memory.” Valerian bit back a grimace at the pastoral scene Fielding’s words painted. At one time the description fitted Kirby Park aptly, but time and circumstance had altered the conditions of his inheritance with great impact. A wish to restore the estate’s grandeur remained his highest priority and life’s purpose. It took two seasons to shed the morose temperament brought on by Caroline’s jilt. Now he was ready to proceed. If only Jasper had not depleted their coffers so dramatically. “I don’t recall your visit. Was I in house?”

      “I believe you were away at university. It might have been your third year. Back then your father cajoled a group of us to join him for a series of weekly card game. If my memory serves correctly, I took a fleecing the first time I participated.” Fielding released a good-natured laugh before emptying his wine glass. “But the following week I did better. They were good times with spirited friends.”

      “Aah, well then that would explain it.” Had he the monies of which Fielding spoke, Valerian could repair the lost shingles on the roof or replace the cracked window in the front hall. He’d only managed to keep his head above water by closing off most of the house, selling the furniture for less than its worth, and maintaining a menu of the scarcest variety. Perhaps that was the reason the steaming bowl of lobster bisque before him tasted heavenly. It couldn’t be the company. Lady Montgomery had hardly spoken a word, too busy devouring Leonard and Fiona’s flirtatious banter as if it provided sustenance. Could she be yearning for attention? Desperate for a courtship as romantic as the one unfolding to his left? Pity, she would soon be disappointed as he vanquished their happily ever after and collected his five thousand pounds.

      Failure. The word repeated like a litany in Wilhelmina’s brain, yet she couldn’t shake the insult as opportunity offered her every advantage and still she prevaricated. Fiona and Leonard were seated beside each other. Aunt Kate had taken her place at the opposite end of the table allowing Wilhelmina the ability to speak unhindered, and she’d mastered her rearrangement of the place cards with recognizable success. What little interference Lord Dashwood perpetrated did not bear on the result, yet she sat frozen in her seat, unable to articulate any useful conversation, her stomach a jumble of mixed emotion and self-recrimination. She reached for her wine goblet in search of liquid fortification and the action drew his perspicacious attention. A quick flick of her eyes and she was under his midnight-blue scrutiny, entirely unsettled by an unnerving attraction beyond her control.

      “Cat have your tongue, Lady Montgomery? You had no trouble reprimanding me earlier.” His voice full of censure, he offered a slow deliberate smile. “Or are you feeling unwell this evening? You’ve been quieter than a church mouse.”

      He angled into her and she inclined to meet him, assuaging the jump in her pulse that it was the only way she’d be able to hear his smoky murmur. Still his sudden attention and private questions jarred her hold on the wine glass, the stem tilting to the left as her arm jerked to prevent spillage, her charm bracelet jingling with applause against the china dinner plate. It was no small miracle she saved herself from further blunder. Determined not to appear clumsy once again, Wilhelmina flashed him an impatient look and mustered her best no-nonsense tone. “Not at all, Lord Dashwood. I’m simply enjoying my meal and the fine company of friends. It is the reason for accepting Lady Collingsworth’s invitation, is it not?” She hoped her judicial reply would curtail his curiosity and allow her heart to resume a normal rhythm.

      “That does not explain your tampering with the place settings. I must admit, you’ve presented me with a puzzle I cannot solve.”

      He delivered a vague look of disapproval although a mischievous glint sparked his eyes. She already thought him handsome, but with the candlelight glow casting a sheen to his just-a-little-too-long hairstyle and the elegant angle of his body leaned ever so slightly toward her person, Wilhelmina had trouble breathing. How would she ever concentrate on the matter at hand with this strong, deliciously smelling man beside her?

      It was as though her senses were acutely aware of his every nuance and that singular thought, that she was attracted to Lord Dashwood, when she’d never taken a particular interest in any one gentleman, was enough to dry the quick retort on her tongue.

      When Lord Fielding had described Dashwood’s country home as palatial, she’d turned an attentive ear. The earl’s wealth exceeded her imaginings, not that she’d had any designs on her prospects, but all information proved useful. Perhaps someday in the near future a concerned mother would contact her for matchmaking of lofty proportions. It served her well to know all eligible bachelors, most especially one entailed to an earldom.

      A little sigh escaped at the realization Livie and she did not mix in elite circles of earls and the equivalent. Lord Dashwood would stay firmly planted in her daydreams, the same which revolved around the touch of his hand as he escorted her from the roadway or the contradictory and devilish tone of his irate questions, as if he wasn’t really angry at all.

      If only being extremely wealthy, at least to the extent as she’d learned from the discussion of his country home, would eradicate her extreme lack of dowry. Still that was the stuff of daydreams, and Wilhelmina possessed too much intelligence to be deluded that such arrangements lived anywhere except in fairytales.

      When the subject of her deliberations cleared his throat beside her, she noticed in horror he waited for her reply. “Your country estate sounds lovely.” The compliment caused a grim shadow to enter his eyes.

      “Clever, your little change of subject, but the matter won’t be so easily dismissed. It was poorly done of you not to consider I may have hoped to sit beside a different guest before you manipulated my seat to your own device. At the very least you owe me the privilege of understanding why. Will you not reveal your reasoning?”

      He summoned a pitch of mock outrage that had Wilhelmina biting the inside of her cheek. She disliked being the center of the room, but Dashwood’s attention fitted as snugly as a well sewn glove...and just as warmly. His careful insolent smile somehow heated her skin, quickened her pulse. But what had he said? He had desired to sit beside someone else?

      “You flatter yourself if you believe I meticulously maneuvered your place card beside mine.” Her tone betrayed her with a tinge of less than truth. She faltered, but pushed on, willing her usual sarcasm to jetty as strongly as her nervous pulse. “I hardly know you despite our unlikely predicament with the wheel ruts.”

      For a fleeting breath, a grin curled his lips, but then his head jerked to the left, drawn by the twittering giggle Lady Fiona bestowed on Lord Rigby during a subdued and somewhat less than respectable tête-à-tête. It would appear the guests to either side of the enamored couple realized no conversation was to be had and adjusted their polite conversation elsewhere, providing the besotted lovebirds the exact privacy for which they wished. At least, as much as could be afforded during a social event where the table served sixty guests. Wilhelmina found a genuine smile. Things could not proceed more perfectly…until Dashwood spoke.

      “Playing the woman false, are you, Leonard? If I recall correctly, you recently confided that the very last thing you desired was a shackle attached to your ankle.”

      “No, you misunderstood, Dash. When I asked if you were interested in a wife—” Leonard’s voice held a panicked tone of immediate objection.

      “No need to be embarrassed by the situation. I’m sure Lady Fiona understands. It is expected for any young gentleman to have a string of maidens on whom to dance attendance.”

      “Now, see here, I never said anything of the sort and I’d appreciate—”

      “Furthermore, I agree with your views. Marriage is labeled an institution for a reason. It is my perception is transforms otherwise gems of the ton into windsuckers, boring and socially castrated.”

      “Gentlemen!” Wilhelmina’s voice rose the slightest octave, but it was the rap of her fork against