My Scandalous Viscount

by Gaelen Foley

  “It was a very small affair, Lady Lockwood,” Carissa sought to assure her. “We meant no offense. Lord Beauchamp was only trying to be kind to me since I am an orphan. He thought it would pain me if he had his parents there while I did not.”

  Lady Lockwood took her measure, scanning her from head to toe. “You are the Earl of Denbury’s niece?”

  “Yes, my lady. My father was the earl’s younger brother, the Honorable Benjamin Portland.”

  She flicked her eyebrows and looked away with a dismissive air. “So, you set your cap at my son, did you?”

  “Come, Carissa, we’ve stayed long enough.”

  “It’s all right,” she assured him. He had warned her in advance to be ready for a confrontation. “I’m sure Her Ladyship only wants to make sure I am good enough for her son.”

  Lady Lockwood seemed surprised by her show of pluck. “Our match was unexpected, my lady. It came about quickly, but it wasn’t quite as sudden as it seems, for Beau and I were friends before we—became involved. In any case, my aunt Josephine, the Comtesse d’Arras, will be holding a reception for us when she arrives from the Continent. We would be most honored if you would attend.”

  Lady Lockwood gazed at her for a long moment. “The Comtesse d’Arras? Denbury’s sister, yes? Formerly Lady Josephine Portland?”

  “Yes, before her marriage long ago. Do you know her, ma’am?”

  “We were friends at finishing school.”

  “Really? She raised me!”

  “Did she?”

  Carissa nodded enthusiastically. “Aunt Jo had no children of her own. Her husband, a French émigré, was well advanced in years when they married. When my parents died, she took me in and raised me as her own—well, after my grandparents became too old to keep me,” she amended.

  “How did your parents die?” Beau inquired softly. “I don’t think I ever heard.”

  “They went to Ireland in 1800 to celebrate the Unification with some friends in the Irish aristocracy, but their ship went down on the voyage home.”

  Beau put his arm around her. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s all right.” She gave him a wan smile.

  “So you stayed with your grandparents first?”

  She nodded. “They had me for several years. They were already in their sixties. Within a few years, I became too much of a burden to them. I suppose I was rather noisy and rambunctious.”

  Beau smiled at her.

  “It was decided that I should go and live with my aunt Jo,” she resumed. “I stayed with the comtesse until a year and a half ago, when I came to London to live with my uncle, Lord Denbury, and his family. They have girls about my own age, and Aunt Jo wanted to do some traveling once the war had finally ended,” she said vaguely. “She was not at the wedding, either, my lady, but she’ll be here any day now, and when she arrives, we’ll have the big reception, and everyone must come. I do hope you will consider attending—”

  “Of course she’ll come,” Beau said, giving his mother a pointed look.

  Her Ladyship said nothing for a moment. “Let me know the date, and I will see if I am free. Your father won’t be there?” she asked her son.

  “I can’t promise you that, but you know he hates coming to Town,” Beau said with a shrug.

  Shortly after that, they took their leave.

  Carissa fairly collapsed in the privacy of their carriage. “Lord, I’m glad that’s over!”

  “Not a bad first foray. She’ll come round, I think. Now you have just one last hurdle.” He smiled ruefully at her. “Meeting Father. That won’t be anywhere near as hard as this. He’d like you better if you were an animal, of course, but above all, he will be satisfied that I’ve finally taken a wife.”

  “So, you’re saying he’ll see me as a broodmare?”

  “Yes, but don’t take it personally. All women are broodmares to him.”

  “No wonder your mother objects.”

  “True. It takes two sides to make a war.” He studied her for a moment. “That was an eye-opening story, hearing about your life.” He shook his head. “I never knew you’d gone through so much. Passed around like that from home to home. It must have been difficult.”

  “Well, it’s not as if you had it easy, either. At least my parents loved each other. It must have been hard for you, having your home serve as a battlefield.”

  “It did rather lead me to conclude that only fools believe in love,” he admitted.

  “You don’t believe that anymore, do you?”

  He gazed at her intently, as though waiting for something.

  Like an explanation she ought to have volunteered.

  “Beau?” she asked, growing nervous.

  “I am no expert in these things,” he relented, “but it seems to me that love goes hand in hand with trust. Don’t you think?”

  “Yes . . .”

  “Do you think you could ever come to trust me, Carissa?”

  She nodded, but her mouth had gone dry.

  “Good,” he whispered. Then he lifted her hand and gave her knuckles a kiss through her glove, a wistful glow in his eyes.

  She looked away, her heart pounding. As the carriage rolled on, she was seized with private dread.

  Her doubts whispered: He knows.

  Chapter 13

  Later that day, they arrived at the beautiful Hampshire estate where Beau had grown up, and which would one day belong to them. Thick old trees lined the drive, beyond them, rolling green meadows where the earl’s horses frolicked. A lulling tranquility hung over the place as they drove up to a fine old manor house of red brick, ivy growing up the walls.

  Carissa glanced at Beau and saw how his face had softened gazing at the place, his muscled frame easing, as though, here, he was able, finally, to leave behind the tension of London and all his mysterious responsibilities.

  As she watched him greet his father when the Earl of Lockwood came out to greet them, the bond between the two men was immediately apparent. If the son had been forced to choose sides between his parents as a child, it wasn’t hard to guess that he had sided with his sire.

  In short order, Beau presented his new bride to the gruff, stoic country lord.

  The Earl of Lockwood studied, nay, appraised her, like a filly on auction at Tattersall’s, his shrewd, skeptical eyes shadowed under the brim of his tweed cap. He was a brawny fellow in his sixties. If Beau had inherited his golden good looks from his mother, it was clear his sharp mind and steely spine came from his sire.

  “I’m happy for you both,” he concluded gruffly. A man of few words, he reined in his joy to a terse nod. “Congratulations.”

  As Lord Lockwood turned away, Beau gave her a discreet wink that told her she had met with the old man’s approval.

  Then they had to hurry to catch up as Lord Lockwood marched off to show her around the estate; Beau followed, rather astonished by his father’s display of toleration for a female.

  Carissa was relieved, meanwhile, that her new father-in-law saw no reason to reproach them for not inviting him to the wedding. He scarcely inquired about the day beyond the basic facts. Apparently, his son’s reasons were understood without much need for discussion.

  He had nothing to say when Beau reported their visit to Lady Lockwood. But the tale of her cold reception toward Carissa seemed to make the man all the more determined to take his new daughter-in-law under his wing. As if to make up for his wife’s rudeness, he warmed up considerably as he led them around his estate, explaining to Carissa what each of the many farm buildings were, pointing out his most prized horses among the herds.

  When they passed a giant oak tree, he stopped to relate a funny childhood story about his son, explaining in his rumbling tones how Beau had climbed some thirty feet up into its branches, then, couldn’t figure out how to get down. “No one could find the lad. He wouldn’t call for help—of course. Stubborn pride though he was only about eight years old. Finally, one of the servants spotted him. The whole staff was in a
panic. His mother ran around screaming for me to get him down, but the pup wouldn’t hear of anyone’s helping him. Wanted to climb his way down on his own.”

  Laughing, she glanced at her husband. “That does sound like him.”

  Beau smiled and lowered his head, looking slightly sheepish after the story. “Well, I figured I got myself into the scrape, I should jolly well get myself out of it.”

  “And you did!” His sire slapped him on the back, and they moved on. “And you learned an important lesson. Never rely on anyone but yourself.”

  The earl’s words struck Carissa as she drifted after the men, who now went to admire the flock of purebred sheep of some breed or other. How often had she shared those same sentiments. But now, since Beau had come into her life, she knew the loneliness behind those words.

  It really was a shame his parents could not find a way to be together . . .

  No, I’m not going to meddle, she vowed, though the gossip in her wanted to know specifics about what happened between them, and if the breach could be repaired. But no, she warned herself. Absolutely not.

  Beau would throttle her. And as the newest member of their clan, she was in no position to pry or interfere. She thrust the temptation to try to help her new family out of her mind and just smiled, watching the lambs go bouncing through the grass.

  There was a peaceful stillness at the estate that soon put her in a lazy mood, especially when they walked to the edge of the earl’s fishing pond, which was fed by a babbling brook.

  She sighed and leaned against a tree, watching the stream flow, like she used to watch the ocean waves tumble on the beach back when she lived at Brighton with Aunt Jo.

  Ezra Green and his threats against her husband and the other agents of the Order . . . all her troubles seemed a thousand miles away. Before she knew it, it was time for supper. They returned to the stately house.

  “Thank you for the tour,” she said, smiling at the earl.

  He nodded, and she gave the gentlemen a curtsy before leaving them to enjoy some time as father and son while she went off to dress for dinner.

  When she had gone, Beau glanced at his sire in question, waiting to hear his old man’s verdict on his choice of brides. In truth, he braced himself for some caustic remark reflective of his father’s general mistrust of the female race. But to his surprise, no criticism came.

  His father gave him a nod. “Seems a fine girl. Well done. A good selection. The Denburys always had impeccable bloodlines. She should breed fine sons for the Lockwood line.”

  “Sons! Good God, Dad, I haven’t been married yet forty-eight hours. Let me figure out how to be a husband before I have to learn how to be a father.”

  The earl laughed. “Bit surprised at your timing, I must say. Rather an odd time to take a wife, with all that’s going on.”

  “Yes, well, it couldn’t be helped,” Beau admitted.

  His father raised an eyebrow. “Already breeding?”

  “No! No, she found out about the Order. It’s all right, though. I had my eye on her for months before she went snooping into my affairs.”

  “Snooping?” he asked swiftly. “Sure you can trust her?”

  The question pained him though he knew his father only meant in the operational sense.

  He nodded. “I’m sure.”

  “Hmm,” Lockwood mumbled, studying him with an all-too-knowing eye. “So, what else?”

  “I’ve had news of Nick and Trevor. They’re alive.”

  The earl stared at him. “Thank God.”

  “They were delayed on the Continent. Trevor was shot. I haven’t seen him yet, but Nick says he’s going to be all right. That’s all I know for now.”

  And as much as he dared to share for the time being.

  “Well, I am glad to hear it. If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”

  “Thanks.” He knew his father had been concerned, for his mates had been coming here for holidays and such since they were boys. Especially Nick, who had never had much of a home of his own to return to.

  His father sat back in his chair and studied him for a moment. “You do seem happy with her.”

  He smiled ruefully. “Nonsense, I only did it for you. You’ve been barking at me to take a wife for years.”

  “Bah,” the earl grumbled, and Beau laughed.

  They passed a pleasant dinner, after which, father and son remained at table to have a glass of port.

  Carissa retired to the drawing room alone. Waiting before the fireplace, she stared into the flames and sipped an after-dinner cup of tea until the gentlemen arrived.

  At her husband’s request, she sat down at the pianoforte and, although the instrument was out of tune, did her best to enliven the atmosphere with a few songs.

  Lord Lockwood stared at her almost in perplexity, as though trying to imagine how different his life might have been if he’d ever had a daughter.

  At length, it was time to retire for the evening. She thanked their host for the fine meal and the earlier tour of the grounds, then she kissed him on the cheek. “Good night, Lord Lockwood.”

  “Tut, tut, my girl, it is your right to call me father,” he mumbled, startling her with this unexpected mark of favor.

  Beau looked surprised to hear it, too. But Carissa accepted his gracious offer and gave his hand an affectionate squeeze. “I will, then. Good night, Father.”

  It was strange to speak the word. She’d had no occasion to call anyone that in sixteen years. She was truly touched, and when the gruff old lord bowed to her, in turn, she was warmed to think they had already formed a bond.

  Then Beau offered her his arm and escorted her up the stairs. The earl watched them go, his hands resting on his hips. “Go get me a grandson,” he ordered.

  Carissa turned bright red, but Beau laughed. “Believe me, I will do my best!” he shot back.

  Soon they were in Beau’s private bedchamber. She was still smiling as he helped her undress for bed, kissing her nape like a worldly gallant while unfastening each pearl button down her back.

  “Now I see where you get your charm from,” she remarked.

  “You find my father charming?” he exclaimed.

  “Entirely.”

  “First time anyone’s ever accused him of that. Better not let him hear you say so.”

  “Well, it’s true.”

  “Too bad my mother doesn’t share your opinion.”

  “Well, for what it’s worth, I think he’s grand.”

  “He seems to like you, too. And for my part, I couldn’t agree with you more. That man has been the rock of my life, truth be told.”

  “One can see that, watching you together.” She stepped out of her satin dinner gown and turned to him. She held his gaze thoughtfully for a moment, pondering that, then went up on her tiptoes to give him a kiss.

  He returned it. “What was that for?”

  “Do I need a reason?” she asked with a flirtatious smile.

  “No, indeed.”

  When she went to hang up her gown, she could feel his smoldering gaze following her. She soon returned to him and helped him to remove his coat.

  “Sorry we left you alone like that after supper,” he murmured. “My father is pretty well set in his ways. The evening glass of port is de rigueur.”

  “I can still taste it on you,” she whispered, stealing another kiss from his too-tempting lips. She began unbuttoning his waistcoat in rising desire.

  “Father and I will be going out riding early tomorrow morning, just so you know where I’ll be.”

  “Not too early, I hope. For I confess, I’ve got plans to keep you up late tonight.” She held his gaze with a playfully seductive look as she backed toward his bed.

  He watched her in fascination.

  Climbing into the bed, she pulled the covers back invitingly. When she patted the mattress, Beau came over and sat on the edge of the bed beside her. He wore his usual faint smile, but his pale eyes seemed wistful.

  She
cupped his cheek in concern. “What is it, darling?”

  He covered her hand with his own against his cheek, gazing soulfully into her eyes. “There’s something I—” he started, then stopped himself.

  Carissa had frozen. She stared at him, wide-eyed. Her whole body had tensed; she felt the blood drain from her face. Oh, God, here it comes. “Yes?” she forced out, praying she was wrong, that it was just her guilty conscience.

  He gazed wistfully at her for a long moment. Perhaps he saw the dread written on her face, for his veiled expression softened. He cupped her cheek, staring into her eyes. “Never mind,” he whispered with a tender little smile. “It’s nothing.”

  “A-are you sure?”

  “Yes. Your beauty robs me of my wits. I’ve completely forgotten what I was going to say. Kiss me,” he breathed.

  She did, trembling with that near miss as much as with desire for him. She slid her arms around him, hating herself for her deception but vowing that even if she could not give him honesty, at least she could give him this. She was desperate to show him that, whatever she might be lacking in forthrightness, her devotion to him was sincere.

  He slipped his hand beneath her hair, his fingers warm and sure. She heard his breath catch as his silken lips parted hers, deepening the kiss.

  Her heart pounded with the sense of risk, the closer she got to him. But the danger was not enough to make her stay away. She caught the lapels of his unbuttoned waistcoat in her fists and drew him closer, helplessly. His clever tongue gliding with hers, his grip on the back of her neck tightened with passion.

  In moments, desire of blinding intensity engulfed them both like brilliant, colored flames. No words were needed to acknowledge what they both craved. Her hands shook with her hurry to finish undressing him.

  While he caressed her thigh, she pulled his loose white shirt free from the top of his dark trousers and slid her hand up underneath the billow of fabric. She groaned at the beauty of his sculpted abdomen, eagerly running her hand up his heaving chest, reveling in the feel of hot, velveteen skin over iron-hard muscle.

  Never in her wildest dreams would she have believed that a man like him could ever belong to her. But he did.