The Dangerous Viscount

by Miranda Neville

  Diana looked for Sebastian and she believed that he looked for her. A summoning smile brought him to her side and she tucked her hand around his elbow. His arm hung awkwardly, as though unused to offering a lady support. They crossed the steep stone bridge that spanned the lake at the beginning of the walk. A hundred feet past there was a diversion from the main path.

  “Shall we …”

  “… take the path to the Temple of Aphrodite?”

  “You know the park well,” he said.

  “I always took every opportunity to explore it.”

  “Do you suppose we ever met when I visited Mandeville?” he asked.

  “If we did, I was doubtless a small, untidy schoolgirl and of no interest to boys. You are about the same age as Blake, I think.”

  “Exactly the same,” he said curtly.

  “Were you friends back then?”

  “I lived with my great-uncle in the north. My uncle the duke invited me to stay at Mandeville so that I could have company of my own age.”

  “And that would be Blake.”

  “That would be Blakeney,” he agreed without further elaboration.

  Dusk fell fast now and the path was almost invisible. Silk slippers weren’t designed for the rougher terrain off the main walk. Sebastian guided her safely along the grassy trail through a thick group of azaleas and past a climbing rose, blooming wildly as it smothered a tree trunk, its scent intensified by the darkness. She clung to his arm and took every opportunity to brush her hip against him.

  The trickle of running water recalled a forgotten feature of their chosen route. “The stream,” she said. “I wonder if I can find the stepping stones without getting my feet wet.”

  Without a word he set one arm about her shoulders, the other beneath her knees. Diana was horribly conscious that she was no feather, but she might have been made of gossamer the way he swung her up. Appearances were deceptive: clearly Sebastian was very strong. She put her arms about his neck and leaned her head against his chest, feeling and hearing the steady drum of his heartbeat. She braced herself to be dropped, half expecting a dunking in the shallow racing stream. But he picked his way sure-footed over the slippery stones that formed the path across the brook. She relaxed into his embrace, enjoying a sense of safety. In the fading light all his oddities—the old-fashioned garments, the floppy neck cloth, the spectacles, the communication-by-grunt—evaporated, leaving heat, hard muscle, and a subtle masculine scent that owed nothing to any perfumer. She had a fleeting thought that she was meeting the real Sebastian Iverley, a man of strength and dependability beneath the eccentric exterior.

  Without a stumble he achieved the other side of the stream. The dome of the temple gleamed white over the dark foliage of the rhododendrons, up a shallow rise.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, preparing to be set on her feet. But he held on to her, taking the slope in easy strides, his only comment one of those damned indecipherable grunts.

  Sebastian hardly bothered to ask himself why he carried a full-grown woman up a hill she was quite capable of negotiating on her own. He’d surrendered to the fact that where Diana was concerned everything he’d ever defined as logic, reason, and common sense had fled. Her delectable body, the subject of sleepless fantasies, clung to his own. His lips pressed against her hair, as glossy to the touch as to the eyes. Her fragrance, maddening, rich and beyond his knowledge to define, should have confused his senses like brandy. Instead his head felt clearer than it had ever been. He was in the right place at the right time doing the right thing. The predictable outcome of attempting the slimy and uneven stepping stones so burdened was a cold bath for both of them. He never feared it for a moment. Tonight Sebastian was supremely powerful. He was Atlas, Julius Caesar, Columbus, and Shakespeare. If Deaver were here he’d sell him his collection in a flash.

  But holding, conquering, or discovering the world, producing great works of literature, or even buying books, were not on Sebastian’s list of things to be done that night.

  The path emerged into an open plateau where the little round temple stood on its square plinth. Sebastian climbed four steps and walked to the other side, which offered an open view down to the lake. A warm summer breeze carried the sounds of night. Brilliant moonlight reflected ripples of water and illuminated Diana’s face. Head tilted back, shadowed eyes delved into his then dropped to his mouth. He read the enigmatic curve of her own as an invitation to do, finally, at long last, what he’d ached to do for two interminable days.

  He kissed her lips, hard.

  His heart plunged when her movements told him she wanted to be put down. He hadn’t been disappointed at the desperately anticipated contact, but had she? She almost certainly had a greater basis for comparison than he.

  She slid to her feet, keeping her hands on his shoulders. He sensed her rise on tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Not so fierce. Softly.”

  The sibilants caressed him and soothed his anxiety. She offered herself again and he brought his mouth to hers, gently this time. He was rewarded by the sensation of warm satin and the sweet humidity of breath as she parted her lips beneath his. He followed her lead and shook with astonishment and delight when he felt her tongue flicker around the inner rim of his lips, kindling a sensitivity he’d never have suspected. He ventured to reciprocate and the clash of their tongues sent a bolt of lightning straight to his cock.

  His arms went around her waist and tugged her against him, deepening a desire that had already reached scorching intensity. Satin-clad fingers burned the nape of his neck then cradled his skull and pulled him closer. Recalling her admonishment he tried to hold back, to emulate her own skill and give equal pleasure. Without conscious intention he brought one hand up to touch her silk-covered breast and lost any tenuous control over his own actions. Wilder and bolder, he obeyed the drive to devour and felt devoured in return. Beyond observation or analysis, he was swept into a maelstrom of wet heat and one overwhelming urge possessed him.

  To make her his.

  There was nothing wrong with his hearing so it must have reached his ears, but at first his mind refused to register the sound. He knew only when she stiffened in his arms and her lips fell still against his.

  “Di-a-na!” The repeated call wafted up the grassy slope from the lakeside.

  God damn him to hell. Blakeney. In nearly twenty years of unwelcome appearances, his cousin had made his most inconvenient yet.

  Chapter 6

  A comfortable chair stood in the library gallery, invisible to anyone below who wasn’t looking and a perfect spot for a man who wanted to hide. There was only one person Sebastian wanted to see that morning and she wouldn’t be up for an hour or so.

  That ladies preferred to rise late was just one of the oddities of the female race he’d discovered in the past day or two. While he waited, he looked over the small bundle of correspondence forwarded from his London house. Only two letters were of any importance. Viscount Iverley wrote that he was dying. Lord Deaver hinted that he might, finally, be prepared to discuss a price. These two communications summoned him to Northumberland and Kent respectively so he couldn’t combine the two journeys. Duty competed with inclination.

  His great-uncle’s news didn’t alarm him. His former guardian had been dying on a regular basis for at least ten years and there was no reason he wouldn’t survive to do so for another decade. Yet Sebastian owed him a visit. He hadn’t faced the horrors of Saxton Iverley for over a year. As for Deaver, at any other time Sebastian would be calling for his carriage and posting to Kent to reap the reward of years of careful courting.

  Both would have to wait. He had another courting task planned. This morning he would propose marriage to Lady Fanshawe. The letters fell to his lap and he relaxed into his chair, reflecting on the astonishing fact that Sebastian Iverley, lifelong scorner of all things female, was about to enter the state of matrimony. Not that his opinion had changed. But Diana was different from other women. One only had to look at her family to s
ee that. Becoming connected to the interesting Montroses was an added enticement. What his own closest relative would say he’d rather not think about. He’d never convince Lord Iverley that Diana was an exception to his favorite precept.

  He wondered how long it took to arrange a wedding. For one who’d always avoided them, he found himself eager for his own. Or eager for his wedding night, rather, and the discovery of firsthand details about Diana’s sleeping habits.

  He stiffened like a watchdog at the sound of the door opening below, but another look at his watch told him it was unlikely to be her. A murmur of masculine voices announced the arrival of Blakeney and Lambton. He hunched down in his seat.

  “You’ll have to lend me the money, Lamb.” That was Blakeney, so extravagant and careless in his spending he was always short of cash. “Might as well make it a thousand. You’ll have it back on quarter day.”

  As far as Sebastian could make out, Lambton, an ever-obliging fool, agreed to the arrangement. Not terribly interested in Blake’s financial difficulties, his attention drifted until her name came up.

  “What about Diana Fanshawe?” Lamb asked. “You’re going about it damned discreetly.” Sebastian leaned around the chair so that he could hear clearly. “Have you had her yet? Are you going to give me some details?”

  “Damn it, Lamb! When it comes to one’s wife the secrets of the bedchamber remain secret.”

  “Wife!”

  “I daresay I shall marry her,” Blakeney replied. “Is that necessary?”

  “If I want her, and I do, it’ll have to be marriage. That or risk a scandal at Mandeville and the devil to pay with my mother.”

  “I wouldn’t think the duchess, or the duke for that matter, would like to see that connection.”

  “M’father won’t like it at all but my mother will like it less if I take Diana as my mistress and it becomes known.”

  “Which it will, of course. But why should anyone care?” Lamb sounded puzzled. “Aren’t her family nobodies?”

  “Not quite. They may be a shoal of queer fish but the family’s been here since before the Conqueror. Or perhaps it’s before the Flood. A devilish long time, anyway. The Vanderlins may be ducal now, but the Montroses were already somebody when we were living in mud huts in Holland. The country folk never forget we only arrived with William of Orange.”

  “Still, Blake. Marriage?”

  He’ll never get the chance, Sebastian thought smugly, not pretending to deny that beating his cousin to the prize added spice to the prospect of his wedding.

  “She’s beautiful, Lamb,” Blakeney said. “Who’d have thought she’d turn out so well? Fanshawe spotted a diamond where none of the rest of us saw it. And Fanshawe’s nabob fortune would be damned useful. I could thumb my nose at my father. Hey, I wouldn’t have to borrow from you anymore.”

  “Rich and beautiful, you lucky dog.”

  “She wants me,” Blakeney said.

  Sebastian could hardly restrain his mirth. How like his cousin to be so arrogant and so wrong. It wasn’t Blake Diana had been pursuing for two days. It wasn’t Blakeney she’d kissed in the moonlight. Thinking of that interrupted embrace almost distracted him from the rest of the conversation.

  “Seeing her with my cousin Owl was quite exciting. The idiot seemed to be getting into the spirit of things. Goes to show Diana’s a hot piece.”

  He could have howled with humiliation that Blake had observed that moment of thrilling intimacy. His own fault, Sebastian supposed, that he’d chosen to kiss her by the light of a full moon in front of a building designed to be seen from every part of the park.

  The first twinge of doubt assailed him. Had he chosen the location or had she? No. He had. He’d still been carrying her when he kissed her for the first time.

  “Rich, beautiful, a hot piece, and a damn good sport,” Lamb said. “Many ladies would have fainted at the idea of the wager, let alone propose it.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Blake said. “That five hundred pounds hurts. I hope Diana thinks it was worth it. Kissing Sebastian Iverley can’t have been much fun.”

  Blake’s scornful laugh pierced Sebastian’s gut. “I almost wish I could tell Cousin Owl she was only making up to him to win a bet. As though Diana of all women, the picture of fashion, could ever be attracted to such a ragamuffin!”

  His cousin’s hateful voice faded to be replaced by Lord Iverley’s dogmatic Northumbrian tones.

  “Never trust a woman, my boy.” If his great-uncle had said it once, he’d said it a thousand times over the years. “A woman will always betray you. It’s in her nature.”

  Lady Georgina invited Diana to join her and Felicia on their morning walk. Covering her bets, Diana guessed, in case Diana managed to land Blakeney, or some other gentleman of a rank she couldn’t ignore. Not that Lady Gee had given up thrusting her sister in Blake’s direction. But she must be aware that the sweet, slightly daffy Felicia wasn’t really up to snuff when it came to bearing her elder’s thwarted matrimonial ambitions.

  Diana looked up whenever she heard footsteps, but so far only gardeners had interrupted their desultory exploration of the walled rose garden. Lady Gee was in full flood of conversation that Diana had to admit was amusing in a cynical fashion. And she needed to keep on her toes. The lady might seem friendly, but likely it was a feint based on her growing awareness that Diana, with her looks and fortune, was strong competition in the marriage stakes.

  “I noticed you only took chocolate for breakfast. Perhaps you are on a reducing diet. I recommend you try boiled chicken and pickled beetroot. The regime did wonders for my aunt.”

  “Which one?” Diana asked, divided between interest and annoyance.

  “Lady Stourbridge.”

  “Forgive me for mentioning it, but Lady Stourbridge is quite … er … voluptuous.” In fact she’d had a brief affair with the Prince Regent whose tastes, everyone knew, ran to large ladies.

  “She used to be much fatter,” Felicia said.

  “That was before Stourbridge died. After he fell off the horse, her hair turned gold from grief and she faded to a mere wisp while she waited in the country for a decent mourning period. Stourbridge was a very mean man who kept her short of pin money. There’s nothing like the anticipation of a brand-new wardrobe to spur one to abstinence.”

  That or an officious French maid.

  “Then she won Prinny’s attention,” Lady Gee went on, “and there didn’t seem any reason for further loss. Quite the opposite. She was on the slender side for him.”

  “Your clothes are lovely, Diana,” Felicia said. “I wish I were a widow.”

  “You have to find a husband before you can achieve that desirable state,” Lady Gee said. “And I recommend you find one who doesn’t complain about your bills.”

  “Husbands aren’t all miserly, Felicia,” Diana assured the younger girl. “Sir Tobias was always most generous, and delightful company too.”

  “Poor Diana. You must miss him dreadfully. And as I remarked to Felicia,” Lady Gee went on, “the little bit of extra plumpness you’ve gained suits you perfectly. Perhaps your lack of appetite has another cause?”

  A creak of the garden gate made Diana jump again. Lady Gee smiled at her archly. “Are you expecting someone? Mr. Iverley, perhaps. I noticed the two of you were getting on very well.”

  Diana trusted neither of the other ladies knew exactly how well.

  Thanks to Blake’s premature arrival on the scene, she hadn’t had a chance to deliver the planned speech in which she carelessly expressed her pleasure in Sebastian’s attentions while assuring him, with a gay laugh, that she accorded their flirtation no more importance than he did. The source of her uneasiness was a nasty qualm in her stomach that told her he might have been serious. When they exchanged good-nights, in front of the whole company, he’d pressed her hand significantly. He hadn’t appeared at the breakfast table, but she gathered he rose early. The other gentlemen had already eaten and were off performing manly fe
ats of animal slaughter.

  “I like Mr. Iverley,” she said airily. “And of course I welcome the acquaintance of any cousin of Blake’s.”

  “Such an odd young man. Charming, of course.”

  By no stretch of the imagination could any of Sebastian Iverley’s interactions with the Howard sisters be described as charming. Diana, on the other hand, had discovered that he possessed a certain appeal. The truth was, she’d enjoyed their kiss. Not the kiss itself so much, especially his first attempt when he’d mashed her lips rather painfully. She believed Blake’s claim that his cousin had never kissed a woman. The sequel had been better and might have turned into something quite pleasurable had they not been interrupted.

  But what she’d enjoyed the most was Iverley’s unexpected strength. Not only had he carried her around as easily as if she were a small child, she’d warmed to the sensation of his hard muscles, pressing herself against him quite shamelessly. Frankly, she relished his youthful virility. Her husband had been a generous and attentive lover, but not a vigorous one. And he was, when it came down to it … old. The next man she took to her bed would have the vital energy Tobias had lacked.

  And here he was, as gorgeous as ever, the sunlight catching the gold of his hair and enhancing the blue of his eyes.

  “Ladies,” Blake said. “I’ve been searching for you.” “We’ve been discussing Diana’s diet,” Lady Gee said.

  Felicia giggled.

  “We were wondering where you gentlemen had hidden yourselves,” Diana said.

  “We’ve been shooting. Except my cousin. He left Mandeville this morning. He asked me to convey his regrets and farewells.”

  “Really?” asked Lady Gee.

  “No, not really,” Blake replied. “That was a liberal interpretation of one of his grunts.”

  “That’s very naughty of you, Blake,” Lady Gee said.

  “Diana,” Blake said. “A word with you in private. About that little matter of business.”

  “My, my!” Lady Gee said, her eyes round with curiosity. “What secrets do you two share?”