by Stacy Reid
“Who is this Miss Ashbrook, if I may ask?”
“My reason for everything I’ve learned.” Then he walked away, hoping she would take a chance on his love.
Chapter 18
A wonderful morning breeze wafted from the windows of the church. The large oak door groaned open, and a few people shifted to see the identity of the late arrival. The scandal of appearing tardily would be tittered about for all of this week until next week’s service’s latecomer took the honor. The people of Biddleton truly had little to amuse their imaginings or to keep their tongues occupied. Marianne did not move, folding her gloved hands in her lap and staring straight at her father. Curiosity bit at her, but of all places, this must be where she set an example for her sisters. Of course, Ruth, Sarah, and Maggie shamelessly turned in their seats.
“Our Lord is forgiving and merciful, for He loves us more than anything our humble minds and thoughts can ever imagine. Love is kind, and love forgives even the most egregious of sins because that is what our Lord commands through example—”
A ripple of murmurs in the congregation disturbed her father’s sermon, and he faltered briefly. Marianne frowned and tried to ignore whatever had caused the commotion. She sat on the fourth bench in the pews, after arriving at church this Sunday morning a few minutes late. Of course, a few of her father’s parishioners had thought it necessary to whisper that the vicar’s own daughter had shown up late. She had hardly cared, the ache in her heart had not eased. In truth, it had multiplied dreadfully with each day that passed.
Her dear papa had not pried; in his warm embrace, she only found love and forgiveness. Even though a part of her feared it might be because he did not know the full truth of her misbehaving heart. But that very first night she had returned home, he had whispered,
“Though I see the pain in your eyes…I do not see regret or shame, and for that I am grateful.”
“How handsome he is!” Sarah gasped.
“Do you see the carriage in which he came! It is pulled by a matched team of four, and his clothes; he is wealthy too.” That loud whisper came from a few seats behind her.
Ruth's eyes widened. “I wonder who he is?”
“I don’t care,” Maggie said with a cheeky grin. “Nothing exciting happens in Biddleton.”
Marianne rolled her eyes. “The arrival of a man can hardly be seen as an event to gossip about.”
“Oh, Marianne, surely when you see him, you shouldn’t think so. Why he is even more handsome than Squire Nelson and he is very fine indeed,” Maggie said with a wink.
With annoying curiosity, Marianne turned around and immediately his gaze found hers. She drew in a shocked breath and whipped her head forward. “Good heavens!”
“I told you so,” Maggie said, and then her eyes widened. “Marianne…you are flushed. Are you well?”
She froze, unable to explain the tangle of emotions she felt about. “I…What is he doing here?” she whispered.
Ruth covered Marianne’s hand that gripped the edge of the bench with her own. “Is he the reason you returned from London so altered?”
She glanced at her sister.
“Do you believe we have not noticed you are not your usual self?”
Their father cleared his throat and frowned most severely at his congregation. The murmurs died then, and the next half hour passed for Marianne in an agonized blur. Unable to bear the mess of hope and hurt anymore, she launched to her feet and hurried away. His gaze followed her as she rushed outside, and it took an enormous will to not look back at him. She hurried home, grateful for the closeness of their cottage to the church. Marianne went to her room and tugged the bonnet from her head.
She closed her eyes and tried to think. Michael had followed her. Why? Surely it could not be to convince her to return to his home to be Lizzie’s governess. Dear God, Lizzie! Marianne gasped. What if something had happened to her niece? She scrambled down the stairs, all anxiety at facing him melting away.
She heard voices coming from the parlor, and the sensual, familiar tones dragged her feet there. The viscount was seated with a cup of tea in his hand, her mother and father were already present, and so were her sisters who stared at him as if he were an exotic creature.
“So your brother is marrying our Lucy?” her mother asked faintly.
Marianne’s heart jolted.
“Yes, I got the letter from him only a few days ago that she has consented to marry him. They will be taking their child…Lizzie on an extended vacation with them to a lovely country house in Cornwall. As my brother tells it, they will stay away from town society for a couple of years while they meet their country neighbors and enjoy that society. And when they are ready to announce their daughter, they will venture into town.”
She must have made some sound, for she became the center of everyone’s attention. When he saw her, he breathed deeply, his hungry stare caressing over her. She blushed and her father’s eyes sharpened.
Michael stood. “Miss Ashbrook, how lovely to see you again.”
Her father too stood. “I am astonished to learn that Lizzie has been with her uncle, Lord Worsley, all this time…and not in the orphanage you mentioned, Marianne.”
There was a slight admonishment in his voice.
“And I am very glad she had the courage to defy your orders, Sir,” Michael said firmly. “Or I might have never known my niece.”
Her father’s face softened. “I daresay a part of me knew that Marianne would defy my orders. That is why I allowed her to convince me that she would take the child. I could see the fire of rebellion in her eyes and her determination and I was glad for it. Forgive me, my child, for placing that burden on you.”
She smiled at her papa and nodded, a most wonderful feeling swelling in heart. And because she could not keep the hope silent anymore, she looked at Michael.
“Is that the only reason you came?”
“Marianne!” her mother said, leaping to her feet, “Forgive our daughter’s rudeness, my lord.”
But neither paid Mama any attention. The viscount was gazing at her as though she were some kind of miracle.
“I love you,” he said. “And I was hoping you might do me the honor of marrying me.”
Marianne almost fainted. That was the very last thing she had expected him to say and certainly not the first.
Her father’s gaze moved from her to the viscount. And from the corner of her eyes she could see the delight on her sisters’ faces.
“You love me?” she parroted, her heart crashing inside her chest; she felt faint.
“Yes.”
“And you want to marry me?” she squawked.
Tender amusement shifted in his gaze. “Ah…there goes that mouse again.”
“Now is not the time to jest,” she cried, so many emotions assailing her. Tears formed in her eyes and she fought to contain them. “You…you are a viscount, one who owns a gambling den and I am only the daughter of a country vicar!”
It felt so impossible but so right.
“Society might say that I am a wicked man, and a rake of the first order as you so charmingly put it. Yet, I believe with all my heart, only God could have understood the constant loneliness that I felt in my heart and then contrived to place you in my path.”
She stared at him in wordless wonder.
Her mother placed her knitting needles on the walnut table, stood, and held out her hand to her husband. Papa took her hand, and to Marianne’s shock, they departed the parlor with her sisters, leaving her alone with the viscount. She stared at their retreating backs, almost scared to face him. A wobbly smile curved her lips when they left the door a little ajar. Marianne could not shift her regard back to Michael. She was petrified for some reason. “Perhaps this is a dream,” she murmured.
“Look at me.”
A soft gasp escaped her at the feel of his warm breath on her ear. He was too close. Surely, he could see the door stood open. “Michael—”
“Look at me,” he
said, his voice tender and resonating with an affection that brought a lump to her throat.
She turned slowly and faced him.
“Why did you run from me?”
“I was afraid,” she said hoarsely.
He touched her chin ever so lightly with his thumb. “If you had only stayed…there wouldn’t have been any doubts in your mind that I belong only to you.”
A trembling sigh fell from her lips. “It took you three weeks to find me.” And all that time…I died.
“It was most inconsiderate of me,” he said tenderly. “I am so damn sorry.” He cupped her cheek, and she leaned into his palm. “I had to fix things first…How could I come to you when your heart was still broken from your sister’s pain.”
The purest of joy blossomed through her. “You are responsible for Michael coming to Lucy?”
“He only needed a nudge.”
“But the scandal!”
“I took care of it,” he said gently. “And I daresay that his ex-fiancée might be more thrilled than Thomas and Lucy. And I also ensured that the young miss is safely away with her sisters and that her uncle cannot steal her fortune. I hope you approve.”
“Oh, Michael.” She flung herself into his arms and hugged him.
“Though I am very glad you are in my arms,” he said, his heart pounding where her ear rested against his chest. “Please relieve my fear and tell me if you will consent to me my wife.”
She leaned back a bit and stared at him. “Your wife.”
He cupped her cheeks tenderly. “My wife…my friend, my lover, my partner in misadventures. Before you came into my life, nothing seemed to matter anymore. I had wealth, ladies throwing themselves at my feet and in my bed—”
She punched him lightly in the stomach and an unrepentant grin crossed his lips.
“And I have been declining all of them, my love. You were the first woman I kissed, made love with in over a year. No-one enticed me…nothing appealed, and then you came into my life…and you brought me in from the cold, lonely place I had not realized I lived in.”
“I love you,” she said on a choked cry, tears streaming down her face. “I love you with my entire heart and yes, I will marry you!”
He pressed a kiss to her lips, and murmured against them, “I thank you for that honor and I shall endeavor to never make you regret it.”
A throat cleared and Marianne giggled against his lips. “My papa was eavesdropping.” Then she blushed fiercely praying he had not overheard that ‘make love’ bit.
“I daresay I consent to this union,” her father’s voice said from outside the door. “But until that time, I trust, young man, you will remove your lips from my daughter.”
Marianne dissolved into fits of giggles while Michael smiled at her with tender amusement.
“That I can do, Sir. I do have a special license—”
“No!” she gasped. “I want a grand wedding. And then a honeymoon to Italy and Versailles!”
“Then you shall have it! However, I insist your father conducts the wedding service.”
“And my sisters can be bridesmaids?”
“But, of course. Will a week be long enough? If everyone were to travel to London tomorrow, I can make all the arrangements.”
And before she could move again, he took her in his arms once again and simply held her close to him.
“I love you,” she whispered fiercely. “And I too will endeavor to make you very happy. Michael.”
* * *
Grab a copy of the next sensual and witty book in the Forever Yours series!
Pre-Order Today
Maximillian Langdon, Earl Kentwood, is the author of the ton’s most salacious erotic literature: A guide to passionate romps between a lord and his lady. His name whispers on the tongues of gentlemen and ladies in shocked and admiring tones. Everyone believes he is London’s greatest lover, except Lord Kentwood is still a virgin. Now he's determined to rectify that situation before being revealed as a fraud, and London’s latest on dit!
With a reputation forever tarnished by scandal, Lady Amelie Weatherston is resigned to an unfulfilled life. She is also a member of a secret widow’s club. Her mission: to seduce London’s most delectable lover and report her findings to help her wicked widow friends keep their protectors happy! A passionate affair de Coeur starts and for a time banishes the loneliness in her heart. The earl of debauchery is not what he seems, and Amelie finds herself falling in love with a man who might never see her as more than a wicked widow not worthy of his heart.
Pre-Order An Unconventional Affair today!
Reviews are Gold to Authors
Gentle Readers:
Thank you for reading Sins of Viscount Worsley!
I hope you enjoyed the journey to happy ever after for Michael and Marianne. Reviews are a very important part of reaching readers, and I do hope you will consider leaving an honest review on Amazon adding to my rainbow. It does not have to be lengthy, a simple sentence or two will do. Just know that I will appreciate your efforts sincerely.
An Unconventional Affair
Maximillian Langdon, Earl Kentwood, is the author of the ton’s most salacious erotic literature: A guide to passionate romps between a lord and his lady. His name whispers on the tongues of gentlemen and ladies in shocked and admiring tones. Everyone believes he is London’s greatest lover, except Lord Kentwood is still a virgin. Now he's determined to rectify that situation before being revealed as a fraud, and London’s latest on dit!
With a reputation forever tarnished by scandal, Lady Amelie Weatherston is resigned to an unfulfilled life. She is also a member of a secret widow’s club. Her mission: to seduce London’s most delectable lover and report her findings to help her wicked widow friends keep their protectors happy! A passionate affair de Coeur starts and for a time banishes the loneliness in her heart. The earl of debauchery is not what he seems, and Amelie finds herself falling in love with a man who might never see her as more than a wicked widow not worthy of his heart.
Chapter 1
It was completely and utterly outrageous.
“I do beg your pardon,” replied Lady Amalie Victoria Weatherston, as she stared in astonishment at the four faces peering at her with varying degrees of scandalized expectations. Surely, they jested, and in quite poor taste.
“You heard us,” said Dorothea, Lady Wimbotton, their most illustrious and perhaps even the naughtiest widow of their small society of friends that met at least thrice per week at this particular townhouse in Russell Square.
Dorothea—Thea—stood, strolled over to the door of the drawing-room which had been left slightly ajar, and ensured it closed. “We can never be too careful,” she said with an airy laugh, before returning to her position on the plush sofa by the fire, casting Amalie an expectant stare.
Amalie took a careful sip of her ratafia, composing her scattered thoughts. Her heart pounded, the malaise, which had been dogging her, had simply vanished. How extremely alarming and all from a ridiculous suggestion which certainly should not even bear consideration. Her reaction would bear introspection later when she was alone in her bedchamber with her memories of him—Maximilian Langdon, Earl Kentwood, renowned as the author of the ton's most salacious erotic literature: A Guide to Passionate Romps between a Lord and his Lady.
“Are you not to answer us, Amalie,” Julianna—Jules—said, her dark blue eyes soft with amusement. “I told everyone we would have rendered you speechless!”
Amalie took another sip of her wine, or more like several unladylike gulps. “Surely, I misunderstood your meaning, Thea. Did you…did you say I must seduce London’s most profligate rake and make him my protector? That is what you all wanted to discuss with me so urgently?”
There it was again, that very nervous flutter stirring in her stomach. Or was it anticipation? Good heavens, surely not!
“Yes,” her four friends said in unison, startling her.
Clearly, they had had a tête-à-tête before her late arri
val. Now she understood the probing stares she had received for the last hour, the insistence they had a discussion instead of playing their usual games of charades and cards while drinking wine, brandy, catching up on gossip, and sharing their dreams and hopes.
“Me…seduce Lord Kentwood?” she drawled with affected indifference, staring at her friends in bewildered amusement.
“Yes!”
Something unknown darted through her heart, a wonderful sense of thrill. Amalie was the most wretched of creatures to be so effortlessly intrigued. Entice London’s most depraved and wildly exciting lover?
“I cannot credit you would even suggest that I should undertake…such…such a…” words failed Amalie as she grappled with finding the right words to express her astonishment.
“You are the most suitable one of our group as you are without a protector,” Bess, Countess Hufford said, taking a careful sip of her wine, her deep brown eyes burning into Amalie.
The Countess was Amalie’s dearest friend, and Bess of all people knew how unhappy Amalie had been for the last few years. Bess also knew the truth of Amalie’s situation—that at five and twenty, she remained untouched, despite having been married for two years before being widowed.
Certainly, she hadn’t expected her closest friend to agree with this!
‘There are days I am so desperate to assuage the yawning emptiness which lingers inside me, Bess.’
Words Amalie had whispered to her friend only last week as they reposed on this very carpet, giggling like loons after drinking too much wine. They had been foxed, but it seemed her friend had taken Amalie’s wistful words to heart.
“I daresay no one needs to undertake this at all,” she said a bit primly. “To what end would I need to seduce Lord Kentwood or make myself open to his advances? I am not seeking to be the mistress to any lord.” How odd that Amalie felt this surge of anxiety. It is just a suggestion! “Melinda is also without a protector. Why has this suggestion not been put to her?”