A Country Affair (11 page)

His tone was perfectly firm, but Selina could have sworn something had discomfited him. Distracted by more pressing concerns, however, she waved that thought away.

"So I did," she admitted ruefully. "And it seems I did so very foolishly, as things turn out, for our application was denied."

Richard stared at her silently. Long enough for Selina to fear she had disgusted him with her troubles. She ought never to have blurted them out, but the truth was she had half wondered how he would react to her father's story. Would he be quick to turn his back on them both?

Her heart beat stronger as he took a step nearer. She could feel the comforting warmth of his presence.

"Augustus is a fine chap," Richard said. His strangely hesitant note seemed to make the air move between them. "Much more deserving than half the boys at Eton. Is there anything I can do to see that he succeeds?"

His offer poured warmth inside her, like a strong cup of tea spreading swiftly through her veins. It weakened her at the knees, making her long to lay all her troubles before him.

But that would be a mistake. She could not inflict all her woes upon a man, even so kind a man as Richard, without running him off.

And, she remembered suddenly, she had forgotten entirely about his tea.

Tossing him a flustered smile, she hurried past him and swept the boiling kettle from the fire. He seemed taken aback, until he saw what she was about, when he insisted upon taking the heavy kettle from her hands as if she did not lift things far bigger every day.

Pouring the water into the pot she held for him, Richard frowned, deep in thought. This shared task brought their heads together. From no more than a foot away, Selina studied the light flickering over his sculpted features, the glint of its reflection in his dark, wavy hair, the strong curve of his lips. A tingling sensation, as if the world were trembling beneath her feet, made her rock towards him.

All at once, he seemed aware of her scrutiny. His eyes met hers. The gleam in their blue depths threatened to take her breath away.

His gaze fell to the front of her night-rail. Selina felt a responsive surge before she recalled with a flash of shame, how grossly improper this all was.

She quickly turned away and bustled about the room, noisily fetching cups and saucers and milk. Richard was watching her. She could feel his gaze between her shoulder blades. She could almost imagine the fun that would be in his eyes; but then he cleared his throat—a sound of strangulation, not amusement—and she dared hope he had been as unsettled by their proximity as she had.

"You were about—" he spoke firmly behind her—"to tell me what I could do to help."

She threw him a challenging glance. "I was?"

He grinned and nodded.

Just one look at his grin, and Selina knew the truth. More than anything else on earth, she did want this man to share her troubles.

"I—" she faltered under the enormity of that thought —"You are very kind, but I—"

"Why do you not tell me the basis for your claim?" he suggested gently. "Perhaps, on a legal issue such as that, I might be able to shed some light."

Yes. Of course. Selina wondered that she hadn't thought of this herself. With so little money to support them, she had not dared to seek the advice of a solicitor, but Richard might well know more than she about matters of the law.

He might even be a solicitor, for all she knew.

Dismissing this notion as highly unlikely, she nodded her agreement and stepped over to her mother's chest.

Richard waited in suspense while she searched its contents. At last, he would see what he had come for.  He was surprised when she returned with nothing more than a faded scrap of blue paper. Selina handed it to him, and he glanced at it no more than a second before raising his eyes.

"A valentine?" he said, unable to hide his astonishment.

His incredulous tone made her flush. "Yes, but see what it says." She moved to his side.

Holding her wrapper tightly about her, she pointed to the words on the worn piece of paper. "Read the message," she urged him.

Reluctantly tearing his gaze from her face, Richard returned it to the faded page with the silvered edges. It had been written in the quaint style of another century. A pair of hand-painted swans, their necks drawn to meet in the shape of a valentine, graced the top of the page. Yellow stains of age had spread over the words, but he could still make them out.

Turning to let the firelight spill over them, he read aloud,

"Moste suitors chouse theyr love by chance,

 Yet, I disdayne to follow such a dance,

 But take my plesyure from the birds above,

 To plight my troth in steade to truest love,

 That this won yeere shall turn to lyfe.

 When Valentyne shalle bee my wyfe."

Finishing, Richard turned over the paper to see how it had been directed. In a flowing hand, he read, "To Mistress Anne Trevellian" and the signature of the sender, "Mr Joshua Payley Esquire."

Feeling Selina's eager gaze upon him, he raised his own eyes. "Where did you come by this?" he asked.

"It was among the few belongings my father brought from his parents' house. It had been tucked away inside a small volume of Milton's poetry, which was published in l645. My father received it as a gift from his father and took it with him to Cambridge."

Her gaze faltered. "It is the only piece of family history Augustus and I have. My uncle, who never speaks to us, has the rest of the family papers. My father never did return home from Cambridge. He was not received."

"And you think the book had been in your family for many years?"

Selina nodded, her face filling again with hope. "I know it had. My father said that was the significance of the gift."

Richard looked down at the valentine again and felt a wave of conflicting emotions. Sympathy warred with his common sense.

"Do you attach any significance to the fact that it had been so preserved?"

"No." Selina's calm voice reassured him that she had not imagined some improbable, Gothic plot. "I think it had been overlooked for years. For more than one hundred years."

He raised his head at that.

"If you'll remember—" the glow of eagerness lit Selina's face—"Cromwell forbade the practice of any custom he considered pagan in origin. Choosing valentines was one of these, yet we know that such laws were never strictly obeyed. The common people are not easily discouraged from having their celebrations, and the gentry usually follow suit. Still, Cromwell's rule was so severe, they would have hidden any evidence of their crimes."

"So," Richard said, "you are supposing that the valentine was hidden in a book and only came to your father by chance?"

"Yes. But Papa took little interest in keeping it. My mother was the one who found something in it to cherish. She said it meant that our ancestor Mr. Joshua Payley had married Miss Anne Trevelyan."

"But—" Richard did not want to discourage her, but he had to make her see sense—"but how could she be so certain? I know the message speaks of marriage, but that does not mean they ever wed."

The light in Selina's eyes flickered. "Mama told me that, more often than not, valentines used to marry at the end of the year. Just as the verse says."

"I know, I know. But, dear girl, surely not all valentines would marry. Such a custom imposes no strict adherence. What is to say that this is anything more than a whim on your ancestor's part?"

"A whim?" Selina's color was rising. "He hardly employs the tone of a whim. Look again—" she leaned closer, jabbing at the words with her first finger—"he speaks of her as his truest love." Her tone softened as her fingers drifted over the swans. "And, see here. He painted swans, which are known to mate for life. How can you miss the significance?"

Richard had not missed the significance, but right now, he was more than a little distracted by Selina's closeness.

The age-softened lace on her wrapper was tickling the back of his hand. Her shoulder was pressed against his, and her touch warmed him from neck to toe. As he breathed in her sweet scent, desire swept the length of his body.

He closed his eyes and tried to focus on her question, but the urge to make love to her had much too firm a hold. He struggled with his wishes. The last thing he should do would be to take advantage of a girl in her position. Alone at night.

"Richard?" Her questioning tone brought him back to the problem at hand.

He stammered, "I—I quite see where you are leading, but you still have no proof that his love was returned."

Selina smiled, and the wistfulness behind that smile nearly proved his undoing. "What girl could refuse such a lover? He sends her poetry. He pledges his undying love. He braves Cromwell's wrath to send her a forbidden valentine. And . . . ." Selina paused long enough for a dimple to punctuate her cheek. . . "And besides. He was a Payley."

Richard answered with a grin of his own, though he longed to hold Selina instead. He wanted to plant a kiss in the hollow of her cheek to see what that dimple would feel like. He wanted to loosen the ribbons from about her lovely neck and slowly watch the night-rail fall from her magnificent shoulders. He wanted to forget who he was long enough to drink his fill of her.

All of this he wanted, but his hands were paralyzed by the deceit he had practiced upon her. By that, and by his native caution.

He wanted her as much as he'd ever wanted a woman, more in fact than any other to date, but what did she mean to him?

He couldn't be sure yet, but he did know one thing. Selina Payley did not deserve to be trifled with. And if he did not know where he wished to lead her, he would have to keep hands off.

"Selina—" he yanked his mind back to the issue at hand. "I have no wish to discourage you. Truthfully, I do not." And he had found he did not. "But, surely, you must see why the Garter had to refuse your request? Even if this valentine is to be believed, it links your family and—and the family of Trevelyan through the female line."

"There is precedence for taking the name of a female ancestor," she said stubbornly.

"Yes, but the evidence— You must know a valentine is not a legal document."

"Yes, but—" As she stammered, all the fight seemed to leave her. The light in her eyes had dimmed. "Why can he not search to see whether a more solid piece of evidence exists? That is all I ask. This valentine—" she caressed the bit of paper in his hand—"is the only thing I have."

Richard watched her hand moving over the faded paper so lovingly, and his desire rose to a fever pitch. To stop himself from acting rashly, he cleared his throat, which made her suddenly stop.

Seemingly aware for the first time of their close proximity, she inched her hand away from his—as if by inching she could evade his notice—then her shoulder and her hip. When they were no longer touching, Richard turned, to place another few important inches between them. With his gaze awkwardly averted, he handed her back the family relic.

Closing her wrapper more snugly about her now, Selina returned the valentine to her mother's chest, which gave Richard time to draw a deep, restraining breath.

"I had best get back to the inn, or Mr. Croft will wonder what I've been doing."

As Selina's head came up, her startled look quickly changing to a blush, Richard wished he had used a more felicitous turn of phrase. He had not meant to imply what he had implied, but the truth was, Mr. Croft might be ready to jump to certain conclusions. Richard had stayed much longer than he ought. Certainly long enough to . . . .

With an effort, he diverted his mind from such wishful thinking and drew himself up stiffly. Selina seemed to misinterpret his motion, for she raised her chin in the air.

"I will show you to the door. Thank you again, Mr. Lint, for bringing Lucas home."

She turned her back with a swish of her long, lustrous hair, making Richard feel like the blackguard he knew he was. If she only knew what restraint he had shown . . . . However, at the sight of that back, so slim and strong, he knew he could not leave her like this. Had he not asked how he might help?

"Selina . . . " He placed a hand upon her shoulder to turn her. As she faced him, he kept it there, and his other came to rest in a similar place. "I would like to help you. Truly, I would . . . ."

But as she gazed up at him with wide-open eyes, he wondered what he could do. What could he do to strengthen her application?

Richard admitted he would be pleased to acknowledge her and Augustus as members of his family. A man could do much worse than to have these two claiming kinship with him. Why, when he thought of Wilfrid . . .

At the thought of Wilfrid, a notion did enter his head. The last time he had seen his cousin, Wilfrid had been eager to do something to make up for his most recent sins. He had been quite contrite . . . for Wilfrid, and anxious to prove his attachment to the Trevelyan family.

"Selina," Richard began again, enjoying the warmth of her shoulders beneath his palms. "Would you have any idea where your Payley ancestors came from?"

She gave her head a little shake, as if her mind had wandered. "Of course. They come from Cuckfield."

"Cuckfield? You mean here?"

"No." She smiled, and her delightful dimples peeped at him again. "Cuckfield. This is Uckfield, remember?"

"Yes, of course." Now it was Richard's turn to shake his head, but the truth was his mind was fogged by the soft feel of her beneath his hands. She had not stepped back, as she might have, but had taken a step closer as if to search his face for his intent. His hands, of their own volition, had begun to stroke her back. He willed them to stop, but he could not bring himself to remove them entirely.

"Then . . . where is Cuckfield?" he said, trying to keep the two names straight in his brain.

"It is west of here, still in Sussex, but across the Heath."

"Near the Brighton road?"

"I think so." She flushed a warm, rosy color. "I am ashamed to admit it, but I never have been so far from home."

Oh, do not blush, dear,
Richard begged her silently, as the warmth of her color rushed through him.
You are much too tempting when you blush.