Vanquishing the Viscount

by Elizabeth Keysian

  James quirked an eyebrow at his friend, then waved at their surroundings. “This doesn’t strike me as an Aunt Letitia sort of affair. I suspect you persuaded her to come, in which case, you ought to be with her right now, keeping her company.”

  Charles was an entertaining companion, but selfish and prone to fits of temper. James felt a wash of relief that he’d removed Emma from Charles’s sphere of influence.

  She must never go back to Figheldene Hall.

  Charles pressed a hand to his heart. “You wound me, sir! I was just on an errand for Aunt Letitia, actually, but something distracted me. It looks to me as if you’ve abandoned Emma, so you’re a fine one to talk.”

  “Miss d’Ibert is returning to our party. I have someone I wish to speak with. Belinda, in fact. So you understand that I must leave you.”

  “You may entrust Emma to my capable hands,” Charles assured him. “We’ll catch up on the gossip while I return her to your party. Good luck with Miss Carslake. You never know, engagements can always be broken.”

  Damn. Even though the Rossbury party was just twenty yards away, he felt uneasy leaving Emma with Charles. What her opinion was on the matter, he couldn’t tell, for she was fanning herself too vigorously for him to see her expression. But if he didn’t go now, Belinda and Cornwallis would be lost from view.

  “I’ve no intention of breaking anyone’s engagement,” he said coolly. “Look after Miss d’Ibert, please, and give my regards to your aunt.”

  Then he strode off in search of his quarry, determined to sort out his feelings for Belinda Carslake.

  And for the dazzling young woman with glorious hazel eyes, who, somehow, had cracked the ice that imprisoned his heart.

  Chapter Thirty

  Emma’s first impression upon seeing Charles was guilt—although she couldn’t think why. In truth, she was finding it hard to think clearly, after James kissed her hair.

  “Aren’t you pleased to see me, my dear?” Charles inquired, steering her away from the bandstand—but also away from the Rossburys’ supper box. The countess was deep in conversation with George, therefore no one noticed Emma’s abduction.

  “Of course I’m pleased to see you, Charles. I just wish I’d known.” She’d much rather be with James—she couldn’t wait to find out what occurred with Miss Carslake.

  Charles grinned. “Oh, but it’s so much more fun to surprise people.”

  “You knew I was in Bath.” This was a statement, not an accusation. James had said he’d squared everything with the Keanes before giving her up to his mother’s care.

  “I’d have written and told you,” Charles replied, “but I could hardly write to you in Great Pulteney Street, could I? Not right under the countess’s nose. Take it as an indication of my affection that I did not write. I didn’t want to endanger your newfound status.”

  What affection? He was just a flirt—she’d be very surprised if he had any capacity for real love. “You could have written to me at my parents’ house,” she said irritatedly. “They would have passed the letter on.”

  Why was she even arguing with him? It would have been nice to know how Willie and Mary were getting on, yes, but that wasn’t urgent. What she ought to do was just walk away and have nothing further to do with Mr. Charles Keane. But then he’d think she’d become too toplofty to acknowledge him, and she’d hate anyone to believe that of her.

  “Your parents would have asked who it was from. Their heads may have been turned by the great bounty of the Rossburys, but not so much that they wouldn’t question a private letter in a strange hand arriving for their daughter. No, it was for the best—you can trust me on this.”

  She wasn’t sure she trusted him, at all. “I understand. But I really mustn’t spend too long away from my party,” she replied.

  “You want to escape me so soon after we’ve been reunited? Too, too cruel! I don’t know why I ever set my heart on you. I should find another, far more deserving.”

  “Don’t tease me, Mr. Keane. I know very well you haven’t set your heart on me.”

  “I’m mortally wounded! What if I were to say that I like you very much and that marriage is a distinct possibility? My good friend James has made it so much easier for us. My parents would never have accepted a governess as my wife, but the protégé of the Countess of Rossbury? Well, that is another matter entirely.”

  Had he been drinking? She must tread carefully, lest she put him into one of his pets. “I’ve learned to take nothing you say seriously, sir. Your plan would fall apart, anyway. James wrote to your parents to tell them of my change of circumstances. They know I’m only here for the duration of the Season and could be back at Figheldene within the month. So, you see, I’ll surely become a lowly governess again.”

  “I won’t hear of it. You must stay with the countess as long as you are able, and make what you can of it, for the Rossburys are rolling in funds. You might even be able to touch her for a contribution toward your dowry if you work on her in the right way.”

  She almost gaped at him. How could he think her that venal? Her opinion of him sank another notch. “I don’t need a dowry,” she said. “I’m not expecting to marry.”

  “Please, Emma, don’t be so severe. I’d hoped our reunion would be full of laughter and light, not a continual refusal on your part to recognize how important you are to me.”

  “I’m sorry. As I said, you have me at a disadvantage. I really hadn’t expected to see you here.”

  He had her at a decided disadvantage, in more ways than one. She’d no idea what part of Sydney Gardens he’d brought her to, and to call out would only cause a scene.

  “If I were a jealous type of fellow, I might say you were in a pretty cozy position with my friend James. What am I to read into that? I should punish you for making me jealous.”

  Ah, good. A small knot of revelers was approaching. Charles wouldn’t try anything in front of other people.

  Would he?

  “Please don’t see anything more than is the case. I was simply advising Viscount Tidworth that he must go and speak with Belinda Carslake and her fiancé, to show the world he’s not damaged by her refusal of him.”

  Charles took Emma’s elbow and steered her onto a new path. “You must be very close friends with him,” he said, hurrying her along, “if you can talk to him about so personal a subject.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. His mama sent me to speak to him about it.”

  Lowering his voice, Charles said acerbically, “But the countess didn’t command you to cling to his arm, nor did she command her son to look at you with calf eyes.”

  Emma gasped, flustered. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

  Had James truly been looking at her like that? How could she have failed to notice? She had thought—particularly after that light kiss on her hair—he was thinking of her more as a sister than a lover.

  She suddenly hoped she was mistaken.

  “Ah! Her newfound status has given Miss Hibbert more backbone. I like it. Now, take some advice from me, my dear. You mustn’t give Tidworth a second thought. He’s far too dull for someone as lively as you. He won’t gamble, he doesn’t keep mistresses, and he never drinks too much. He just hides out in the country throwing charity balls, riding, and sparring with his punchbag. He may be my good friend, but I have to work hard to make him companionable.”

  Charles had continued walking, leading her along a narrow garden path. Now they were hemmed in by darkness, and the air felt much cooler.

  But enough was enough.

  She broke away from him and looked around. “Where are we?” she demanded.

  “In the grotto, and luckily for us, we’re alone. Which allows me to stake my prior claim to you.”

  Seizing her about the waist, he spun her around and pressed his lips greedily over hers.

  Dear lord, no! This was a public place. If anyone were to come upon them, the gossip would spread like wildfire. Word would get back to the countess, who’d throw her over.
Emma would be irretrievably ruined, and her family would be abandoned by all their new friends.

  Summoning up every ounce of strength she possessed, she tried to wriggle free. But Charles was too strong. His lips moved hungrily against hers until the painful pressure forced her to open her mouth. His tongue swept in, beating aside her resistance and claiming mastery. One of his hands was rooted painfully in her hair, while the other slid over her body, drawing her against him.

  At the risk of enraging him, she kicked him in the shins with all her might, and he let go of her with a yelp.

  “Mr. Charles, stop!” she snapped. “Or must I scream for help?”

  “You won’t do that,” he panted. “You love the thrill that comes with the danger of discovery, just as much as I do.”

  Wherever had he got that idea? Being unmasked at the Birney House ball had hurt her deeply. She’d learned her lesson then and would never take such a risk again.

  “I’m not nearly so adventurous as you think,” she told him, taking another hurried step closer to freedom.

  “Very well. You wish to tease me, I see. By denying me my pleasure, you hope to make my feelings stronger.”

  “Not at all,” she ground out, straightening her gloves and patting her hair back into place. There were several long hairpins in it, should a weapon be needed. “I’m quite above such behavior.”

  He looked at her for a long moment, and she held his gaze steadily, determined to show no sign of weakness. At length he said, “I’m sure you are, my darling. I do but jest. Now, we mustn’t be seen leaving the grotto together. You go first, from this entrance, and I’ll go a bit later from the farther one.”

  Her steps wobbled as she walked away, with no idea of where she was headed. She felt exhausted from her battle, but guilty, too. Had she done something at Figheldene to encourage him? The countess would be appalled if she ever found out what Charles Keane had just done to her protégé. And as for James…well, she couldn’t answer for what his feelings might be on the matter.

  More through luck than judgment, she found her way back to the supper box. The countess gave her a cursory nod of recognition, then returned to her conversation.

  What a relief! Emma feared her guilt must be obvious—her lips felt swollen, and her face burned from the chafing of Charles’s cheek. It could be a while before she recovered herself.

  “Emma. Please forgive me for abandoning you like that.”

  James! Her smile wobbled as he took the seat next to her, and she looked down at her hands. If only he knew what he’d abandoned her to! But how could she tell him? Family honor meant a lot to him, and he’d probably call Charles out for interfering with his mother’s protégé, for all that they were old friends.

  She sucked in a steadying breath, then asked softly, “May I ask how it went with Miss Carslake?”

  “Walk with me. My heart is too full to be still. I need to walk about and tell you all, for I cannot be calm until I’ve done so. Shall we?”

  He took her hand and sped off with her, stealing her breath as she struggled to match his long stride.

  Whatever was wrong with him? He didn’t seem to know or care where he was going. How far must they walk before he eventually started talking?

  At last they came to a halt beside a statue of a satyr bathed in moonlight. James took her hand between both of his and said earnestly, “My dearest Emma, I have to tell you—no, this is not the moment. But I need you to know my eyes are opened. I’ve been such a fool. People must have thought I’d lost my reason. But they do say love is blind, do they not?”

  She gazed up at his face, the moon’s silver glow glittering in his gray eyes and picking out the high cheekbones and noble forehead—and knew she was being treated to something unique. This was a very rare glimpse of the real James Markham. Not Viscount Tidworth, but the man beneath the title. He was ready to open his heart to her, a heart too long hidden behind the fortress of propriety and rank.

  She smiled at him encouragingly. “Forgive me, sir, but you’re not making any sense.”

  “There is no sense in it, don’t you see?” he exclaimed. “It was all a foolish infatuation—there was no sense about it, at all. Had I been able to see clearly, I would have realized that Belinda Carslake is a shallow, grasping, manipulative young woman with no saving grace but her appearance. I could kick myself for allowing her veneer of charm and girlish playfulness to blind me to the truth.”

  Emma blinked in surprise. “What truth is that?”

  He was grinning broadly, evidently pleased with himself, and she couldn’t help but be moved by his infectious joy.

  Sweeping her hands to his chest, where he pressed them to his heart, he explained, “Miss Carslake has no good character, knowledge, or skills to recommend her. Why, she can’t even draw, her French is nothing to yours, and her dancing is no better than average. Just a few minutes in conversation with Belinda and Cornwallis bored me silly. I can’t believe I never saw this before. At least, I should have realized it the moment I met you, Emma—a woman of true depth, courage, experience, compassion, opinion. I accept every complaint you’ve ever thrown at me, for I deserved them all. Dearest Emma, can you ever forgive me?”

  His head was bent close to hers, his expression soft as his gaze roved over her face. His smile enveloped her, and she knew she should never have considered him her enemy. “I’ve never heard you quite so voluble before, James,” she said with a laugh.

  “Don’t tease me,” he reprimanded. Releasing her, he placed his hands on her shoulders, bringing his face so close to hers their foreheads were nearly touching. “I’ve you to thank for more than you know,” he said, his breath wafting her cheek.

  Then he closed his eyes and brushed his lips across hers.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Emma felt as if a spark had been struck in the darkness, a flicker of illumination like a physical thing. The touch of James’s lips ignited every nerve, shooting darts of fire through her entire body…yet the touch was so light it was barely there at all. He drew his head back, looked at her for a heartbeat, then joined his mouth with hers again.

  There was no grasping, no bruising, just a slow, sensual caress that stirred every fiber of her being and set up an answering yearning deep inside. She leaned in to him, increasing the pressure of the kiss, and he moved his head, drinking from her mouth, cupping her face tenderly as the kiss deepened.

  He broke away—much to her disappointment—and murmured, “You’re so lovely. How could I not have seen clearly what was before me all this time? Or rather I did see, but dared not act, for fear of driving you away. I don’t know how I could have borne that. You are so much better for me than Belinda. I thank the gods I found you.”

  “James…” This was too much. She couldn’t cope with any declarations, not after what she’d just let Charles do. She wasn’t worthy.

  “Hush.” James rested his forehead against hers for a moment, and when she leaned in to him again and closed her eyes, he placed a delicate kiss on each eyelid before seeking her mouth once more.

  Her mind screamed that she should give him no more ground than she’d given Charles, but her body took no notice. She was completely under the spell James was weaving with his gentle touch, his teasing lips, and his gradual coaxing of desire.

  She felt him opening up to her, inviting her to touch him, to explore his taut muscles and broad shoulders, to run her hands over the mounded biceps beneath his jacket. The dry heat of his body spilled through the cloth, igniting her fingertips, making every touch a new exhilaration, a fascinating discovery.

  This was a man who put heart, soul, and body into his kiss. She felt melded to him, as if they were one being.

  All too soon, he pulled away. Long before she’d finished exploring the magic of his kiss. She swayed toward him, her hand pressing against his chest.

  Where it encountered something hard and flat in his inside breast pocket. Most men would have had a handkerchief, or perhaps a pocket book
in there. But this was oval in shape, like a picture frame.

  “What’s this?” she asked, then immediately regretted the question. It would be a picture of Belinda, wouldn’t it?

  Or would it?

  James’s hand closed over hers. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Just a picture of…my brother Nathaniel.”

  Her brows snapped together at his hesitation. Why ruin a wonderful moment by lying to her? Keeping her voice nonchalant, she said, “Oh, but I’d love to see it. Is it a miniature?”

  “Um…not exactly. I don’t want to depress you with a picture of my dead brother.”

  “James, I’m not sure you’re telling me the truth.” She used her best schoolmistress voice, trying to make light of something that was making her feel increasingly uncomfortable.

  He pushed a hand through his hair, then exhaled slowly. “You’re quite correct. Very well, I’ll show you, but you’ll think me a damn fool.”

  He released her hand, removed the oval case from his pocket, and gave it to her.

  Heart thumping in trepidation, and wishing to goodness she’d curbed her curiosity, she walked over to the nearest lantern and opened up the hinged frame.

  He hadn’t been entirely untruthful. There were two portraits enshrined there, one of a young man in military uniform who bore a strong resemblance to James. This must be the deceased Nathaniel.

  The other portrait was a sketch of a woman’s face, drawn in three-quarter profile.

  Her face.

  She went numb, not sure what to think.

  A moment later she felt the warmth of James’s presence at her back.

  “It was foolish of me to keep it, wasn’t it?” he said, his voice soft, flowing over her like silk on a summer’s day. “How presumptuous of me to carry your picture, when for most of our acquaintance, we’ve barely been friends. But I hoped you wouldn’t always think me detestable.”