Lizzie Tempest Ruins A Viscount (Felmont Brides Series Book 1)

by Maggie Jagger

Chapter 12

  Swallows dipped over the water surrounding Mr. Rackham, as he stood on his rocky perch a few yards from the shore. Mossy stones and rocks covered this part of the path circling the lake. They were remnants from work Lizzie had never ordered finished.

  The clapper bridge had been tipped on its side into the stream, forcing anyone venturing from the dower house to scramble over the trickling water as best they could or take the path through the trees and miss the view.

  The viscount waved to his friend and shouted, “Rax! What in hell’s name are you doing?”

  Startled, Mr. Rackham almost fell in.

  “Admiring the view and escaping from a hound from hell.” Mr. Rackham turned on his island, the remnants of a stone boat that had once graced the lake.

  Lizzie had ordered it dismantled after discovering it was a trysting spot for the servants. She could still see the clenching white buttocks and hear the moans, when she had stumbled on a footman and one of the maids, while out getting some air.

  “Jump back before you fall in,” called the Beast. “No doubt, my lovely wife will blame me for it, if you get wet.”

  “You had better beware,” called Mr. Rackham. “I swear it is the biggest hound I’ve ever seen.”

  Dace stepped onto the rocks near the water’s edge. He offered his hand to his friend. “Jump! Don’t worry, dogs always love me. Damned embarrassing.”

  The viscount’s friend snorted in a way that left no doubt of his scorn. “Don’t know if you are bragging or complaining. A snarling hound from hell tried to sniff me where men don’t like to be sniffed. I leaped here to save my unborn children’s lives. You might want to watch out for–” Mr. Rackham teetered on his rock. “Heavens! They are right behind you! ’Ware!”

  Her spaniel ran up, stumpy tail wagging. Lizzie bent to pat and kiss its silken head.

  “Lizzie, is this the dog that saved you from Con?” the Beast asked. “How cowardly of him to be intimidated by a spaniel.”

  He bent down from his great height to pet Spring, who snarled at him and hid behind Lizzie’s skirts.

  She looked around. “I want you to stay very still, Felmont, because the dog that stopped Con is behind you.”

  She hoped the sight of her Russian wolfhound might instill terror, or at the very least, respect.

  Czarina had forded the stream to approach from the rear and now stood loftily surveying the scene. The long aristocratic snout looked nothing like a Felmont nose, regardless of her stepfather’s comment.

  Water dripped from the bottom of Czarina’s wavy coat, which was adorned by twigs, last years oak leaves and a generous portion of mud. She raised her top lip in a warning display of large canine teeth.

  “Good Lord, Lizzie, it’s a wonder there was anything left of Con to lock up. Look at the size of that beast. Oh, I forgot, I am the only beast here. Do, I beg you, let me share the title with that Russian wolfhound. What do you call it?”

  “Czarina. If you’d step back from her, it might be best. She is very protective of me.” Lizzie walked with care over the wet rocks towards her dog.

  The viscount obeyed as Con had done, his ardor suddenly dulled when self-preservation became uppermost in his mind.

  “Let us hope we never entertain any Russian royals, dear wife. I am sure naming your bitch, Czarina, is a capital offence to them. Don’t be jealous if she decides she loves me.”

  Lizzie stepped off the mossy stones at the edge of the lake. Her hound bounded forward to greet her with restrained enthusiasm as it tried to keep one eye on the tall stranger.

  The spaniel suddenly rolled on its back, inviting the Beast to stroke him.

  To her surprise, the viscount crouched down to oblige.

  “If only you were as inviting, Lizzie.” He gave a mock sigh of longing. “Perhaps at midnight?”

  Odious man!

  She ignored him and took her hound by the collar to lead her away. “What are you doing out by yourself? Are you happy to be home? Were you looking for me?”

  Mr. Rackham leaped for the shore. Czarina gave a ferocious growl and lunged towards him, giving voice to her disapproval of his escape. Poor Mr. Rackham cursed and tried to change direction in mid-air. He landed with a splash in the water.

  Lizzie’s hand was trapped in the hound’s collar. Czarina dragged her over towards Mr. Rackham until her shoe caught on a stone at the water’s edge. Lizzie stumbled into the lake.

  Czarina jumped in with her and dragged her further into the lake in pursuit of Mr. Rackham who splashed noisily in the opposite direction while making for the shore.

  Knowing nothing bigger than tadpoles and sticklebacks lived in the pond weed, helped Lizzie keep calm. She kept upright by holding onto her hound as they both waded about the edge of the lake through the long strands of green, looking for an easy way to climb out over the tumbled rocks.

  The Beast rushed over, his boots slithered on the wet stones. His horrified expression was the same one he’d worn when he was twelve years old and he’d thrown her in the lake.

  Thanks to James, she now knew it had been an accident. Her unfamiliarity with the Felmont face had led her to believe the worst—that he’d meant to drown her. No such ignorance plagued her now. All those years of fearing him were wasted.

  Being thrown in the lake was bad enough, but she had also been forced to witness his father’s savage beating. Then, in her innocence, she had thought it proved the Beast’s murderous intent, instead of it simply demonstrating his father’s violent nature.

  Hysterical laughter rose in her breast. The Beast’s distress at her wet feet suddenly seemed so ludicrous. She had feared his violence for nothing. Lizzie collapsed over Czarina’s back and laughed out loud. The viscount’s concerned expression fueled her giggles.

  What a fool she had been!

  The Beast kept a wary eye on her wolfhound’s teeth while he edged closer to pull her out.

  Czarina lunged at the viscount with a howl of rage. Lizzie lost her grip on the collar. The hound leaped out of the water at the Beast’s throat.

  He staggered back and held off Czarina with his hands round her neck, but the Russian hound weighed more than Lizzie and he could only use one arm with any strength to repel her.

  Hound and man wrestled and danced their way across the mossy stones at the edge of the lake, with the Beast retreating.

  Lizzie followed them in the water, still unable to climb out, still rocked by giggles.

  That was the problem with undignified, hysterical laughter—once started it was impossible to stop and usually ended in tears, as it had done that night in his bed. The water grew deeper until it crept up her thighs and her skirts floated about her in the water. “Stop, Czarina! Stop! He is a friend!” she cried out between squeaks and gurgles. “Stop!”

  Her hound gave a great cough.

  “Don’t strangle her! Beast! Let go!” Lizzie tried to climb out, using the viscount’s dark coat to aid her. Still she laughed. “She won’t bite you. She never bites.”

  “Don’t, Lizzie!” With a cry, he stumbled and fell. A mass of man and hound landed on her. She sprawled her full length and was crushed under them, down into the green water weeds to watch her air escape in a rush of bubbles. For an instant, she lay under two feet of water with them both on top of her.

  Feet scrabbled on either side of her until a strong arm pulled her up.

  The Beast hauled her from the water and swung her up in the air. Czarina scrambled out and ran away. Lizzie gasped for air then held her breath to stem her giggles as Mr. Rackham scrambled over the rocks to reach them.

  “Lizzie, breathe. Help me lift her onto my shoulder, Rax. Not that one!” Dace shouted.

  Lizzie swung in the air. A hard shoulder pushed against her stomach, forcing all the air out of her lungs. Her sides ached, she had to stop laughing. Drat the man!

  “Let me go. Let me down or else....” Lizzie lost all control, she laughed until tears coursed down her cheeks. She giggled when the viscou
nt set her on her feet.

  He was pale under the tanned skin of his face. He held her head and wiped her tears away gently with his thumbs, while her lungs skipped, her heart thudded and she fought for control.

  “Lady Felmont, are you–” Mr. Rackham tsked the rest of his words. He had a glint in his eye as he looked at her body.

  Lizzie slapped away the viscount’s restraining hands. Her feet slipped on the mossy stones making her grab his wrists to keep from falling.

  “Where are my dogs?” she asked. All her clothes clung to her shivering body in a most disgraceful way. A stray giggle escaped. The Beast stared down at her with a strange look on his face.

  He insisted on brushing the water weed off her skirt, untangling it from her ankles, taking far too long at a task that tickled and made the giggles worse. “Don’t worry, Lizzie, I can assure you the only thoughts I am having are how thin you are and how delightful is your laughter. I shall put liniment on your bruises tonight, if you’ll let me. Oh, I forgot, at midnight I may do anything I please with you.”

  Mr. Rackham looked embarrassed. “I’d go, but I fear your hound may attack me again. Felmont, your coat?” He nodded his head at Lizzie.

  The Beast stripped to his waistcoat and shirtsleeves with his coat turning inside out as he removed it. He wrapped it around her shoulders then pulled the edges to cover her, and to touch her breasts.

  Did the man think of nothing else?

  Half a sob escaped her. He’d never be content with breasts so small. She shivered. What did she care? Even if she need not fear his violence, his disgusting Felmont lust threatened to put an end to her life in the worst way.

  Bertram Felmont’s voice drawled with quiet enjoyment from the shade of the Chinese willow. “Czarina and Spring are with me, children. I shall take them for a stroll around the lake while you hurry to change your clothes before you catch a chill.”

  The old man carried a stout walking stick instead of his jeweled cane. “Might I suggest you retire to the dower house, dear cousin Elizabeth? Your companion, Miss Dyson, is visiting. I could not let dear Miss Dyson exhaust herself with your dogs after her long journey from Bath, so I persuaded her to take tea with me instead. She awaits my return from taking her charges for a walk.”

  Lizzie’s laughter suddenly died. “How kind of you, but I am sure you need not have troubled yourself with them.” Lizzie knew why he bothered, but walking her dogs was not going to gain him the release of his horrid son. “Is Gladys much fatigued by the journey?”

  The thin mouth smiled, the long, hooked nose pointed in the viscount’s direction. “Miss Dyson is in fine fettle. She was surprised to hear of your marriage to a man you detest.”

  If the Beast had been a dog, every hair on his back would have stood on end. As it was, he seemed to snarl, very like her wolfhound. Not a useful reaction.

  Bertram Felmont smiled in his odious manner. “But I must not keep her waiting and the dogs are restless. No, don’t thank me. What are neighbors for, dear children? If I can be of use to you, rest assured I shall be of use. What say you, Cousin Quentin Seraphim?”

  Bertram Felmont’s use of the Beast’s given name seemed to surprise the viscount. He turned to answer with a menacing expression on his long satanic face.

  Lizzie knew why her companion had befriended Bertram Felmont and took tea in the dower house with him. Gladys could not resist a good gossip about the family, and he knew everything there was to know. He had even been useful towards the end of her stepfather’s life, but any two warring Felmonts were best left to enjoy their quarrel.

  She turned to walk up the narrow path to the dower house.

  Even though her mother had thrown herself into verbal battles with relish, Lizzie had been taught that silence was golden. Her childish prattle had always irritated her mother.

  She looked back to see Bertram Felmont limping his way around the lake with a restraining hand on Czarina’s collar. Spring ran ahead barking at the swallows. Soon, the sound of squelching boots followed her up the narrow path towards the dower house.

  “Lizzie, may I enquire, dear wife, why Bertram Felmont is strolling around the pond you call a lake with your dogs in tow? How he can invite Miss Dyson to the dower house?”

  “He lives there, dear Felmont. And if you think I gave it to him, you are very much mistaken. Your father invited him to live there.” Lizzie gave a great shiver, not due entirely to her wet clothes.

  He watched her with a sudden licentious expression on his face.

  He was having an urge.

  She could recognize Felmont urges from greater distances than this. If only her body did not insist on warming in response.