The Viscount's Valentine (Classic Regency Romances) by Donna Lea Simpson

Author:Donna Lea Simpson [Simpson, Donna Lea]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: historical romance, traditional Regency, Regency romance, Jane Austen, Valentine, romance, British historical fiction
Publisher: Beyond the Page Publishing
Published: 2013-02-02T05:00:00+00:00

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Two more days passed in pleasant conversation and happy socializing. Honey found that she was enjoying herself. She looked back on her fears before they came and realized how outrageously silly they were. She had foreseen some kind of debauched reveling, with Sir Gordon, Mr. Black, and other bachelor friends. But instead there was a comfortable mix of married couples and single people and children, and the abbey was alive with preparations for the Valentine Ball. Nellie had found a friend from London among the other guests, and was content to spend most of each day with Mrs. Smythe.

Mr. Black became simply “Bron” to Honey, and he was often at her side, with only occasional warm glances and fleeting touches to indicate he thought of her as anything but a friend. Paradoxically, she found herself longing for his touch and finding excuses to brush his hand with her own.

There were only a couple of days before the Valentine’s Eve Ball. Honey and Bron worked together on the decorations for the ballroom that the women had been busily making since the beginning of the house party. She climbed a ladder to affix a lace heart over the ballroom doorway, but she slipped, and with a cry felt herself falling. Bron caught her up in his arms.

“Honey, are you all right?” he cried.

It was a thrilling moment. She couldn’t find her voice to answer. His blue eyes deepened and she lost all awareness that there were others near. His arms were strong and he held her as if she weighed no more than a child. She was breathless with anticipation as he leaned over her, his mouth was no more than five inches from hers. But a strange look crossed his face; he stared into her eyes, his jaw flexed, and he set her gently onto her feet.

“Thank you,” she said, breathlessly.

He swallowed and bowed, then turned and left the ballroom. It was unaccountable and she could not figure him out. Her upturned face and her expression must have been an invitation to kiss her, and yet he had resisted. Her heart throbbed. Did that mean he was no longer pursuing her, or had it only ever been a light flirtation on his side? She had so little experience of social flirting, for her own season had consisted of just the one ball before she was married and whisked away to Yorkshire. His behavior might be just usual for an unmarried man.

But later he found her alone in the library, entered, and shut the door behind him. “I’m sorry for leaving you like that earlier,” he said. “In the ballroom, I mean.”

He crossed the floor to where she sat, ensconced in a large leather chair reading a fascinating old tome on ancient courting traditions. She gazed up at him and was puzzled by the uncertainty of his expression.

“Why did you?” she asked.

He knelt beside her chair and took her hand in his. “I am only human, Honey. You are so very beautiful, and I am a mortal man, after all.

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