Seducing The Viscount

by Deborah Raleigh

  “Which I sincerely hope you will not.”

  “No.” She wrinkled her perfect nose. “Actually, now that I have accepted that fate is in my own hands, it should be quite easy to go on. We at least comprehend what not to do in a proper marriage.”

  “A proper marriage.” He crushed her to his body, not even a bit surprised by the rush of pure happiness. “Do you know, my love, I like the sound of that.”

  She snuggled her head into the hollow of his shoulder, just as if it had been made for that purpose.

  “I rather like it myself.”

  Ian’s entire body hardened with an explosion of searing need, his mind barely capable of functioning. With an effort, he squashed the urge to toss her over his shoulder and head for the bed. There was still one unpleasant detail that had to be settled.

  “What of your parents? I may be the most selfish beast ever born, but I will not have you plagued with guilt.” He swallowed the bile that threatened to rise in his throat. “If you wish, I will purchase a home that is close enough for you to regularly visit, although I will not tolerate having you tend to them night and day. As your husband, I demand that any tending be exclusively devoted to me.”

  She tilted back her head, her lips twitching. “Do you take a great deal of tending?”

  He groaned, his hand slipping down to the curve of her back to press her against his aching erection.

  “God, yes.”

  Her breathless laugh feathered over his skin. “Actually, I hired a housekeeper from the village who has agreed to move in to the cottage, and while my parents are bound to grumble and grouse, I am confident that Mrs. Norville is perfectly capable of seeing to their needs.” She grimaced. “Of course, I will need to visit them quite often. For all their faults, they are my family.”

  “Faults and family do seem to go hand in hand.”

  Her eyes darkened at his unwittingly bitter words. “Ian—”

  “Not tonight, my love,” he swiftly interrupted. “Tonight there is only you and me.”

  “The two of us all alone.” Her teasing fingers brushed down his nape, slipping beneath the open collar of his shirt with devastating ease. “Whatever shall we do?”

  Ian might be an idiot, but he was never one to miss an opportunity. No doubt if life were fair he would never have been allowed to win the love of this extraordinary woman, let alone have a second chance to have her as his wife, but now that he had been offered paradise, he was not about to waste a single moment.

  With one smooth motion, Ian swept Mercy off her feet and headed for the bedchamber.

  “Well, you did mention something about a proper marriage. Perhaps it would be best if we have a bit of practice.”

  She met his smoldering gaze with a smile that held nothing but undiluted confidence in their future life together.

  “Yes, indeed. All the best marriages must have practice.”

  His chest swelled with a happiness that seemed too large to fit into his unworthy heart.

  “And love,” he whispered.

  “And love….”

  The Norrington townhouse was a splendid Palladian palace on Great Ormond Street. The façade was built of red brick with fluted columns that supported a balcony on the third story and towering windows that reflected the golden glow of the early morning sunlight.

  Crossing the narrow courtyard behind a high wrought-iron fence, Ian mounted the shallow steps, his lips twisting as a uniformed footman swept open one of the heavy oak doors and stepped back to allow him entry.

  In silence, the servant led him through the arched arcade of Corinthian columns, bypassing the split marble staircase to head toward the back of the massive house.

  Ian ignored the click of his heels that echoed eerily about the lofted ceilings that were molded with a great deal of gilt and the elegant furnishings that were still hidden beneath Holland covers. During the handful of occasions he had visited the house during his childhood, he had been overawed by the majestic beauty and constantly in fear of breaking one of the priceless heirlooms that were scattered throughout. It was as oppressive and formal as Rosehill.

  On this morning, he was too filled with joy to have it dimmed by ancient memories. Indeed, he was astonishingly pleased at the thought of Mercy being surrounded by such graceful beauty. This was precisely the sort of setting she deserved.

  The past was gone, and in its place was a glorious future filled with endless possibilities.

  The footman opened the doors to the second drawing room and Ian entered to discover Ella seated upon a crimson velvet chaise, sipping her morning chocolate as she shifted through an enormous pile of invitations that had clearly just arrived. Although Ella rarely entered into London society, her arrival at the townhouse was enough to stir the society hostesses to fight over her elusive presence.

  She lifted her head at his entrance, her brown eyes widening in shock as the envelopes dropped from her shaking hands.

  “Ian.” With an obvious effort, the older woman rose to her feet, her gaze sweeping desperately over his carefully guarded expression as if it had been years not weeks since she had last caught sight of him. “I fear that Mercy has not yet risen.”

  Ian hid his smug smile. He had made love to Mercy for hours, savoring each and every caress. Only when the dawn was threatening to crest had he forced himself to escort her back to Norrington House.

  “I did not expect her to be down yet. She had a rather late evening,” he murmured.

  A knowing amusement briefly flickered over Ella’s pale face. “So she did.” The older woman paused, seeming oddly uncertain as she clutched her hands together. “Did you wish to leave a message for her?”

  “Actually, I came to speak with you.”

  “Oh.” Ella took a hesitant step forward. “I suppose you are angry that I came to London, but I assure you that I have no intention of pushing myself—”

  “I came to thank you,” he firmly interrupted.

  “Thank me?”

  “For bringing Mercy safely to London.”

  The round face colored with pleasure. “Oh, well, she was quite set on coming, and I could not possibly allow her to travel on her own.”

  Thank God his mother at least understood the dangers. Which was more than he could say for his soon-to-be wife.

  He smiled wryly. “Although my fiancée may possess a great deal of common sense, she is still adorably innocent in most worldly matters. She would no doubt have given half her coins to the local spongers and lost the other half to pickpockets before she ever reached the first coaching inn.”

  “Fiancée?” Genuine happiness lightened Ella’s expression. “Then you are to wed?”

  “I intend to seek a special license this afternoon.”

  “But that is wonderful.” Ella abruptly frowned. “Oh, but surely Mercy will desire to be wed in her father’s church? He was the vicar there, after all.”

  Ian snorted at the mere notion. “And have the surly old goat scowling through the entire ceremony while her mother wails and wrings her hands in the background? No, I would never allow Mercy’s wedding day to be ruined by such ridiculous theatrics. Thankfully, she is quite set on a quiet London ceremony with only a few witnesses.”

  Ella’s smile returned. “That is no doubt for the best. May I inquire where will you hold the ceremony?”

  Ian paused, briefly wrestling with his inner demons. Then, recalling Mercy’s soft demand as she lay in his arms, he squared his shoulders.

  “Mercy would like the ceremony to be held here, at Norrington House, if you and the viscount will allow it.”

  “Here? Oh…” Hastily retrieving a handkerchief from the sleeve of her French gray morning gown, Ella dabbed the tears from her cheeks. “Ian. Oh.”

  Ian shifted uneasily, his lingering bitterness no proof against the fragile hope that bloomed in the damp brown eyes.

  “As I said, it is to be a quiet affair, a fortnight from Tuesday if that is convenient.”

  “Perfectly con
venient. I shall see to a wedding breakfast, of course, and Mercy’s trousseau, although it will be a close thing to have more than a few gowns actually finished by…by…”

  Her words trailed to an end as she sank onto the edge of the chaise, her body shaking with deep sobs of relief.

  With long strides, Ian was seated beside her, his arms encircling her heaving shoulders.

  It was yet too soon to have entirely forgiven his sense of betrayal, but neither could he dismiss nine and twenty years of unconditional love.

  Perhaps his childhood would have been easier had he known Norrington was not a cold, indifferent father and that Ella was more than an aunt. But in the end, did it truly matter?

  “Enough, Ella. You will make yourself ill,” he soothed.

  It was several moments before the older woman managed to gather her composure and glance into Ian’s softened expression.

  “Ian, does this mean you have forgiven me?”

  “It is not so much a matter of forgiveness, but rather one of understanding.” His lips twisted. “I do not deny it will take time to adjust to the thought of you being my mother, but I do comprehend just how difficult it must have been for you. You did what you thought was for the best.”

  A watery smile broke through the tears as Ella lifted a hand to lightly touch his cheek.

  “Do you know, Ian, if I could change the past I would, but I would never, ever change the man you have become.”

  “Nor would I.” A soft female voice spoke from the doorway, causing Ian’s heart to leap with pleasure. “He might be a hellion, a scoundrel, and an infamous rake, but he is mine.”

  Drawn like a magnet, Ian was on his feet and crossing the room to take the hands of the woman who had utterly and completely captured his heart.

  Gazing into Mercy’s wide, beautiful eyes, he lifted her fingers to his lips.

  “For all eternity, my sweet. For all eternity.”

  Epilogue

  Standing distant from the small clutch of guests that were busily tossing rose petals at the carriage that was pulling away from Norrington House, Raoul Charlebois leaned against the wrought-iron fence with a quiet sense of contentment.

  There could be no doubting Ian’s shimmering happiness as he had stood at the side of Miss Mercy Simpson and proclaimed his vows. It had been obvious in his every lingering touch and the manner in which his gaze had never wavered from his new bride. Mon Dieu, the lovesick man had even been charming to the viscount and his mother to please his bride.

  Raoul could have hoped for no better for his friend.

  There was the sound of footsteps, and, turning his head, Raoul watched Fredrick Colstone, the heir to Lord Graystone, approaching with two glasses of champagne in his hands. The slender gentleman with honey curls and silver eyes had arrived in London last eve along with his beautiful wife, Portia.

  Raoul hid a smile as he caught sight of the smudge of grease on one ear and notepad that ruined the line of Fredrick’s Bottle Green jacket. He would lay odds that the younger gentleman had spent the morning in one of his damnable workshops and was forcibly hauled to the ceremony by his efficient wife. Fredrick was utterly devoted to Ian, but few things beyond Portia could actually distract him once he was working on his inventions.

  Halting at Raoul’s side, Fredrick shoved the champagne into his hand and lifted his own glass in a toast.

  “To the demise of the renowned Casanova.”

  Raoul obligingly lifted his glass, a smile playing about his lips.

  “A title I believe Ian has happily retired, although it is said that women all over England are wearing black to mourn his nuptials and that more than one gentleman found himself in utter ruin after betting that the Casanova would never wed.”

  Fredrick rolled his eyes. “Somehow I am not at all surprised. He would not be Ian Breckford if his marriage did not cause a stir. I will give him this, he possesses excellent taste in women.”

  “Have you mentioned this to your wife?”

  Fredrick shrugged with the confidence of a gentleman secure in the love of his wife.

  “Actually, she was the one to inform me just how fortunate Ian has been. She and Mercy are already fast friends.”

  “And Portia is wise enough to realize that you are utterly besotted with her?”

  “There is that.” Fredrick sipped his champagne, turning his head to watch the carriage disappear among the traffic. “Do you think that Ian will entirely forgive his mother for her deception?”

  “I believe he already has, although it may be some time before his wounds are fully healed,” Raoul assured his companion. “He has even gone into business with the viscount. Some sort of investing scheme. Once they return from their honeymoon in Paris, I believe that he intends to open an office here in London, although he mentioned something of buying a house in Surrey so Mercy may be near her parents.”

  “No doubt he will make a fortune. He always did possess the luck of the devil.”

  Raoul drained his champagne, uncomfortably aware of a sensation that was perilously close to envy piercing his heart. Not for Ian’s impending fortune. Raoul had more than enough wealth to suit his needs.

  No, this was…Mon Dieu. He did not know what it was. Only that it had been plaguing him since he had caught sight of Ian gazing with mindless devotion at his sweet Mercy.

  “So all’s well that ends well,” he forced himself to mutter.

  “Not quite.” Fredrick leaned against the iron fence, sliding a sly glance in Raoul’s direction. “There is still one of us who has yet to seek the truth of his legacy.”

  Raoul laughed with sharp disbelief. “You cannot expect me to follow in your footsteps?”

  “Why ever not? You desire to know the truth, do you not?”

  “Really, Fredrick, I thought you a great deal more intelligent. Obviously marriage has rattled your wits.”

  “That is a distinct possibility, since I haven’t the least notion what you mean.”

  Raoul straightened, impatiently tossing the empty glass in a nearby hedge. He wanted to be away from Norrington House and the gathering crowd of gawkers across the street that had recognized him. Soon he would be surrounded, and he would be obliged to drive through London with a ridiculous parade of admirers trailing behind him.

  With an impatient hand, he gestured toward his waiting carriage.

  “Both you and Ian began your search as perfectly content bachelors and ended leg-shackled within a few weeks. You do not believe that I intend to follow in your footsteps?”

  Fredrick chuckled, following in Raoul’s wake as he stepped toward the curb.

  “There are worse things than discovering a woman who can offer you happiness beyond all dreams.”

  “Perhaps, but I cannot think of one at the moment.”

  “Fate is a strange thing, old friend. It tends to find you no matter how you might attempt to hide behind greasepaint and ridiculous costumes,” Fredrick warned. “Surely it is better to meet it face-to-face.”

  It was a relief when his groom pulled the black carriage to a halt before him. As much as he loved Fredrick, his mood was oddly volatile. He would not risk punishing one of his few friends with his ill humor.

  “We are no longer ten years old, mon ami,” he pointed out, pulling open the door to the carriage. “You cannot taunt and dare me into some ridiculous deed that I am bound to regret.”

  Fredrick made a rude noise. “If you will recall, it was always Ian who was daring us into some devilish stunt, while I was the voice of reason. You, on the other hand, were the one to ride to the rescue when we managed to tumble into a scrape.”

  “An endless and tedious duty, I assure you,” he said dryly, disguising the wistful pang that tugged at his heart.

  Ridiculously, he missed those simpler days when both Ian and Fredrick had depended upon him. He had grown accustomed to protecting them, to tending to their needs, even bullying them when necessary. Though he would never admit it, there was an emptiness to his life tha
t he hadn’t managed to fill since Fredrick and Ian had struck out on their own.

  Perhaps sensing more than Raoul desired, Fredrick placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “It is a duty that has now been taken from your hands. Perhaps it is time that you consider your own future.”

  A strange chill of premonition inched down Raoul’s spine, and he hastily stepped in the carriage, as if he could outrun the unnerving sensation.

  “By rushing off to my father’s estate to meet my destiny?” he mocked with a shake of his head. “No, I thank you, Fredrick. Return to your bride and your inventions. You have no talent for soothsaying.”

  Closing the door, Raoul leaned back in the leather squabs and felt the carriage jerk into motion. Unfortunately, it was not before Fredrick managed to have the last word.

  “Run if you will, Charlebois, but destiny is waiting for you.”

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  Prologue

  London 1814

  The ballroom was a startling blaze of color. In the flickering candlelight, the satin-and-silk-draped maidens twirled in the arms of dashing gentlemen, the brilliant flare of their jewels making a rainbow of shimmering fireworks that was reflected in the mirrors that were set in the walls.

  The elegant pageantry was near breathtaking, but it was not the passing spectacle that caught and held the attention of the numerous guests.

  That honor belonged solely to Conde Cezar.

  With the amused arrogance that belonged solely to the aristocracy, he moved through the crowd, needing only a lift of his slender hand to have them parting like the Red Sea to clear him a path or a glance from his smoldering black eyes to send the ladies (and a few gentlemen) into a fluttering frenzy of excitement.

  Much to her annoyance, Miss Anna Randal did her own share of fluttering as she caught sight of that faintly golden, exquisitely chiseled profile. Stupid really when gentlemen such as the Conde would never lower themselves to take notice of a poor, insignificant maiden who spent her evenings in one dark corner or another.