Page 12 of A Viscount’s Reluctant Passion

Or perhaps, as she had dreamed of, he had come to declare his intentions, and all of her dreams of love might be about to come true. She shook the thought aside, afraid to hope too much, lest it all come to naught. She rose as he entered the room, and went forward to greet him. He took her hand, and bowed over it – the touch sent heat rushing through her – heat which pooled between her thighs in a most shocking manner.

“I trust that you are well today, Miss Wormsley?”

“I am, indeed, Lord Challoner. Please, be seated – I have sent for some tea.”

She resumed her seat on the couch, and he, after a tiny moment’s hesitation, sat beside her. She could feel the heat of him, somehow, even though they were inches apart. Her cheeks flushed, and for a moment, she could think of nothing she might say. He saved her from needing to find words, however.

“Miss Wormsley, I must apologise for calling with no forewarning – I hope that I have not disturbed your day too much?”

“No, no, Lord Challoner – I was simply reading – a novel this time, I must admit, not even anything edifying.”

“I am not so sure that novels are not edifying – if in a rather different way – for they provide great insight into the ways that people think, do you not agree?”

She studied his face a moment, her eyes going, against her will, to his lips. He seemed to be serious in his words, not mocking her.

“I do agree, although most people seem to regard novels as of little worth. But, Lord Challoner, what brings you here today?”

He licked his lips, and her mouth was suddenly dry. She waited.

“Miss Wormsley, I am afraid that, this morning, I received some unwelcome news. News which requires my presence in the country, at one estate in particular, to resolve a problem. I depart London this afternoon, and will likely not return here until winter is upon us, or later, although I perhaps might manage to return for just a few days, for the very last events of the Season. But I felt that I could not leave without at least bidding you farewell. I have, these past weeks, most thoroughly enjoyed your company,” and my kisses? thought Bea, rather wickedly, “and regret that this takes me away from you, earlier than we had expected.”

Confusion, and annoyance filled her. He was leaving today? She did not want him to, yet she did. For if he was here, she would, undoubtedly, continue to be tempted to wantonness, but if he was not… the next few weeks loomed ahead of her, suddenly devoid of interest. He had come to bid her farewell – surely that indicated that he cared for her, in some way? Yet he had said nothing of that, nothing beyond ‘I have enjoyed your company’. What did that mean, really? It certainly was not a declaration of intent.

Perhaps she had been right – perhaps those stolen moments had only been lust, and she was, again, being foolish in hoping for more. She drew herself up.

“I have also enjoyed your company Lord Challoner, and will miss our conversations. But if you must go for estate reasons, you must. I thank you for the courtesy of this call, and wish you safe travelling.”

His sea grey eyes held hers, and something passed across them, some thought or feeling, which she did not understand. He moved towards her, ever so slightly, and for a moment, she thought that he might kiss her. She wanted him to, rather badly. But then he drew back, and the moment was gone.

“I will leave you now, Miss Wormsley, and hope that I may call upon you again, when circumstance allows it.”

“Of course. I will look forward to that time.”

He bowed, and departed, leaving Bea feeling unaccountably cold and forlorn, no matter that the summer sun warmed her through the window.

~~~~~

Another Ball, Bea thought, which seemed just like all of the other ones. Rooms filled to a crush, a riot of scents, both pleasant and unpleasant in the early summer heat, and a plethora of gentlemen, most of whom did not appeal to her in any way.

But she smiled and carried on inane conversations with them. She had promised herself, the day that Lord Challoner had left London, that she would not mope, that she would consider other gentlemen sensibly, as possible suitors. For if Lord Challoner had left her without any word to indicate that he saw her as more than a friend, or an opportunity to occasionally indulge in lust fuelled kisses, then it seemed reasonable to assume that he had no interest beyond that, and that her dreams of him were only foolish imaginings.

But some days, her face ached from holding her smile in place.

Lord Walter Winterbourne had become a familiar face at her side, and she was beginning to believe that he might, truly, care for her. He was charming, and well liked, the heir to the Earl of Colport, and seemed everything that a young woman might want in a suitor. Especially a young woman dogged by the sort of gossip which tarnished Bea.

But he did not make her heart beat faster, or her body heat from the touch of his hand. Only one man did that.

Still, she was considering him, for she did not wish to spend her life alone, or as a burden on either her parents or her sister.

As if her thoughts had summoned him, he appeared before her, bowing.

“Miss Wormsley, I am delighted to see you here this evening. Might I claim a dance with you?”

“Of course, Lord Walter.”

She allowed him to lead her to where the set was forming up, and studied his handsome face as they stepped into place. His hair was light in colour, and, she thought, perhaps a little uncharitably, seemed somehow faded. But his face was well shaped, and his expression pleasing.

The music began, and they moved, rotating about another couple. When they faced each other again, she spoke, simply because conversation would be expected.

“Will you be staying in London much longer, Lord Walter? The Season is nearly over, and the heat is becoming unpleasant, in many people’s opinion.”

“Perhaps – as long as you are here to dance with me, Miss Wormsley.”

Bea maintained her smile, but found the flattery a little overdone.

“I will be here, I believe, for two weeks more – at least until the Belmonton Ball, which all are speaking of as ‘the last of the Season’. After that, I will return to the country – which I find an appealing prospect at this point, for I have had almost enough of society for this year, I think.”

For a second, an odd expression crossed Lord Walter’s face, puzzling Bea – then it was gone, as if it had never been there.

“I must then, it seems, do my best to charm you in the time available. For I do wish to charm you, to engage your affections if I can. Tell me, Miss Wormsley, are my hopes in vain?”

Bea was glad that the dance moved them apart again at that moment, for his words shocked her a little – she had not thought him truly serious as a suitor – but it seemed that he was.

“I will not say either way, Lord Walter, at this point – but you have the next weeks to convince me of your feelings, now that I know that you intend to do so.”

“Then I will not despair, Miss Wormsley.”

Bea smiled, but inside, she felt empty. He made her feel nothing. Could she bear to marry a man who left her feeling empty? In comparison, the memory of Lord Challoner’s kiss rose in her mind. She pushed it away. That way lay only disappointment.