In Love with the Viscount (American Heiress Trilogy Book 3)

by Julianne MacLean

  “But perhaps I owe it to Harold to tell him,” Damien said. “He doesn’t know he’s about to marry a wood nymph.”

  Her responding smile made his breath catch.

  She let her head tip onto the chair back and gazed into the flames again, looking tired. Damien allowed her some peace, though he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her enchanting profile. As he watched her in the firelight, he contemplated their situation.

  If she were a different woman, and these were different circumstances, he would probably find a way to have her tonight. In his arms. Crying out his name as he took her to the heights of passion.

  But she was not another woman—she was his cousin’s intended—so he would not have her. Tonight, or any other night. He should not even think about it.

  “It’s getting late,” Lord Alcester said, rising to put another log on the fire. “You must be tired. I can help you up the stairs if you wish.”

  Adele watched his broad back as he set the log on the charred remains of another and used the poker to stir the heat. She felt a tremor of panic. She did not want to go back upstairs. She’d been locked in that room for three days, and her kidnapper was still up there. Dead.

  Lord Alcester leaned the poker against the stone hearth and turned to face her. He stared down at her for a long moment. “I’ll move the body,” he said, as if he’d read her thoughts.

  She considered it, but the sickening dread remained. “I would rather not go back up there. Could I sleep down here?”

  He gazed at her for another few seconds, and she recognized a flicker of sympathy and compassion in his eyes—an expression that eased the tension in her shoulders.

  “Of course. I’ll bring the bedding down.”

  He immediately went upstairs, and she listened to the sounds of his movements across the floor, then his boots tapping slowly back down the stairs. He reappeared with the hay tick, dragging it across the floor and setting it down a safe distance away from the fire. He took the blankets and shook them out on the other side of the room, then spread them on the tick.

  “Sleep here,” he said. “I can go upstairs to give you privacy, or sleep in the chair, whichever you prefer.”

  “The chair, if you don’t mind,” she told him.

  He nodded, then held out his hand. “May I assist you?”

  She allowed him to help her up, then crawled onto the makeshift bed and pulled the rough wool blanket over her.

  “I’ll be glad to leave this place,” she said, lying back and looking up at him where he stood tall over her.

  “That is understandable.” He turned and knelt in front of the fire again and used the poker to move the log, making sure it was catching the flame. Then he sat down in the chair.

  Adele closed her eyes and tried to go to sleep. The only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire. After about a half hour, Adele opened her eyes and looked at her rescuer.

  “I can’t sleep,” she said. “I haven’t been able to sleep at all over the past few days. Could we talk a little longer?”

  “Of course. What would you like to talk about?”

  She thought about it, then rolled onto her side and rested her cheek on her hands. “Tell me about Harold’s home—Osulton Manor. Have you been there?”

  “Been there?” he said, sounding surprised at her question. “I was raised there.”

  She rose up on her elbows. “You grew up with Harold?”

  “Yes. We’re like brothers. You didn’t know that?”

  “No. Harold and I didn’t have much time together in New York,” she explained. “Do your parents live at Osulton as well?”

  “My parents died when I was nine. That’s why I was sent to live with Harold’s family until I was old enough to take over my father’s estate.”

  “I’m very sorry.”

  He looked into the fire. “I suppose my life is divided in two, as well.”

  Adele nodded compassionately. “Do you visit Osulton often these days?” she asked.

  He seemed to require a moment to think about how to answer that question. He tilted his head from side to side. “As it happens, I am residing there again—temporarily—because I’ve rented out my London house for the Season, and I’m looking for tenants for my country house as well.”

  Because of money problems, she presumed.

  The conversation died for a few minutes. The wind whistled through the chimney, and the flames danced chaotically.

  Lord Alcester leaned his temple on a finger and stared down at her. “Tell me about how you met Harold.”

  Adele was happy to resume their conversation. She had spent too many days alone upstairs to enjoy any kind of silence now. “We met in Newport,” she replied, lying back on her side again. “As you know, he had taken a holiday in America over the winter, and my mother heard of his visit and arranged a ball in his honor. It was quite the affair,” she added, smiling. “Every Knickerbocker in New York was scrambling for an invitation.”

  “Knickerbocker?”

  Adele smiled again. “Would you like the long, drawn-out explanation?”

  He gestured with his hand. “We certainly don’t have much else to do.”

  She sat up. “All right then. Let me describe the social hierarchy of America to you. There is a very defined line between Old Money and New. I—as you may have guessed—am New Money. My father earned his fortune almost overnight, and as I mentioned before, took us from our one-room cabin in Wisconsin to a mansion on Fifth Avenue quicker than you can blink. To get to the point, Old Money is inherited, and those who have it are called Knickerbockers because most of them are descended from the early Dutch settlers who wore knee-length trousers. Like you, they can trace their family’s heritage back through generations. They live in Washington Square in plain brownstones, and consider themselves the social elite, while people like us are vulgar because we build showy mansions in the newer neighborhoods. And I will admit, our house is obscenely showy, but that’s my mother. She loves everything to be grandiose.”

  Lord Alcester’s lips turned up in a grin.

  “I think you’ll like her,” Adele continued, lying back down. “Or at the very least, you’ll find her amusing. She doesn’t put on any airs and sometimes ignores or protests certain social graces that have no practicality, which I suppose is why the Knickerbockers give her such a difficult time.”

  Lord Alcester leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his gaze intent upon hers. “I had no idea there was such a pecking order in America. I thought it was a classless society.”

  “On paper, perhaps,” she replied, tossing an arm up under her head again, “but if you could walk in my shoes in Newport for one day, you would feel the divisions as clearly as you feel your own here in England. It’s like walking into a brick wall sometimes.”

  He leaned back again, his dark eyes studying her with a serious intensity that unnerved her. “I am much enlightened, Miss Wilson. Was Harold aware of all this when he attended your ball? I can’t imagine he was.”

  “No, I don’t believe so. And I certainly wasn’t about to tell him.” She recognized her blunder as soon as she said it and felt her cheeks drain of color.

  Lord Alcester chuckled softly and crossed one booted leg over the other. “Don’t fret. Your secret is safe with me. It wouldn’t have mattered to him anyway. In his eyes, you’re either English or you’re not.”

  It should have been Lord Alcester’s turn to go pale, but he brushed it off with a clever retort. “In your case, you are most decidedly not English, and thank goodness for that, or I would be immensely bored right now.”

  The flattery came a little too close to a flirtation, and a flock of butterflies invaded Adele’s stomach. She was reminded of Lord Alcester’s scandalous reputation and felt a sudden measure of unease.

  “How did you go from a ball to a proposal?�
�� he asked, bringing the conversation back around to her and Harold.

  Adele looked up at the ceiling, determined to focus on the questions instead of the man. She thought about how quickly she and Harold had become engaged and could attribute it to one very obvious catalyst.

  “When you meet my mother,” she explained, “I’m sure you’ll notice that she is very ambitious and often impatient about getting what she wants. She has spared nothing to be accepted by the Knickerbockers in New York—and she’s managed to accomplish that since my sisters married a duke and a marquess. When she decided Harold was the one for me, she was equally determined.”

  “She decided?”

  Adele tried to explain. “Well...yes, she was the one to suggest that he would be a good match for me. My father came into the equation then. He was impressed with some of Harold’s ideas about science, and I believe he would like to be involved in one of Harold’s experiments—something to do with a new type of dye. He sees business potential there.”

  “Does he indeed? Harold didn’t mention that to me.”

  “Well, it’s all just in the idea stage. At any rate, my mother held a few more assemblies and invited Harold, and it wasn’t long before we both realized that she was right, and we were very comfortable with each other. I liked his sense of tradition, and he liked my—”

  “Yes?” Alcester leaned forward, radiating an intensity she’d never encountered in a person before. This cousin was a very potent human being, she realized, and she supposed that was why he had a reputation. Women were no doubt attracted to such strength, with a handsome face to go along with it. Even Adele found him intriguing, and certainly unnerving as well. He was her future cousin by marriage, however, so she would have to get used to him.

  “Well....” Her insides jangled. “He said he thought I would fit in very well in England, and I believe that is why we were drawn to each other. Compared to most other American women my age, I am perhaps more reserved than most. Perhaps he liked that about me.”

  He studied her for a moment. “You don’t seem sure that’s the reason.”

  “Well, I suppose I can only guess at why Harold thought I would fit in. He didn’t actually tell me.”

  Lord Alcester sat back again. “He told me. Would you like to know what he said?”

  She felt instantly wide awake. “He told you?”

  “Yes. We’re not only cousins, we are friends as well.”

  Adele found it odd that they were so close, considering how different they were in every way. Harold was shy and slightly awkward and never threatening, while Lord Alcester had an unmistakable hard edge to him. He was very confident. Especially around women. Reputedly, according to her sister, Sophia.

  Lord Alcester rested his temple on a finger again. “Harold told me that he admired your goodness. He even went so far as to say you might be a saint.”

  Adele plucked at the woolly blanket over her legs. “Ah. A saint.”

  “That doesn’t please you?”

  Adele wet her lips. “Lord Alcester, it’s strange. People have always told me how good I am, how agreeable and dependable. They look at me and they think I can do no wrong. Even my parents have always thought that. I don’t know why. I don’t know where it started. I certainly didn’t try to be a well-behaved child. I just was. At least, compared to my sisters, who were always trying to get me to join them in their mischief. The point is, I don’t know why I am perceived that way. I don’t consider myself overly righteous. Sometimes I even feel like an impostor.”

  “Have you ever done anything you knew was wrong?”

  She considered the question carefully. “Not really. I’ve made mistakes, of course. Everyone has.”

  “Have you ever wanted to do anything wrong?”

  A vivid memory of a red candy stick came swirling into her mind. She had seen it at the mercantile in Wisconsin when she was very small, but she’d had no money.

  “I once thought about stealing something when I was a child,” she said. “A piece of candy.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “No, I didn’t. It was very tempting, though,” she added with a smile. “It was the brightest, most colorful candy stick I’d ever seen, with a cherry drawn on the tag. I knew it would fit perfectly into my pocket, and no one would know if I was sneaky enough. I kept staring at it, imagining how I would hide it and keep it secret from my sisters. I picked it up and held it in my hand.”

  He smiled and nodded, seeming to understand. “But you didn’t take it,” he reminded her.

  “No, I put it back. So maybe I am a saint,” she said, mocking his insight. “If you could have seen that candy stick—”

  “I’ll bet it was delicious.”

  She sighed. “I’ve always wondered.”

  They watched the fire for a few more minutes until Lord Alcester stood. He picked up the cushion from the chair and tossed it onto the floor close to the fire, but a few feet away from where Adele lay. “I think if I am to sleep, I’ll need to stretch out,” he said.

  Adele shifted to get more comfortable. “The floor won’t be too hard? Or too cold?”

  He lay down on his side, facing her. “Not at all. This is a fine pillow, and my coat is warm. I expect to sleep quite well, in fact, because I found you today. Now I can finally relax and close my eyes.” He stared at her for a few seconds. “Good night, Miss Wilson.”

  “Good night.” Adele snuggled into her makeshift bed but continued to watch him in the firelight. She had to admit she was intrigued by him. He was so very different from Harold, yet they were close. She would like to know why and how.

  I expect to sleep quite well because I found you today. Now I can finally relax and close my eyes.

  She pondered that and imagined him riding across England on a mission to rescue her. He’d had to contend with the prospect of facing a kidnapper, or the prospect of finding her harmed. Or dead. He had likely worried over that prospect.

  And now, he had fulfilled his duty to Harold. His cousin and friend.

  Adele could only assume that Harold had been worried, too. She did not know because he had not come himself, but surely, he had lost sleep over her abduction. She certainly had. She was exhausted. Yet tonight, like the past three nights in a row, she did not want to close her eyes.

  This ordeal had been very difficult. She would be happy to return to her normal, safe life.

  Waking to the budding light of dawn the next morning, Damien opened his eyes. He lay on his side and looked at Miss Wilson across from him. She was asleep, facing him, her cheek resting on her hands, the blanket pulled up to her chin. Her lips were parted slightly, and her breathing was slow and steady. It would be best, he decided, if he could rise without waking her, and simply leave to fetch a coach and driver.

  He rose up on an elbow and looked around. The fire had gone out sometime during the night, and the cottage was cold. Damien blew into his fists to warm his hands. Miss Wilson made no sound, so he quietly rose to his feet.

  He stood gazing down at her in the early light of the morning. She was impossibly beautiful. Harold must have been distracted by something substantial to have forgotten to mention such a thing. Damien wondered if Harold realized how lucky he was, and if his cousin had been fighting lustful thoughts ever since he’d met her in America last spring.

  It was difficult, however, to imagine Harold having lustful thoughts about anything except his chemistry experiments. He had never described Adele—or any other woman, for that matter—in such a way. But he got a certain hot and bothered look in his eye when bubbles started to form in a beaker.

  Harold should have come, Damien thought suddenly with a slight twinge of reproach as he considered what Adele had suffered. How could Harold have trusted this important task to someone else, even if that someone was Damien, his cousin and best friend? How could Harold sleep at night, not knowi
ng if his beautiful fiancée was dead or alive? At the very least, he could have accompanied Damien.

  But Damien supposed that Harold had always preferred to keep his head in the sand, and likely always would. Damien and the rest of the family even helped Harold to bury his head on occasion. They often dealt with certain household problems themselves, keeping Harold in the dark, knowing that he preferred it that way because he loathed anything that got in the way of his experiments.

  In the very next instant, Damien felt guilty for being critical of Harold, his friend, who was a kind-hearted and principled person. Like Adele. Perhaps they were a perfect match.

  When it didn’t appear that Miss Wilson would stir any time soon, Damien combed his fingers through his hair and rubbed his face. He went outside and fetched a fresh bucket of water for Adele from the well and set it down quietly in front of the chair. He stared at her for another few seconds, admiring the slender curve of her hips and the feminine shape of her hands. He imagined her as a girl, staring longingly at that candy stick, and felt an odd mixture of amusement and pity. He wondered how many cherry candy-sticks she had resisted in her life, how many she had never tasted. Then he thought of Harold again. Harold would probably be very pleased that she had not taken the candy.

  Damien, on the other hand, wished he could get her one. He wouldn’t steal it, of course. He would pay for it. He would just like to see her face when she tasted it. He would enjoy watching her expression.

  He shook his head at himself and silently headed for the door. It was probably a good thing that they were leaving and heading back to civilization. Because Damien was beginning to find Miss Wilson far more appealing than he should.

  Chapter 3

  Shortly before noon, Adele went outside to meet Lord Alcester, who rode into the yard on his big, black horse. He swung down from the high saddle and landed gracefully on the ground. A coach was behind him, rumbling slowly up the hill.

  His hair was like a wild mane around his face, his coat blowing in the wind. It was difficult to imagine that this man was related by blood to her fiancé, for they were remarkably different in every way. Harold had red hair, and though he was tall, he was very slender, with small hands. Damien’s hands were large and strong.