My Scandalous Viscount

by Gaelen Foley

She laughed, feeling his arousal stir anew, for they were both naked, but for the swathes of linen sheets that veiled them here and there. “I daresay you do, my lord.”

  “Redheads! You are growing even more saucy than when I first met you,” he remarked, running his hands up her bare thighs. “And I, for one, find it utterly enchanting.”

  She lowered her lashes and ran her fingers lovingly down his chest, stroking his splendid body.

  As he curled upward to give her a soulful kiss, she felt his breathing deepen. She inched her hand sensuously farther down his sculpted body. He captured her fingers and kissed them, then placed them on his member.

  Pleasuring him in a blissful trance, she began to kiss him in a variety of interesting places, until he rolled her onto her back and moved atop her.

  Soon, the playful music of the clock’s dainty chimes mingled with the rapturous cries of lovemaking coming from their chamber.

  Only this time, knowing they had all the days, hours, and minutes of their lives together, neither of them paid the least attention to the melody, too busy delighting in each other.

  Epilogue

  It couldn’t be helped. The Order had been hopelessly exposed. With the true purpose of the Inferno Club known throughout the land, the Crown had no choice but to make heroes of them.

  All of the covert actions and diverse missions that Ezra Green had wished to expose in order to hang them had, instead, awed the English public. Perhaps the shocking revelation suited that ironic, British sense of humor, that all the time the world at large had believed the rakehell lords of Dante House to be the most depraved libertines, they had, in secret, been valiantly protecting the nation. The story grew. Minding their own business, the agents were cheered in the streets. At White’s, they were surrounded, in various ballrooms, mobbed. They couldn’t go anywhere or get much of anything done because after all their faithful service, they now had to endure the maddening punishment of becoming celebrities.

  Not even their wives were spared. It was a good thing Carissa had come to terms with the possibility of some notoriety as a natural part of being married to her scandalous viscount.

  All the wives were interviewed by the ladies’ fashion magazines about what they were wearing on any given day. Daphne, patient creature, handled it all, of course, with her usual unflappable serenity. But the nonsense came to such a point where Kate, the “Divine” Duchess of Warrington, shrieked a few choice words she had learned as a child among the sailors on the decks of her father’s ship and slammed the door in their faces.

  Emily, Countess of Westwood, was even more direct; she resorted to her bow and arrow when the journalists had the nerve to bother her and Drake at their country house—a threat the papers interpreted reported as “charming.” Meanwhile, the progress of Mara, Lady Falconridge’s pregnancy became a general obsession, and she was consulted for her expertise as a parent. During this interview, of course, little Thomas ran about the drawing room, pell-mell, like a wild Indian. It didn’t matter. All faults were forgiven. Everything they said was clever, for the moment.

  All England was in love with them. There was talk of a statue of St. Michael the Archangel to be erected in the middle of some Town square in their honor. But when a new musical pantomime based on their adventures was announced at Vauxhall, and advertised with posters everywhere, claiming “The Most Dramatic Spectacle with Fireworks, Explosions, and Breathtaking Feats of Daring,” Prinny threw up his hands in despair.

  This story was bloody well not going away quietly as His Royal Highness had hoped. Something had to be done about this mess. Then, perhaps, he need not face daily reminders of how he had wronged the bastards. He was already unpopular enough.

  With a sigh, he had called in the Archbishop.

  Now the day had come when they were to be honored with all pomp and ceremony at Westminster Abbey.

  After this, God willing, the world would (from Prinny’s point of view) shut up about them already, and (from theirs) leave them alone to enjoy, finally, the peacetime they had helped to bring about.

  The men, fully uniformed, stood in a row across the front of the magnificent church, the Elders of the Order seated off to the side.

  The ladies, dressed in their finest, looked on from the front pews, beaming with pride in their husbands. Everything that had happened had only strengthened the bond among the women. They had become like sisters. Carissa sat between Kate and Daphne, who squeezed her hands as they all watched, teary-eyed, as the future King of England pinned medals on each man, in turn.

  Even Nick had been allowed to participate today.

  Indeed, even trusty Sergeant Parker was awarded with special distinctions. While the music played, the Abbey’s great organ and the choir interspersed with the noble tunes from Scottish bagpipers, representatives of all the elite branches of the military were on hand to pay their respects. Countless parliamentary leaders attended, including a grateful Prime Minister, Lord Liverpool.

  Ambassadors had also been sent by the various crowned heads whose thrones the Order had helped to protect over the years.

  Amid all this fanfare, they had discussed privately among themselves some uneasiness about all their identities being exposed after all the things they had done, all the enemies they had made. But what could they do? Their cover was blown; the cat was out of the bag.

  They could do naught but assure themselves and one another that the Order took care of its own. They’d all be looking out for each other, as always, and nothing could ever change that. That went for the ladies, too.

  From the corner of her eye, Carissa saw Kate blow a kiss to her Beast while Daphne dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

  After the Regent had walked along the row of men, congratulating each one, the ceremony was over.

  The men tried to rejoin the ladies, but their progress was slowed by the sea of well-wishers and grateful admirers surrounding them. As Beau worked his way through the crowd, Carissa saw his parents, who had been sitting together for the ceremony.

  Perhaps it was not just pride in their son that had inspired the Earl and Countess of Lockwood to unite for today to show their support. They seemed to be getting along better ever since she and Beau had announced Carissa’s pregnancy.

  Beau had forced them to come into the same room to hear the news, then had sternly informed his parents that if they wanted to spend time with their coming grandchild, they were going to have to set a reasonable example and not act like children themselves. It had been surprisingly smooth sailing ever since. The older couple seemed to be tentatively getting acquainted once again.

  As Lord and Lady Lockwood headed down the long, lavish aisle toward the Abbey’s giant doors, Carissa also saw Uncle Denbury and his family in the mulling throng.

  Aunt Jo was walking in between the girls, Lady Joss and Lady Min. Having learned her lesson, the glamorous Comtesse d’Arras wasn’t about to let another niece go astray. She had stepped forward to begin finally putting some teeth into poor Miss Trent’s efforts to keep the formidable beauties under control. After all, the girls’ own mother wasn’t about to do it.

  Carissa smiled as her relatives shuffled out. She’d be seeing them afterward at the reception for the conquering heroes.

  Nick, however, was not going to be permitted to attend that part of the day’s festivities. The brawny bagpipers from the Order, who had played during the ceremony, doubled as guards. They’d be escorting the wayward Baron Forrester back up to the Order’s headquarters in Scotland to put him back into his cell.

  Two years, minimum, in the brig.

  His large, kilted escorts did him the honor of not shackling him in front of the world, but Nick paused a short distance from where Carissa stood to bid his mates adieu. The three former team members conferred in low tones nearby.

  She could not hear much, besides which, she was trying not to eavesdrop. But she could tell by the looks on their faces that Nick was apologizing to Beau and Trevor one last time.

&n
bsp; “Good luck in prison,” she heard Beau say ruefully to his black-haired friend, at last. “Don’t worry, we’ll write often. We won’t forget about you.”

  “Thanks. That would mean a lot to me in there.”

  Handshakes and bear hugs were exchanged.

  “I’m going to miss you, man,” Trevor admitted. “Take care of yourself.”

  “You do the same. Be happy,” he replied. “And both of you, take good care of your ladies.” Nick gave them a roguish wink, and with that, the Order guards led him away. Beau put his hands in his pockets with a wistful look as he and Trevor watched the soldiers escort their teammate out. Then they exchanged a glance.

  “Do you think he’ll be all right?” Trevor asked.

  “He’s Nick,” Beau said. “He’s fairly indestructible. He’ll be fine.” Then he nudged his friend. “What about you?”

  “I’m going home. There’s a lady who’s been waiting for me. New house is nearly completed. My real life can finally start.” Trevor smiled, his gray eyes gleaming, and Carissa, eavesdropping in spite of herself, found him quite handsome, especially now that he’d shaved off the scruffy beard. Interestingly, however, he’d kept his hair long, which made him look rather dangerous and slightly wild. Presently, it was tied back in a queue.

  Beau clapped him on the back. “Well, I won’t keep you, then. Go find your Laura. But I expect to be the best man at your wedding.”

  “Of course. Provided she’ll still have me.”

  “What?” Beau protested. “Can there be any doubt? Of course she will. Especially now that you’re a famous hero,” he drawled, punching him in the arm.

  Trevor shrugged his broad shoulders. “She hasn’t heard from me in a long time, that’s all.”

  “Don’t worry, my friend. I’m sure you’ll find her waiting for you right where you left her. And here is a lady I see waiting for me,” he greeted Carissa. He put his arms around her and gave her a doting kiss.

  “You were splendid up there, all of you,” she congratulated them.

  “Yes, we rather were, weren’t we?” Beau drawled, as they headed out.

  The spring daylight glowed through the stained-glass windows as the whole group of them filed out of the sacred twilight of Westminster Abbey into the bright open air.

  The endless sky that wrapped around the spires was a blazing blue. The resident flock of doves lifted off the church and flew free over the city. Watching them, Beau felt his throat unexpectedly tighten.

  He and his brother warriors stopped on the threshold of the Abbey and watched their scattering flight. When the birds had flown away, the men glanced at each other in silent, stoic comprehension. It really was over—the struggle. At least for them. They had done their duty, and it had taken some doing to clean up the aftermath, but at last, they were truly free.

  A tension they had been carrying since they were little more than boys had started to ease from them. They still had scars from all the battles they had faced, all the tests they had somehow passed. The day had finally arrived that they had only dreamed of. The day they had come out on the other side.

  Beau had almost stopped believing it would ever really happen. But here it was, upon them. They were going to have to learn a whole new way to live.

  As they glanced around at each other in mutual understanding, a spark of curiosity about the life ahead shone in the eyes of each, a glimmer that seemed to wonder if perhaps the adventure had only just begun.

  Then Kate’s jovial command broke their thoughtful silence. “Come on, you scurvy lot, look lively! We’re going to miss our own party!” Then she fluffed her skirts and marched off ahead of them, organizing the carriages.

  A few of the fellows smiled at Rohan.

  “Not very duchesslike, is she?” Max observed.

  “Pirate’s daughter,” Rohan murmured to the others with a guarded smile.

  “And he wouldn’t want her any other way,” Jordan supplied, and the Beast nodded in full agreement.

  “Max is the one who wanted a fine lady. And you got one,” he added, nodding over at Daphne.

  Max clapped him on the shoulder. “My friend, my ‘fine lady’ has a side to her that you cannot imagine. And I don’t suggest you try.”

  Rohan laughed. “Wouldn’t dream of it, brother.”

  Then Mara brought little Thomas over, reaching for Jordan. The two-year-old launched himself into his stepfather’s arms. Jordan set him up high on his shoulders so Thomas could see over all the people, while Drake and Emily walked out arm in arm, as inseparable as they had been since childhood.

  Max glanced at the sky again as they waited for their carriages. Beau had a feeling he knew what the other team leader was thinking.

  If only Virgil were here.

  The old Scot’s absence had left a hole in their midst. But at least his death had been avenged when the men had gone to Germany.

  “I’m sure he’s watching,” Jordan murmured with a meaningful glance as he held his stepson.

  Beau smiled wryly. “Then I guess we’d all better be on our best behavior.”

  “Such as it is!” Carissa piped up, coming back over to his side.

  “Aye,” he murmured, smiling, “such as it is.” He kissed her head as he put his arm around her. Then they all went off together to start the celebration.

  Bonus Scene!

  Read on to find out what happens next to

  Lord Trevor Montgomery,

  as the Inferno Club continues . . .

  The Homecoming

  Lord Trevor Montgomery clutched the flowers behind his back so hard that he nearly snapped the stems. “Is Lady Laura at home?” he asked again, for the Bayne family butler just stood, staring at him as if he’d seen a ghost.

  “I-I-” The poor servant shut his mouth abruptly, then opened the door for him with the air of a man who did not know what else to do.

  When Trevor stepped inside, heart pounding with eagerness, he got his first inkling that matters here were not as he had left them.

  First he heard a bouncy tune being played on the pianoforte upstairs—the instrument sat in the drawing room upstairs, if he recalled correctly.

  This was accompanied by a peal of girlish laughter; the familiar sound brought the start of a smile to his face. That was the beauty of Laura. So carefree, untouched by all the ugliness he had seen.

  And then a deeper voice—male—joined in her laughter.

  Trevor froze, his upward gaze homing in on the staircase. What the hell?

  The butler blanched and gazed at him apologetically, flinching a bit as the two voices from upstairs began harmonizing in a merry duet.

  A love song.

  Trevor went very still. “Who is that?” he asked in a tone of murderous quiet.

  The butler gulped. “I’m so sorry, my lord. That would be, er . . .”

  He narrowed his eyes, waiting.

  “Lady Laura’s new betrothed,” the terrified servant blurted out.

  “New betrothed?” he echoed in a shocked whisper.

  “I’m sorry, my lord, the poor girl thought you were dead! We all did,” the butler whispered. “I’m sure she was going to tell you very soon—”

  Trevor barely registered anything after that.

  As their duet rambled on playfully from upstairs, he couldn’t help but notice that if, indeed, Laura thought that he was dead, she did not sound all that upset about his demise.

  Good God.

  The betrayal nearly took his breath away. He suddenly felt ill. He shot his hand out and stopped the butler from fetching her, mainly because he did not trust himself not to rip out her new fiancée’s jugular on sight. “Who is he?” he asked in a low growl.

  The butler told him the name, but Trevor had never heard of the man.

  The next thing he knew, he was standing out on the pavement in a daze.

  The world spun, and it wasn’t due to the large quantity of liquor he had drunk at last night’s reception following the ceremony at Westmins
ter Abbey. He had been riding high with his mates, the conquering heroes.

  He had expected the victory to continue today as he came to claim the sweetest reward of all. But this was a rude awakening, to say the least. How could this be happening? Everything he had so meticulously planned . . .

  The new life he had awaited for so long . . .

  His chance at a normal, orderly existence with a pretty wife in a nice, new house . . .

  Gone.

  Poof.

  All for nothing. He couldn’t believe it. First Nick had locked him in a cellar, then the Crown had all but thrown him and his fellow agents to the wolves. And now even Laura had proved faithless.

  He had a thousand questions about when exactly she had decided to give up waiting for him and get on with her life. But he was too shocked and angry to ask them now. Besides, he had the darkest, bitterest feeling that it simply didn’t matter.

  The vision that had held him together through these past few brutal years of war lay in pieces on the ground. “New fiancé?” he whispered to himself.

  Unsure where to go or what to do with himself, he just started walking blindly down the fashionable Mayfair street, pausing when he realized he was still holding the flowers. He was in such a state of disbelief he could barely remember how they had come to be in his hand.

  Harlequin roses: silly things. Gaudy. Bright pink and white striped.

  Her favorite.

  How carefully he had removed the thorns so they would not hurt her delicate hand!

  He suddenly tipped his head back and let out the bitterest, most cynical laugh. Fool!

  He started to throw the damned things into the street.

  Let them be trampled, shit on by carriage horses, he thought in rage, but from the corner of his eye, he noticed the sad figure he had just passed. An impoverished-looking old woman wrapped in a threadbare shawl. She looked like she had been scrubbing floors for the past few hours. She was leaning on the wrought-iron fence, likely waiting for the omnibus.

  He stopped. Turned around. Went over to her and offered her the flowers without a word—and shocked her to the core, apparently. “For me? Oh, oh, my goodness! How kind of you, dear boy!” the old, frail grandmother exclaimed, lighting up. Tears sprang into her eyes.