Reckless Viscount

by Amy Sandas

  He had obviously taken time to clean up as well. His neckcloth was back in place, his shirt and coat fully fastened, his hair restyled in current fashion. His jaw was cleanly shaved and Abbigael allowed herself to feel a pang of wistful regret. The unshaven jaw had lent him a touch of roughness that provided a much needed balance to the otherwise overwhelming perfection of his face.

  He caught sight of her right away, standing as she was like a half-wit in the center of the room. His smile was quick and he held out his hand in a silent gesture urging her to come to him. Something flipped over in her stomach, making her feel oddly giddy and tentative at the same time. She crossed to him, trying not to fidget or trip or otherwise show her nervousness.

  When she placed her hand lightly in his, he enclosed her fingers in a secure grip and gently pulled her toward him. She didn’t resist. Even when he drew her right up along his side and dipped his head until his lips hovered against the outer curve of her ear.

  She felt the warmth of his body, smelled the masculine scent of his skin, heard the subtle rasp of his breath and worried about the steadiness of her legs.

  “Ready for this, Irish?”

  She lifted her gaze from the artful folds of his neckcloth, past the newly shaved line of his jaw. When she reached his eyes, she saw a glint of anticipation in his gaze that left her breathless.

  She moved her head in a series of silent nods before she finally said, “I am.”

  “Come along then,” he replied as he turned and pulled her through the door and into the misty morning air. His steps were long and difficult for her to keep up with, but his grip on her hand was secure. They made it nearly across the courtyard in front of the inn before she managed to gather her thoughts enough to speak.

  “I need to tell you something. Something important.”

  “It can wait.” His words were tossed over his shoulder as he continued toward one of the small out buildings beside the inn.

  She fortified her resolve and replied firmly to the breadth of his back. “It cannot. There is something I must say.”

  “We will talk later. I promise.” This time, he didn’t even bother to turn his head to speak to her.

  Abbigael craned her neck to look around his shoulder as they approached the open doors of the small building. She caught a very brief glimpse of warm candlelight, Mirren and their driver standing on either side of a center stand, behind which stood their burly innkeeper. She couldn’t believe she didn’t even know the man’s name.

  A sudden rush of some inner strength flew through her and she managed to create enough force in her body to pull back just before they reached the raised stoop. She swung herself to the side and pressed her back against the outer wall of the building.

  Since he hadn’t released her hand, Leif followed her change in course.

  They stood toe to toe, face to face, just to the side of the doorway that would lead them to a new future. Their chests rose and fell visibly and their breath came in quick puffs from the brisk walk. He looked down at her with an impatient little dip in his brow that she was beginning to become familiar with.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Yes. No.” Abbigael bit her lip. She was not handling this very well. How does one begin when they need to confess their darkest secret?

  “My lord—”

  “Leif.”

  She frowned at his interruption, then sighed.

  “Leif, before…before I can marry you, I need to tell you something about myself.”

  “Surely, it can wait until later.” He quirked a persuasive smile and gestured toward the door. “They are waiting for us.”

  “No, it cannot wait. What I have to tell you is vitally important.”

  He chuckled then. “Come on now, Irish. Don’t you think you are being a bit dramatic?”

  Abbigael hadn’t stomped her foot in frustration since she was a small girl no higher than her father’s waistcoat, but in that moment she had to fight the urge to do just that. She did not appreciate him making light of an issue that had tormented her for years.

  “People believe I am insane.”

  His eyes widened and that impatient dip in his brows slid a significant distance upward in surprise. She bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to state it so bluntly, but his attitude had gotten to her.

  “Excuse me?” His voice was slightly choked.

  At least now she had his full attention.

  She closed her eyes and rested her head back against the wall. Maybe it would be easier to confess if she didn’t have to constantly war against his perceptive gaze.

  “My mother died rather tragically when I was young, and for a time, I think I very well may have gone a bit mad. I don’t remember much about it,” she swallowed hard against the lump rising in her throat, “aside from the terrifying loneliness.”

  “And your father sent you into seclusion where the rumors of your madness persisted and came back to haunt you when you made your debut in Dublin.”

  Abbigael snapped back to attention, her eyes opening to stare at him in startled confusion. His choked tone had not been a reaction of shock at all, but had actually been barely contained amusement.

  “How did you know?”

  He smiled and took up her other hand in his. “Sweetheart, the sad tale has been told all across London. One would have to be holed up under a rock not to have heard it.”

  She tried to pull her hands away from his. “I am unbelievably pleased you find this issue so amusing.”

  “Settle down, Irish. I do not find your suffering amusing in the slightest. Only the fact that you thought it so important to tell me about it prior to the wedding. Did you think it would change my mind?”

  “Well, I thought I should tell you because…yes, I believed it could change your mind. All the others ran off when they were faced with the possibility of marrying a madwoman. No one intentionally wants to introduce insanity into the family bloodlines, you know.”

  Leif smiled and lifted her hands to flatten her palms against his chest. He held them there for a moment, trapped against the hard wall of his muscled chest. Then he lifted his hands to gently frame her face. His multi-colored eyes bored into hers with uncharacteristic solemn intensity.

  “Are you insane, Abbigael Granger?”

  She looked into his eyes, felt the thudding of his heart beneath her hands, and a deep stirring flared to life low in her belly.

  “No, I am not.”

  The grin that widened his mouth then belied the solemnity of the moments that preceded it. His eyes brightened with the mischief and mayhem she expected from him.

  “Then we have nothing to worry about. Besides, even if you were a touch off, it would certainly ensure that life never got too dull.”

  Abbigael flashed her fiercest scowl at the obvious teasing. “People will still talk, you know. Many of them will believe the worst of me.”

  “They already believe the worst of me. We may as well be a matched pair.” He turned and tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow. Gesturing to the doorway with a jerk of his head, he asked “Shall we? Or do you have more craven confessions to make?”

  Abbigael made a show of thinking for a moment. “No, I think the rest can remain a surprise for later.”

  Leif chuckled. “Excellent. I love surprises.”

  The ceremony was finished in less than fifteen minutes. Leif repeated the vows with a wicked smirk and a subtle tone of irreverence Abbigael hoped only she could detect. And when it was her turn to speak, she was pleased to find that her voice was clear and strong.

  As the innkeeper spoke of the promise of marriage, Abbigael was struck by the reality of the moment. She was joining her life to the man beside her without the presence or blessing of her father. Without any sense of security for what the future may hold.

  A rush of dizziness washed over her. The edges of her vision became hazy and faded and she swayed very slightly on her feet.

  Leif’s strong arm came around her and he pull
ed her against his side as he turned toward her. The solid presence of his body steadied her. Then with his other hand, he lifted her chin. In that moment, when she met his eyes, a piercing bolt of heat speared directly through her center as if branding her soul. Her breath ceased and her bones melted. It was instantaneous and complete. The warm kiss he pressed to her lips sealed their vows and their fates.

  And then the ceremony was done. She was the Viscountess Neville. Leif’s wife.

  Papers were signed. The innkeeper’s large hands clapped Leif on the back and Mirren embraced her in a quick hug. Then the entire wedding party, if it could be called such, left the chapel and made their way back to the inn.

  Abbigael and Leif walked side by side, following the others. She was determined not to look at her new husband, fearing he would see in her eyes what she was too overwhelmed to conceal. She had never considered she might be a lusty sort, but with the ceremony now concluded, all she could think about was the wedding night. Would he take her to their room immediately? An image of lying naked with him in a narrow bed in the full light of day flashed through her head and she shivered as sparkling anticipation raced over her skin.

  “Are you cold?”

  “No. No, I am fine.”

  She was not fine. In fact, she was overly warm.

  They were almost to the inn, only a handful more steps and they would be through the door. Her mounting expectation created tingling along her nerves and a rush through her blood. Her knees started to feel weak and she was sorely tempted to sneak a quick peek at Leif.

  He was her husband now. She was his wife. Or would be once the deed was consummated.

  Goodness, why couldn’t she keep such thoughts from her head? She should be feeling at least a modicum of modesty and reluctance for what was to come. Wasn’t that the picture of a blushing bride?

  He took her elbow as they crossed the raised threshold into the inn. The casual contact nearly had her jumping out of her skin.

  If Leif noticed her odd behavior, he chose not to acknowledge it.

  “I took the liberty earlier of arranging a meal,” he advised. “While you eat, I will see to having some additional comforts added to the carriage for the drive back to London.”

  Abbigael forgot her determination to avoid his eyes and turned to look at him in surprise.

  “What? We are leaving right away?”

  He nodded. “We must get back. There is much to do and the Blackbournes will be worried about you.”

  “Yes. I just thought…” Her voice faded away.

  How did one admit to one’s husband that you were hoping to go to bed with him? Foolish girl. Maybe such things were never done in daylight. She would simply have to wait for tonight. They were not in such a great hurry anymore that they couldn’t stop at an inn to pass the night.

  Leif dipped his chin and seemed to search her gaze.

  “You thought what?”

  Did she see concern in his eyes? Amusement? Curiosity? She couldn’t tell. His emotions were well shuttered and her own rioting feelings confused her perceptions.

  “Nothing. You are right. There is no telling what tales have spread through town. It is best to return and take control of the scandal as quickly as possible.”

  “Right. Well, eat your fill. We will take a basket along for later, but I doubt it will be as satisfying as what you will enjoy this morning.”

  “You are not eating?”

  She tried to keep her tone just light enough to indicate she had no investment in his reply one way or another. In truth, she was terribly conflicted. On one hand, she craved a few moments to herself to bring her wayward thoughts and frazzled nerves back under control. On the other hand, she desired his company even if it was for the innocuous act of breaking their fast together.

  She was not the indecisive sort. When had she become such a ninny?

  “I ate earlier. I will see to getting everything ready to go. Come out to the carriage once you are finished.”

  Abbigael stared at his broad back as he walked away in a swift and purposeful stride. Her gaze remained focused on the doorway for several minutes after he passed through and disappeared outside. She struggled to find an explanation for his transition from teasing scoundrel to the formal and distant gentleman who had just left.

  Was it possible she was not the only one who felt intrinsically altered by the ceremony that joined them?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Abbigael paced across the small room, her bare feet padding softly on the woolen rug.

  She had changed into her nightgown and her hair fell freely down her back. It had been brushed until the pale locks reflected gold in the candlelight. There was no clock in the room, but her internal timekeeper told her a few hours had passed since her agitation had begun to grow. Hours of pacing, momentary stops to stare out the window at the black starry sky, then more pacing. Hours of listening to the noise increase from the common room below as patrons enjoyed their evening, and then slowly decrease again until only the occasional masculine shout and rare scuffle of a heavy chair scraping across the wood floor could be heard.

  They had arrived at the posting inn late into the evening. It had been obvious that Leif would have preferred to keep going, but the exhausted condition of the driver and horses, not to mention his bride, must have changed his mind.

  The small rural inn was brightly lit and filled to capacity for the night.

  Upon entering the common room, Abbigael and Leif had to side-step a family of four small children being gathered from the dining table and ushered up the stairs to their beds. The youngest babe was propped to his weary mother’s chest, his long pale eyelashes brushing his round cheeks and his mouth slack with sleep.

  Abbigael felt a gentle tightening in her womb.

  Across the room, a trio of young men lounged haphazardly around a table in the corner with large cups of ale in their hands. They appeared well on their way toward forgetting the rest of the evening.

  Leif led Abbigael to a table near the stairs, then went to arrange for a room and a meal.

  They ate their meat pies in relative silence.

  Leif had maintained an attitude of distraction throughout the day. Once again, Abbigael endured the lengthy drive without a willing conversationalist. She considered forcing him into talking with her, but she didn’t exactly know any good tactics to accomplish such a thing. Her typical attempts at conversation were quickly met with short, monosyllabic replies that only succeeded in increasing her irritation. Finally, she surrendered to the routine she had developed on the drive north and turned sideways on the seat to train her gaze out the window.

  She figured it was either that, or she would start searching the carriage for items to throw at her new husband.

  After the silent drive and the equally silent meal, Leif muttered something about needing to check on the carriage and horses and that she should go on up to the room and he would be up once he finished with his tasks.

  That had been at least—Abbigael stopped her pacing for a moment to recalculate how much time had passed—four hours ago. Which meant it had to be sometime after two o’clock in the morning. She stared at the closed door of her room, feeling heavily dejected.

  He had said he would be up, hadn’t he? It was their wedding night, after all.

  She sat on the edge of the bed. It was a surprisingly large bed for the otherwise smaller proportions of the rest of the inn. Even the innkeeper and his wife had been petite in stature.

  Where was he?

  She looked down at her hands lying motionless in the virginal white folds of her nightgown. Her fingers were bare. Ringless. There was nothing about her at the moment that felt even a wee bit like a wife. Her fingers curled toward her palms until her hands formed tight fists. This is not how she intended to start her marriage. Alone in her room, waiting helplessly, and rather breathlessly, for a husband who may never come. She wanted a partnership, an equal share of wishes and desires, compromise and understanding. She
was not going to sit and wait to find out what her husband wanted from her. She was going to find him and tell him what she wanted.

  She wanted him.

  Abbigael stood and strode purposefully to where her shawl was draped over the back of a chair. She whipped it around her shoulders, covering herself from neck to knee.

  There was no time for dressing.

  Then she left her room, marched down the short hall in her bare feet and descended the narrow stairs with head held high. At the bottom of the stairs, she stopped, her strong advance halted by the warm velvety sound of Leif’s distinctive laugh. It was a sound that had sparked warmth in her blood many times, yet this time it created an icy clutch of dread around her heart.

  She tightened her fingers in the material of her shawl as she forced another step, then another until she could peek around the corner.

  She found him immediately, sitting amongst the group of young men she had noted on their arrival. The gentlemen, who had already been enjoying their ale hours ago, now swayed in their seats and bobbed their heads dangerously close to their ale mugs. They shouted over each other in boisterous conversation.

  But Leif didn’t bob or sway.

  He sat steady and secure, though undeniably relaxed in spite of, or perhaps because of, the buxom barmaid who enjoyed the comfort of his strong thighs beneath her buttocks and his large hand at the curve of her hip. The bold woman was leaning against Leif’s chest, her breasts pressed nearly up under his chin, to whisper something in his ear. The maid’s pouty lips caressed the curve of his ear as she spoke.

  Abbigael felt sick.

  Backing around the corner out of view, she pressed her back to the wall as she took long, steady breaths to dispel the deep nausea that churned in her stomach.

  Stupid, stupid girl. What had she expected? The man was what he was.

  A womanizer, a seducer, a scoundrel.

  She had known that from the beginning. Hadn’t she even warned herself against him that very first day? So why would she expect marriage to make any difference to a man like that? He had told her from the start that he needed her money, not her. Clearly, he had a bevy of females falling over themselves to claim a spot in his lap and in his bed.