Adrienne Basso

by The Ultimate Lover

  “There, ’tis settled,” Charlotte said with an authoritative nod of her head. “Before the house party ends, the viscount will become your lover and aid you in creating the scandal of the year.”

  Viscount Longley as her lover! The dreamlike quality of the moment persisted. Feeling her fragile self-control beginning to tumble, Amelia pinched her thigh to gather her wits.

  “I cannot be his lover,” Amelia squeaked.

  “Do you find him unappealing?” Charlotte questioned. “Personally I prefer the earl’s blond countenance, but you must admit the viscount’s combination of blue eyes and dark hair is strikingly handsome.”

  Amelia ripped her gaze away from the viscount. “He is handsome as an Adonis with the physical attributes of a Greek god and the charm of the devil.”

  Charlotte smiled deliciously. “What is the problem?”

  “Are you joking?” Amelia picked up her fan and waved it vigorously in front of her face. Perhaps a cool breeze would help moderate this light-headed feeling. “For one thing, the viscount is younger than I am.”

  “Oh, posh.” Charlotte clucked her tongue. “What possible difference does a few years make?”

  “A few years! ’Tis more like seven!”

  “Ah, so that makes you old enough to be what . . . his mother?”

  “Charlotte!” Amelia cried desperately.

  “I apologize for teasing,” Charlotte said in a conciliatory tone. “However, if the viscount will not do, then take the earl. They nearly entered the room at the same time. It hardly matters if you prefer one over the other.”

  “God save us all, Charlotte,” Amelia hissed. “You speak of it as though we are discussing which cakes to eat with our tea.”

  “We have been friends forever,” Charlotte chided. “I would think by this time you had become accustomed to my frank, no-nonsense approach to life.”

  “It still has the power to shock me on occasion,” Amelia admitted. “Especially when we are speaking of such delicate, intimate matters.”

  It was equally difficult to admit that as much as the notion nearly terrified Amelia out of her shoes and stockings there was also a small, rebellious part of her spirit that embraced the idea of the viscount as her scandalous lover. The erotic notion that she, Amelia Wheatley, could somehow be this handsome, wicked man’s woman brought Amelia’s sensual imagination to life.

  She lifted her head and watched the viscount closely.

  He was bowing and smiling as he strolled into the room. Amelia noticed he smiled often, but gave only a select few a greeting of unaffected enthusiasm. Within minutes he was surrounded by guests of both genders who appeared eager to converse with him.

  The laughter from this ever-widening circle grew steadily and though he was no longer visible Amelia had little doubt the viscount remained at the center of everyone’s attention. Including her own.

  Amelia sat up a little straighter. “There is no need for me to search any further. The viscount will serve my purpose most adequately.” She turned her head and looked right into Charlotte’s eyes. “What do I do next?”

  Feeling decidedly peeved, Gareth nonetheless managed to respond to the many greetings with a civil tongue and a smile pasted on his face. He noticed that Lucien was grinning like a fool. Not because he wasn’t receiving his equal share of fawning attention, but rather because Mrs. Fairweather was nowhere to be found.

  When they arrived, Gareth had refrained from asking outright if she was among the guests, hoping instead to surprise her. For the last few miles of the journey his mind had been consumed by thoughts of her—the sensual mouth made for teasing kisses, high delicate breasts that ached to be suckled, the long, shapely legs that would wind tightly about his waist as he joined his body with hers.

  Gareth had strolled through a good portion of the large house on the pretext of admiring the estate, half expecting her to appear around the next corner, with her shy smiles and coy glances. Yet room after room had revealed only opulent riches and other guests the viscount had no interest in meeting. It was a rare form of torture that brought on maudlin thoughts.

  “Glad you could make it, Longley. These parties can be a deadly bore without some young blood around to liven things up.”

  Gareth pulled himself together and shook hands with his host, the Duke of Hartwell. He declined an offer of food, but managed to feign polite interest in meeting several of the duke’s cronies, men of an older generation who delighted in telling raucous and clearly exaggerated tales of the viscount’s ancestors.

  Then, out of the corner of his eye, Gareth saw a flash of lavender coming toward him. At last! A Season of stalking his prey had taught the viscount that delicate hue was a favored shade, for it matched the ring of color around Mrs. Fairweather’s extraordinary eyes.

  With effort, Gareth resisted the urge to rake his fingers through his hair, knowing it would muss it completely. He almost laughed aloud at his vanity.

  “Please excuse my intrusion, my lord,” a lilting female voice said. “I did not at first recognize you, but now that I have, I wanted to say hello and extend my regards to your family. Are they here also?”

  The woman before him dropped an elegant curtsy and he bowed automatically in response. There was a second of disorientation as the viscount realized it was not Mrs. Fairweather who had spoken those charming words, but rather a stranger.

  She was an attractive woman with pleasant features, glossy dark hair and a lush figure. Gareth had no idea who she was, yet by her greeting it was obvious she knew him. Then again, didn’t everyone?

  Gareth barely restrained his disappointment. “My parents have not made the journey north. They prefer to summer with the Regent in Brighton.”

  “How delightful for them.”

  “Yes.” He drew out the single-syllable word for as long as he dared, then retreated behind a formal perfunctory smile and a slightly cool manner.

  “You must offer your parents my best regards the next time you see them,” the woman insisted.

  “I will not forget.”

  “Good.”

  Though she was standing almost rigidly still, her body seemed to dance with impatience. Gareth raised his brow and turned his neck slightly, a sure and subtle hint that their brief, boring conversation was at an end. Yet the damnable woman did not react as she should. Instead of making a graceful departure she lifted her chin and smiled at him.

  Gareth was momentarily taken aback. It was not the come-hither broadness of a seductive female he knew so well. He had been weaned on those sultry advances. Yet unless he was very much mistaken there was an invitation in her eyes. Of what he could not be certain.

  “I do appreciate your politeness, however, I believe it might prove difficult to keep your word,” she commented.

  “Pardon?”

  “You can hardly give my regards to your parents when you do not know who I am,” she said in a serious tone. “Can you?”

  Gareth laughed. It should have been a mortifying, embarrassing moment, yet there was no malice in her tone. “You have caught me out, neat and tight, madame.” He bowed, deep and low. “I stand before you a defeated and humbled man.”

  “Oh, I highly doubt that, my lord.” She joined his laughter and he found that he liked the sound of it. “I am Amelia Wheatley, Dowager Countess of Monford. We have met in London on several different occasions, though not for a few years.”

  She extended her ungloved hand. He lifted it to his lips and lightly brushed the edge of her knuckles. A pleasant scent of spring roses tickled his nostrils.

  “My apologies, fair lady, for committing the unpardonable sin of forgetting your name.” He eyed her curiously as his lips lingered on her petal-soft skin.

  “You disappoint me, my lord.” She cocked her head, her hazel eyes sparkling with mischief. “A momentary lapse in memory is far from a sinful act. Especially for you.”

  Gareth’s distraction began to evaporate. “I see that my inflated reputation has preceded me.” />
  “Oh, yes. I do believe it arrived a full twenty minutes before you set foot in the dining room.”

  He chuckled again and finally, reluctantly let go of her hand. She was still smiling, apparently in a good humor. Yet when he looked closer, the viscount observed that though she tried to hide it there was a slight reserve to her expression. Perhaps she was worried that they were being watched?

  “Let me assure you, my exploits are retold and embellished so often they rarely resemble the truth.”

  A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Have they no merit at all?”

  “I would not go so far as to say that,” he replied.

  “It must be tiresome at times to live up to those scandalous acts,” she remarked.

  “Fairly exhausting,” he agreed. “Yet somehow I find the strength.”

  “How admirable.”

  For an instant Gareth’s famous glib tongue failed him. In his experience women fell into two distinct categories. Those who had a poor opinion of him and steered clear at all costs and those who openly tried to entice him.

  He was having great difficulty trying to determine where the countess fit, for he was getting a strange mix of signals from her. She appeared to be examining him with the same intensity women used when they were about to purchase something, yet there was a remote detachment to her perusal.

  Then she blinked. Or was it a wink?

  “Pardon my interruption, Longley, but there is something I believe you need to see.”

  Gareth met Lucien’s mocking eyes. No further elaboration was necessary. The viscount swung his head around and all thoughts of the countess fled. Standing on the far side of the room was the delectable Mrs. Emma Fairweather. Her rich hair of spun gold and stunning figure was like a beacon of salvation to a storm-wrecked ship.

  Gareth watched her hungrily as she leaned forward to shake hands with a seated matron. Plump swells of tempting flesh fell forward, threatening to spill from the bodice of her low-cut gown. That brief glimpse of bosom ignited the lust that had kept the viscount chasing after her for the entire Season.

  He breathed deeply, shackling his desire. “You must excuse me, my lady. I see an old friend.” He smiled at the countess with feigned interest, his thoughts now inflamed with the notion of filling his hands with the delicious breasts he had just glimpsed, of flattening his body against Mrs. Fairweather’s, pressing his hips into hers.

  The countess stiffened noticeably. Her mouth compressed into a thin line, yet remarkably she was able to still keep it curved upward in a smile.

  “I shall expect you to dance with me later this evening, my lord,” she replied stoically. She eyed him askance and added, “To make amends for forgetting my name.”

  Words failed him for a few moments. He watched the countess pivot on her heel and turn, leaving behind only a faint scent of fresh roses that he was honest enough to admit intrigued him.

  More shocking still was the realization that she had succeeded in making him entirely forget Mrs. Fairweather for several minutes. Remarkable.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The evening of dancing was not unlike countless others that Amelia had attended. A small, local quartet of string musicians who played a variety of tunes with competence, if not great skill.

  Along with the music, echoes of laughter and conversation could be heard, and even the occasional staccato rhythm of clapping hands as the dancers swirled and pranced to a lively country tune. Standing in the shadows made it easier to observe the gathering, and Amelia was surprised by what she saw.

  Perhaps she had always been too busy or too involved before to notice all the flirtations, the lascivious looks, the assessing glances shared between many of the male and female guests. Yet instead of encouraging her with her own plan, this looser, more open attitude only made her feel more inadequate.

  With a sigh, she shrank back against the silk patterned paper that covered the walls of the ballroom and searched the room for any sign of the viscount.

  She quickly found him on the opposite side of the room, leaning negligently against a wall, one ankle crossed over the other, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. There was a very pointed look of concentration on his handsome face. For an instant she thought he might be daydreaming, then she realized he had something within his sights that seemed to fascinate him.

  Curious, Amelia followed the line of his intense gaze. Mrs. Emma Fairweather. Amelia’s heart sank. It was difficult enough trying to convince herself that she had the daring, wit, and feminine allure to catch the viscount’s eye. If she had to compete with the likes of Emma Fairweather to do so, Amelia feared she did not stand a chance.

  “Have you seen him?” Belinda asked as she came to stand beside her friend.

  “Yes.” Amelia glanced around to be certain no one was near. “He is on the far side of the room. Blatantly ogling Mrs. Fairweather’s charms.”

  Belinda’s lips pulled down in confusion. “I just saw him at the card table in the gaming room. How did he get here so quickly?”

  Amelia shook her head. “That is not possible. I have been watching him closely for the past twenty minutes. He has not been near the gaming tables.”

  “You are mistaken,” Belinda insisted in a quiet, yet firm voice. “True, I have met Mr. Bascomb on only two occasions, but I very distinctly—”

  “Mr. Bascomb!”

  “Yes.” Belinda’s finely edged brow arched up. “Who did you think I was talking about?”

  “Viscount Longley.” Amelia felt her cheeks flush with color.

  Belinda stared at her with huge eyes. “Charlotte told me you had decided on a . . . uhm . . . companion. So it is to be Viscount Longley?”

  “Yes.” Amelia glanced away. “However I shall be unsuccessful in my quest for scandal if I cannot manage to separate him from Mrs. Fairweather.”

  “We shall devise a way to deal with Mrs. Fairweather,” Belinda declared. “If you are certain he is the one?”

  Amelia let out a nervous flutter of laughter. “I am certain of nothing, except my extreme distaste for Mr. Bascomb.”

  “Viscount Longley is a rather ambitious choice,” Belinda said in a reflective tone. “His skill with women is legendary and he is wickedly handsome. Goodness, my insides flutter and my heart trips a little too fast just looking at him. His mouth is sensuous, yet also ruthless. Can you imagine what it would feel like to be kissed by such a rogue?”

  Amelia was about to reply, but Belinda was claimed for the next dance before she had a chance to answer. Yes, Amelia could very well imagine a kiss from the viscount. It would start as just the slightest pressure, the softest caress. But soon he would deepen the kiss, as he parted his lips over hers and pushed his tongue inside to ravish her mouth.

  And how would she react? With fluttering sighs and coy protests? Or with honest emotion? Would she allow herself to float on the currents of romantic pleasure or would she feel too inhibited to let her passions run free?

  With a start of surprise, Amelia realized she could not remember the last time she had shared a kiss of passion with a man. George had stolen a few kisses during their courtship, but had rarely pressed his lips to hers once they had married. According to Charlotte, a well-executed kiss was among the finer rewards in a woman’s life.

  Gazing at the lazy smile that played along the viscount’s full lips made Amelia want to know more about what she had been missing.

  A sudden, unexpected glimpse of Roger’s stony countenance among the faces in the crowd effectively squelched that desire. Where Roger stood, Mr. Bascomb was certain to be near. Amelia took a step forward, then looked wildly from side to side, searching for a safe escape. She circled the room cautiously, with a twofold purpose. To avoid Mr. Bascomb and Roger and to somehow attract the notice of the viscount.

  The former task required only sharp eyes and swift feet, the latter was a more daunting challenge. Given the viscount’s current preoccupation with Mrs. Fairweather, Amelia decided she could strip herself naked
and still remain unseen by him.

  Yet she was not ready to concede defeat. Amelia approached the viscount, moving with a slow, stealthy steadiness that sparked her nerves with a strange feeling of restless agitation. Oddly it was an almost pleasant sensation.

  Perhaps because she felt as if she were finally trying to do something. She was no longer waiting placidly for fate to come along and shape her life. She was trying to take control.

  Amelia had nearly gained the viscount’s side when she noticed a sudden change overtake him. Drat, she had waited too long. With a stark look of purpose on his handsome face, he pushed away from the wall, crossed the room, and joined the circle around Mrs. Fairweather. Within minutes they were paired together on the dance floor, the delicate blond feminine beauty a perfect compliment to his dark, handsome countenance.

  There seemed to be little conversation between the couple, but the looks he cast her way spoke volumes. He bent forward to whisper something to Mrs. Fairweather that caused her to toss back her golden head and laugh. Amelia suppressed a sudden feeling of envy.

  Then Mrs. Fairweather leaned deliberately forward and brushed herself against his chest. The viscount’s eyes burned down at her.

  Amelia turned away from the sight, berating herself for feeling such jealousy. She had no right to such feelings, no prior claim to the viscount’s affections or interest. She winced, remembering how quickly he had abandoned her in the dining room when the lovely Mrs. Fairweather appeared. No sane person would have reason to believe that would change for the entire two weeks of the house party.

  Amelia thought seriously of taking Charlotte’s advice and selecting another gentleman. Yet she found she could barely consider the notion. For some odd reason fate had placed the viscount squarely in her path and she was resolved to somehow see this through.

  The dance ended. Amelia was trying to decide her next move when she noticed Belinda sailing forward. Amelia watched with delight and admiration as her friend neatly cornered the pair, and with seeming ease and a friendly smile whisked Mrs. Fairweather away.