The Viscount's Bawdy Bargain

by Connie Lane

  “Oh, no! I will get them myself.” Before Hexam could move, Palliston headed down the passageway, and not to be outdone, Hexam followed.

  “I suppose I, too, will say good night.” As was only fitting, Latimer’s leave-taking was directed at Nick. Which didn’t explain why he looked at Willie when he spoke.

  Now that Nick thought of it, ever since she walked into the room, Willie had been the center of attention. It was bad form, especially considering that she was in his employ. It was worse form, he decided with something that felt a bit like a jolt out of the blue, because if anyone was going to pay attention to Willie, it should have been him.

  Latimer nodded briefly in Nick’s direction, bowed toward Willie and was gone.

  For far longer than was polite, Willie toed the edge of the brightly patterned rug. Ever since word had gone around Somerton House about what Flossie had said—and word had gone around as fast as smoke rising up a chimney on a cold day—she had practiced what she would say to Somerton when she finally came face-to-face with him.

  And now that she was face-to-face with him, she found that every one of the pretty apologies she’d rehearsed refused to come.

  It was his fault, of course, and Willie consoled herself with the fact.

  If her head wasn’t still spinning from the encounter with Somerton earlier in the evening, she might not have found it so difficult to talk to him.

  He was the one who had been gracious and charming. The one whose secret looks and fleeting glances had sparked an emotion so powerful, she hardly knew how to contain it. He’d spoken, and his words had sent a shiver like icy fire down her spine and into the private places of her body and her soul.

  She knew better than to let her head be turned. After all, Somerton was doing nothing but playacting.

  And even though she knew it, Willie couldn’t help herself. She had taken his words and his looks and the touch of his hand to heart.

  The realization was still too fresh and too painful to deal with and rather than even try, she decided to say exactly what she came to say so that she could be on her way.

  “Brandy.” The word sounded as dry as Willie’s mouth felt and she cleared her throat and tried again. “I wonder, m’lord, if I might have a glass of brandy.”

  “Really, Willie!” Somerton crossed the room toward the bottles that were set on a sideboard near the window, his manner no more intimate now than it had ever been except for the stolen—playacted—moments at the top of the stairway.

  He poured a glass of brandy and held it out to her. “You hardly look the type to console yourself with spirits.”

  “It is not for me, m’lord.” Automatically, Willie took a few steps closer but she did not accept the brandy. To do so would be to take it under false pretenses. “It is for Flossie. She’s terribly upset and I thought it might help. She’s down in the kitchen. Crying. She has been since—”

  “Since she single-handedly tarnished Jack Markham’s name in front of his friends, his social betters and most of the people he’s trying to court in the hopes of making a suitable marriage for his daughter?”

  “Balderdash!” Ill at ease or not, Willie simply could not listen to such nonsense and keep her peace. “If Jack Markham’s reputation is tainted, it is certainly beyond Flossie to do it single-handedly. Surely Mr. Markham himself had some part in their association, and more of a responsibility for the thing, I would venture, than poor Flossie ever did. She was the one who was so desperate to put food on her table, she would do anything. With anyone. Markham, on the other hand, took advantage of that desperation just to satisfy his own physical appetites and some mistaken fantasy that women are put on this earth solely for the pleasure of the men who choose to use them any way they like.”

  “That is enough, Willie.” Though Somerton’s voice was quiet and his statement calm, there was no mistaking the warning that came along with the words.

  Willie would have been wise to listen. She actually might have if she didn’t find herself so incensed. “I daresay half the men in that room knew Flossie, just as Markham did. And half of the women sitting there pretending to be shocked by the whole thing know exactly where their husbands go when they leave the house each night. And yet someone dares to speak the truth the rest of them will not utter and bring the thing out in the light and—”

  “I said, that’s enough!” Somerton’s voice echoed against the walls and the vibration of it shuddered through Willie and stunned her into silence.

  Perhaps because he realized it, he was instantly apologetic. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Of course you did.” Averse to letting him think that her hesitation had anything at all to do with doubting that her argument was less than logical and perfectly accurate, she shook herself out of the momentary silence. “I don’t suppose it’s right for a servant to speak so boldly to her master. Even when she is speaking the truth.”

  To her surprise, Somerton laughed. “Good God, Willie, even when you’re apologizing, you make it sound as if you’re dressing me down.”

  “I’m sorry, I—”

  “No need.” He held up one hand and with the other, set down the glass of brandy. He leaned back against the sideboard, his arms crossed over his chest, his legs crossed at the ankles, and though it certainly must have been an even more taxing night for him than it had been for the rest of them, he looked none the worse for wear. His black evening clothes and blinding white linen made a dazzling combination, and every hair on his golden head shone like summer sunshine. He cocked his head and gave her a careful look. “Is that how you think of our relationship?” he asked. “Master and servant?”

  It wasn’t how she’d been thinking of their relationship all night long.

  And there was no way on God’s green earth Willie was about to admit it.

  Too restless to stand in one place, she walked to the window and nudged the draperies aside.

  There was no point in confessing that while she’d directed the taking of wraps and the ushering of guests into the salon, while she’d overseen the cooking of dinner and the serving of it, while she’d handled the sudden and quite unexpected rush of Somerton’s guests to leave and the predicament Five Fingers Finch had nearly put them in by resorting to his old ways and the inconsolable sobs of Flossie who—after her impetuous outburst—was sure she would be shown the door at any moment, she had been thinking of everything that had happened with Somerton before his guests arrived.

  Even now, her insides were tied in knots and her brain was muddled.

  Did she think of herself as a servant and Somerton as nothing more than the master of the house?

  She didn’t dare answer for if she did, she would have been tempted to confess the truth: that she had never had any intention of thinking anything but.

  Until that moment when she thought he might kiss her.

  Until she realized that it was what she wanted.

  And that she wanted it still.

  Willie shook herself out of her reverie and found herself staring at her own reflection in the window. Too plainspoken not to answer if he should press her for the truth, she was also too honest to face the woman who looked back at her from the glass. She dropped the drapery and turned, determined to change the subject.

  “Miss Markham was a top quality choice,” she said. “And it is my fault things did not work out between you. I should have known there was the possibility for such an incident. I should have been more careful about instructing the girls. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not!” Somerton threw back his head and laughed. “Devonna Markham is pinch-faced!”

  It was impossible not to respond to the smile that brightened Somerton’s expression. Before she even knew she was doing it, Willie found herself fighting to control a smile. “Certainly, m’lord, you are not so shallow as to look no farther than a woman’s face.”

  “She was long-winded.”

  “A talent that might keep a husband entertained on those nights when he and his
wife are home together.”

  “She isn’t very bright.”

  Willie could not deny it. Like everyone else at Somerton House that evening, she had heard Devonna Markham’s high-pitched laughter as well as the cockled-brained comments the girl made. She declared the weather “fine,” until she saw that the statement did not bring the instant smile she’d hoped from Lord Somerton and changed her opinion to, “Perhaps not so fine after all.” She announced that the newest novel by one Mrs. Mordefi, whose singular talent to send chills down the spines of her readers, was also “fine.” Until she saw that Lord Somerton did not instantly agree and said, instead, that the book was lacking.

  “She may be a gooseberry, but there is no denying that Miss Markham is wealthy enough to get you out of the stew you find yourself in.”

  “Something I sincerely wish no woman would ever have to do.” The smile faded from Somerton’s face and he pushed himself off from the sideboard.

  “Still, she would have made you a good match. And now I’d venture to say that you will never get near the girl again.”

  “For which I suppose I must offer Flossie my sincerest thanks.” Somerton held the glass of brandy out to Willie. “Take this to her. Please. And tell her to stop crying. Good gad!” A shiver danced across his broad shoulders. “There is nothing I hate more than a woman who blubbers!”

  “I will gladly take her the brandy with your compliments.” Willie crossed the room until she was standing within a few feet of Somerton. “She’s worried she’ll be sacked. As is Mr. Finch.”

  “Finch.” Somerton’s mouth thinned. “There’s another story and no mistake. Did he really think—”

  “It was an honest mistake.” It was another lie but at least Somerton had the good grace not to point it out. “He promises to never do it again. And I…” Willie reached for the brandy. “I promise to watch him like a hawk!”

  Their fingers met over the crystal and though Willie was tempted to pull her hand away, she knew full well it would be the worst course of action. Poor Lord Somerton was having a bad enough evening. He did not need brandy splashed on him and spilled on his fine rug to top off the night.

  They stood that way for a heartbeat or two and might have gone standing even longer if Mr. Finch did not appear outside the doorway.

  “You’ve a gentleman to see you, my lord.” The fact that Finch didn’t have the nerve to look into Somerton’s eyes told Willie that he knew full well what he’d done earlier was wrong. The fact that on sight of him, Somerton stood tall, squared his shoulders and raised his chin was enough to tell both Willie and Finch that the viscount would not tolerate another such slip up.

  “A gentleman, you say?” Only when he was sure that Willie had firm hold of the glass did Somerton let go. “Who is it, Finch, and why—”

  “We aren’t standing on formalities, are we?” With a smile as bright as his coal-black greatcoat was shadowy, the Duke of Ravensfield swept into the room. “That will be all, Finch,” the duke said, turning to the butler and even though the dismissal had not come from his master, it was all the encouragement Mr. Finch needed. Before Lord Somerton could find the words to give him the drubbing he so soundly deserved, he disappeared down the passageway.

  Willie made to leave, too, but before she got to the door, Ravensfield stepped in front of it, effortlessly blocking her way.

  “Miss Culpepper.” He aimed a smile at her that was intimate enough to melt a lesser woman’s heart. “No need for you to leave. As a matter of fact, I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say. There are things I need to discuss with his lordship and I think you will find them interesting.” He gave her a penetrating look. “I hear from reliable sources that you are the one who engineered tonight’s festivities.”

  Willie looked to Somerton for guidance and when he did not object, she took a seat, as mystified as he was by the duke’s appearance.

  Ravensfield wasn’t the least bit timid about making himself at home. As if he’d been there a hundred times before and had poured himself a hundred drinks—which, now that Willie thought about it, he probably had—he strode over to the sideboard, filled a glass and tossed it down. He filled it again before he turned.

  “I have come to express my regrets. At not being able to attend tonight’s festivities.” The duke smiled, an expression that did little to soften his features. “Like the rest of the ton, I was surprised to hear you were having a dinner party, Somerton. And as pleased as can be. It’s good to see you taking an interest in your social obligations.”

  Somerton’s smile was not nearly as effortless as the duke’s, though it was a good deal more cheery. “Duties of which I am fully aware. I need neither your encouragement nor your lecturing to remind me.”

  Ravensfield waved away the suggestion that his comments were offered with anything less than sincerity. “I was disappointed that I could not accept your kind invitation but I had other…” He glanced in Willie’s direction and seeming to think better of what he might have said, he cleared his throat. “Other commitments,” he said. “I wish I did not. It would have been most interesting to be here.”

  “I have no doubt you would have found it amusing.”

  “Cheer up!” No longer able to contain his laughter, Ravensfield walked over and thumped Somerton on the back. “It’s Jack Markham’s own fault, after all, and not yours. And if you did offend the terribly rich Miss Markham?” Ravensfield’s black eyebrows slid up with curiosity and he glanced over his shoulder at Willie as if he thought he might find the answers to his questions with her. “That is why you had the dinner party, isn’t it? To ensnare the financially plump Miss Markham?”

  “You know as well as I do that it would be most unseemly for us to discuss that,” Somerton spoke before Willie could. Which was, she thought, a good thing. Had she been answering the duke, she would not have been nearly as diplomatic.

  “The young lady in question isn’t here,” Somerton said. “And Willie…that is, Miss Culpepper can hardly defend her honor, not being acquainted with Miss Markham.”

  Ravensfield could not be so easily put off. He laughed. “What you mean to say, of course, is that yes, you’ve ruined your chances with the good Miss Markham. Or should I say more accurately, that Flossie ruined your chances for you?”

  “Word travels fast around town.”

  “Like the wind.” Ravensfield drank down the claret in his glass. “I hope this one stumbling block on your road to matrimony has not caused you to lose heart. Then again…” He gave Somerton a careful look. “Perhaps it has?”

  “And perhaps I should be a clod-pate not to wonder why it matters so much to you.”

  “Aha! There you have it!” Like a conjurer producing something both mysterious and unexpected, the duke pulled a single sheet of paper from his pocket, unfolded it and read it over quietly, nodding in assent. When he was done, he turned not to Somerton but to Willie.

  “Somerton is a rakehell of the first order. But then, I daresay you know that. Women have been after him for years. In droves. Yet he’s never so much as expressed even the slightest bit of interest in tying the knot. Not that I can blame him!” As gracefully as a panther, Ravensfield crossed the room and sat in the chair opposite Willie’s.

  “It would take a woman of great character to put up with the likes of him.” He leaned a bit nearer and lowered his voice, as if sharing a confidence. “Word has it that you are the first one who’s been able to talk him into getting even this close to the parson’s mousetrap.”

  “Me?” Willie smoothed a wrinkle from her apron and though she could not bring herself to lie to Somerton, she found it as easy as an old shoe—surprisingly—to look Ravensfield in the eye at the same time she wove a bit of whole cloth. “Lord Somerton’s marital state is certainly no concern of mine.”

  “No, I do not imagine it is.” A knowing smile touching his lips, Ravensfield sat back and considered her response. A moment later, he shook himself out of whatever thoughts occupied him and
waved the piece of paper in the air. “Your marital status may not concern Miss Culpepper, but it now officially concerns me, Somerton!”

  Though Willie had no idea what the duke was talking about, it was apparently becoming clearer by the moment to Somerton. She saw the momentary flash of surprise that sparked in his eyes. He concealed it easily as he strolled across the room.

  “Don’t tell me you were enough of a gull to be drawn into a wager so fickle as that! Are you telling me—”

  “Odds are running six to one that you will meet someone and marry her. This Season.” Ravensfield tapped the paper with one finger. “Of course, the odds may yet change. It is early in the game.”

  How Somerton managed to conceal his outrage, Willie wasn’t sure. When she realized what the duke was saying—and that they were talking about Somerton’s future as casually as they might have talked about which fast trotter might win which race—her fingers curled into her palms. Her heartbeat quickened, nearly to the impossible rate it had achieved earlier when she looked into Somerton’s eyes.

  “You’re taking bets?” All the outrage she was feeling was manifest in Willie’s voice. “About Lord Somerton’s search for a wife?”

  “More specifically, about whether or not he will find a wife.” Ravensfield neatly folded the paper and put it back in his pocket. “There are those who are as sure as the Creed that it will happen. After all, Somerton is not unattractive, or at least that’s what the women of his acquaintance have been known to say. And he does have that rather succulent title! It’s enough to make any woman’s mouth water. Now that the word is out that he is in search of a mate, yes, there are those about town who are betting. And they are betting heavily that he will find a wife. And soon.”

  It was appalling to think there were those who would wager on so serious a matter, yet listening to the whole of the plan laid out before him, Somerton did not react. He poured another drink but rather than sip it, he rolled the glass in his hands, watching the blood-red liquid swirl inside it.

  “And let me venture a guess.” He glanced at Ravensfield. “Seeing that the odds are stacked that I will wed, you’ve wagered the other way. That I will never find a wife.”