Page 24 of A Viscount’s Reluctant Passion

If she did not have the sense to agree to that, then he would simply have to take her, physically. Once her virtue was lost to him, she would have no choice but to marry him, and he could always imply that they had simply been overcome by their passion… He had no doubt that her sister would choose to believe that, and see her married, rather than have her ruin exposed to the world.

As his carriage rolled up the gravelled drive of Blackwood Chase, he was staring out of the window, pondering how he might get her alone, to start those plans into action. They swung around the corner of the house, and stopped in the open area between the house and the stables. As they did, a flash of colour caught his eye – something oddly out of place.

He looked in that direction, even as the footman opened the carriage door. There, in the gardens, he saw it again – a strong patch of bright blue, moving. He stepped down, his eyes still on the gardens. It was, he was sure, Miss Wormsley, the blue that of her summer gown. He barely glanced at the footman, and simply spoke, as he walked away.

“I believe that I will take a stroll in the garden, before I go inside. The weather is so pleasant, and these gardens so beautiful, it seems a pity to waste the opportunity.”

His coachman was already down, and leading the horses and carriage towards the stable, and the footman, no doubt shaking his head at the idiosyncrasies of the aristocracy, said nothing.

Walter hurried, his pulse pounding with an odd kind of excitement. He would have her, for she was alone, he could see now. He would trap her in some secluded spot, and have his way with her – why bother with attempting blackmail at all, when she had presented him with such a perfect opportunity? The thought of capturing her in his arms, of forcing his kisses upon her, and more, had him hard already, and he paid no attention to anything around him – only the shapely figure of the woman walking ahead of him.

~~~~~

Nash had left Montford Abbey very early, well before Chase would ever have considered rising, and been on the road not long after dawn. He had found himself, the last hour or two, drowsing in the heat of the day, as the carriage rolled through the richly green summer countryside. Now, as they turned onto a gravelled drive, he woke, and looked out the window.

Nerves assailed him, for this was Blackwood Chase, and soon he would see her, he hoped, and discover the truth of her feelings, and of his future. The drive curved around the house, to a large open area between the house and stables, which also opened onto gardens which sprawled down the hill away from the house, to where a river ran in the distance. Another carriage was just being moved into the carriage house and stables, and a footman stood on the gravel, looking towards the gardens.

Nash looked that way too, wondering what the man studied so. Movement caught his eye. A man was hurrying down the paths between the roses, and the sunlight glinted off his pale hair. In that moment, Nash was quite certain of who it was, and worry filled him – what was Lord Walter Winterbourne doing here, of all places?

Without a word, he stepped down from the carriage, and rushed after Lord Walter, his mind filled with foreboding. The footman closed the door of the carriage after him, and shook his head – the aristocracy could be quite mad.

Perhaps it was the heat of the sun.

Nash wound his way through the roses, watching lord Walter, who was far ahead of him. Then, the man disappeared amongst a copse of trees, which stood at the edge of the more formal part of the garden. Worried, Nash went faster.

When he reached the trees, and followed the path through them, there was no sound to be heard, apart from the river in the distance. The path twisted and turned - no doubt designed that way by a garden designer who wished to create the impression of a wilderness. Finally, there was sign of a clearing ahead, a pool of filtered sunlight amongst the green.

As he reached the edge of it, a sharp scream rang out, cut off as quickly as it started. Nash ran – it seemed that his instincts had been correct, when he had followed Lord Walter.

He shot from the trees into the clearing, to see Lord Walter, with Miss Wormsley in his arms, struggling desperately. Winterbourne had his lips pressed to hers – presumably that was how he had cut off her scream – and was bearing her down to the ground, his hands already pulling up her skirts – which action made his intent obvious.

Anger filled Nash, a rush of red rage half blinding him, a sensation the like of which he had never felt in his life before. He ran forward, until he stood above the cad, where his body pressed Miss Wormsley to the ground. Her eyes met his, filled with desperation, and a silent plea for help, even as she beat at Winterbourne with her hands.

All thought departed – Nash simply acted. He grasped Winterbourne by the neck, and hauled him up and off Miss Wormsley, who screamed again as Winterbourne attempted to maintain his hold on her. Then, with great presence of mind, as Nash lifting Winterbourne’s weight freed her, she lifted her knee into Winterbourne’s most tender parts.

The man howled, and Nash simply swung, with a solid roundhouse blow to his jaw, all of his anger poured into the punch. The howl stopped, instantly, and Winterbourne dropped, out cold.

Behind him, Nash heard applause.

“Well done, my Lord, whoever you are. Nivver liked the man, I’ll say – for he was a nasty piece when no one of importance was about.”

The man who spoke was a gardener, by the look of him. As Nash reached to help Miss Wormsley to her feet, another gardener rushed into the clearing behind him, and the first one turned to the newly arrived one.

“Here, Jim, help me haul this nasty piece of work up to the house. His Lordship here just knocked him cold, with the finest punch I’ve seen, and the blighter deserved it, for he was forcing his attentions on Miss Bea at the time. Mr Blackwood’ll be dealing harshly with him, I’m expecting.”

The two men lifted Winterbourne, and dragged him away, as Miss Wormsley came unsteadily to her feet. Nash pulled her gently against him, and stood, holding her, feeling her heart pounding as hard as his was. She leaned into him, clinging to him, her face pressed to his shoulder.

He stroked her back gently, and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. At the touch, she lifted her tear streaked face to his.

“Did he harm you, Miss Wormsley? Did he…?”

“No – you arrived in time. I will have bruises, I believe, but nothing worse. You have saved me – again. He has been here more than a week, calling every day, attempting to charm me, as if that night at the Ball never happened. And I was ashamed, too embarrassed to tell Honour, so I have just… tried to avoid being alone with him. He must have seen me set off for my walk…”

She shuddered, and Nash bent his head to kiss her, wishing that he could kiss away all that had happened, her fear, and Winterbourne’s manhandling. If he had not come today… if he had not chosen to leave Montford Abbey early… It did not bear thinking about.

She leant into the kiss, returning it, and heat filled him – that unique heat that only this woman raised within him. He allowed himself to forget, for a moment, where they were, and simply kissed her, his hands sliding over her, until they pulled apart, breathless and flushed.

She was beautiful, tear streaked face and disordered hair and all. It was the right moment, if nothing like the way he had imagined it would be.

“I was a fool not to do this before – Miss Beatrice Wormsley, will you marry me?”

She stilled completely, as if shocked.

“You… you want to marry me? But I am…”

“Everything that I want in a woman. I love you, Bea, if I may call you so, I have from the beginning, I think, but was too much of a fool to know it. Please…?”

“Yes. For I love you also, but I thought that you could never…”

He stopped her words with another kiss, deep and passionate, and full of joy.