The Dangerous Viscount

by Miranda Neville

  She said his.

  He feared it was going to be over all too soon. He knew a man was supposed to last longer. But he was ready to explode almost as soon as he felt her slick heat encompass him.

  By a miraculous effort he seized back a measure of the control he’d relinquished and saved his pride from incineration. He ceased his thrusts and looked down. Diana’s head was tilted back, her eyes closed, her lips parted, her breathing fast. Though it was hardly news to him that she was the most beautiful woman in existence, her face caught in the act of love rendered him breathless.

  Her eyes opened, pure and blue. “Lovely,” she murmured. Silken limbs wound around his thighs, inner muscles clenched and pulled at him. “You feel so good. Don’t stop.”

  He kissed her, deep, wet, and long, but he had no more inclination or capacity for restraint. Three minutes, he lasted, at the most. He supposed he should be thankful it hadn’t been three seconds. As he lost all control she gave a cry that sounded like ecstasy and her body stiffened. He collapsed into bliss. He’d done it.

  At that moment he had no idea what came next.

  Chapter 19

  Diana sighed happily. She propped herself up on one elbow and surveyed the man lying beside her, eyes closed. One arm curved on the pillow above his head, a position that emphasized the muscles of his chest and arms. Her former scarecrow was no weakling. She knew that. At Mandeville he’d carried her up a hill. And he was a good-looking man, too. How had she ever preferred Blakeney? Sebastian’s face had character and strength and intelligence, like him. She’d chosen well.

  She leaned over and kissed his chest, inhaling his musky scent. It had been too long, much too long. She very much hoped her wait for a repeat would be a matter of minutes rather than hours, let alone days or years.

  He wasn’t asleep, she thought, just relaxing. She’d put that satisfied look on his face. And she’d do it again. In the meantime they could get on with the proposal of marriage. Make it slightly more proper.

  Slightly. She’d never have let Blakeney into her bed before they were married, let alone betrothed. But she trusted Sebastian. Thank God she’d come to her senses in time and realized her tendre for Blakeney was nothing but a long-ingrained habit. She’d picked the better cousin, a man worthy of her love. She wanted to hug herself with glee.

  Sitting upright she considered, and dismissed, the notion that she should wear a nightgown when he made his offer. She merely tidied her hair a little, stretched luxuriously, and rubbed her foot along Sebastian’s thigh. “I know you’re awake. Sit up and talk to me.”

  He opened his eyes and tilted his head. His happy look faded and the expression in his eyes was flat, unreadable.

  “Do you always order people around?” he asked.

  “No!” she said. “As a rule I’m a most amenable person, as you must be well aware.”

  Something was wrong. It occurred to her he might be worried about his performance. He had been a virgin and surely not only females worried about their first time. It had taken her quite a few times to enjoy being with Tobias.

  She smiled at him. “That was wonderful,” she said in an encouraging voice. “And next time will be even better. I can’t wait.”

  “Is there going to be a next time?”

  Oh dear, she thought, he’s afraid he has disgraced himself.

  “Of course there is,” she hastened to assure him. She wished he’d take her in his arms. Given the trend of the conversation she hesitated to make the first advance and appear domineering.

  He grunted. Sebastian seemed to have regressed to his former state of inarticulacy. And while that might be indicative of a flattering exhaustion, it was inconvenient when she expected him to have something particular to say to her.

  “We never had a chance to finish our conversation on the terrace.”

  Instead of taking the hint, his only response was another grunt. Then he hauled himself upright and sat on the edge of the bed, on the opposite side, with his back to her.

  “What were you going to ask me when we were interrupted tonight? You said, just before Blake came out, that you had a question for me.”

  There! She could hardly be blunter than that.

  He didn’t look at her and he seemed to think about his answer for a long time. “I remember,” he said finally. “I was going to ask why you smell so good. I’m not good at naming scents.”

  “There’s nothing else you wanted to ask me?”

  “No.” His voice was dull.

  Diana began to feel a little panicked. She crawled across the bed and knelt at his back, putting her arms around him and resting her chin on his shoulder. “Stop teasing,” she said.

  “Teasing?” His muscles tensed in her embrace.

  “Why did you come to my room tonight?”

  “Because you invited me.”

  “But why did you accept?”

  “I find it impossible to believe that any man has ever turned you down.”

  The insolence of his tone was like a slap. She jerked backward and scrambled off the bed to find her robe. Once covered she returned to stand in front of him, lifted his chin in one hand, and engaged him eye to eye. His gaze was guarded, perhaps a little wary.

  “You are the first man, aside from my husband, I’ve ever invited to my room,” she said tremulously.

  He shook her off and looked away. “I’m honored to be the first. There’s a certain poetic quality to the fact, don’t you think, since you are my first? I don’t suppose either of us is destined to be the other’s last.”

  She stood there, stunned, taking in the meaning of his words. “I think you’d better go,” she said, striving to speak calmly as she knotted her sash with a vicious tug. “You … you …” she stammered, vainly seeking a suitable epithet.

  He left the bed and gathered his scattered clothing. Diana went over to the fireplace and stared at the glowing coals, unable to comprehend the disastrous turn the night had taken. She barely resisted the urge to snatch up a bottle of perfume and hurl it at him. Her scent! She’d give him scent. Either that or burst into tears.

  She still couldn’t believe she’d been so mistaken in Sebastian. He was the last man in the world she’d have supposed an amoral rake, yet that was how he was behaving.

  Her eyes narrowed. Something didn’t add up. How could he be a heartless womanizer when she was the first woman he’d ever had? Without pretending to be an expert on the subject, she was sure men had to work up to rakehood.

  She spun around. “Sebastian.”

  He looked up quickly and stopped fastening buttons. His eyes seemed almost eager, and he was himself again.

  “Why?” she asked. “Tell me what this is about, and please, tell me the truth.”

  For a moment he appeared uncertain, then she watched as the warmth faded from his eyes and she saw nothing but pain. “Five hundred pounds was, I believe, your payment for kissing me. I’m prepared to call us even.”

  Leaving her speechless, he collected the rest of his garments and left the room.

  Chapter 20

  Diana spent the day curled up in bed, huddled in misery. That smell lingered, reminding her of her folly. She couldn’t have the linens changed. Chantal would know immediately what she’d been doing. Most likely the servants already knew; they always found out.

  As darkness fell her hostess would no longer be denied and Diana told Chantal to admit her.

  “Are you truly unwell?” Juliana asked in obvious concern. “Shall I send for a physician? Minerva’s very worried about you. We all are.”

  Diana had stirred herself to put on a dressing gown—not the ivory satin but a sensible blue one—and let Chantal comb her hair. But she knew she looked terrible: pale and hollow-eyed.

  “I’m a little better,” she said dully. “It’s nothing that needs a doctor.”

  “Are you hungry? I hear you’ve taken nothing all day but tea. Will you come down for dinner?”

  “Maybe. Probably not.” Defini
tely not. Nothing would persuade her to share the same room, let alone a meal, with Sebastian Iverley.

  Juliana climbed up to sit on the bed and gave Diana’s hand a comforting squeeze. “Female problems?” “Male problems.”

  “Iverley!”

  “How did you know?” For one horrified moment Diana imagined Sebastian swaggering about the breakfast room, hinting at his conquest.

  “He left this morning without warning or credible explanation. Something must have happened.”

  Diana nodded and could no longer fight back her tears.

  Juliana crawled over and put an arm around her. “It’s all right,” she murmured.

  “I can’t believe he would do such a thing!” Diana sobbed.

  Her friend let her weep for a while, and when the sobs subsided, found her a handkerchief. “You must forget all about him,” she said. “He’s just a worthless poltroon.”

  Diana managed a watery smile. “Did you just use the word poltroon?”

  “Unfortunately I’ve never had the opportunity to do so before. But if ever there was a candidate for the insult, it’s Sebastian Iverley.”

  “He’s worse than a poltroon,” Diana said. “He’s a blackguard.”

  “A scoundrel.”

  “A caitiff.”

  “One of my favorite words.”

  “A scurvy varlet.” Diana mopped her eyes and blew her nose hard.

  “What did he do? Would it help you to tell me about it?”

  She hadn’t meant to, but Diana found herself telling the whole story.

  “He deserves to be torn apart by wild horses,” Juliana exclaimed when she heard of Sebastian’s final exit the night before.

  “It’s true I did make that wager with Blake and I shouldn’t have,” Diana said. “That was wrong of me, very wrong.”

  Juliana dashed aside this attempt at an excuse for Sebastian’s behavior. “Since when was kissing a man a crime? A kiss, for God’s sake! He should be grateful.”

  “That’s just what I thought.”

  “Any man would be delighted to kiss you.”

  “Exactly,” Diana said, her spirits reviving. “And even if I hurt him, and I suppose I did, his reaction was quite excessive.”

  “Cain is constantly at me to give the man a second chance, but I was right about him from the start. I always knew there was something very wrong with Sebastian Iverley.”

  “What?”

  Juliana had nothing new to impart that Diana hadn’t heard before. She’d already heard how her perfidious lover had failed to appreciate Juliana’s talent as a bookseller.

  “Is that all?” At this point Diana was ready to hear something much worse: spying for England’s enemies; torturing children or small animals; at the very least cheating at cards.

  “I’ll ask Cain,” Juliana promised. “I’ll make him tell me all their male secrets.”

  Diana’s momentary animation faded and she returned to reality. “Are you going to tell Lord Chase what happened?”

  “I won’t if you don’t wish it, but I think he should know. And Tarquin, too. Let the members of their precious men’s book club know what a snake they have in their midst.”

  “Being thrown out of the Burgundy Club would really upset Lord Iverley,” Diana said. “Book collecting is important to him.”

  “But he’s the president of the club,” Juliana reflected gloomily. “Even if Cain and Tarquin vote him out, the other members won’t. Not without a reason and you don’t want everyone in London to know what Iverley did to you.”

  “Certainly not.”

  “But we have the right idea. The way to hurt Iverley is through his collection.”

  “Do we really want to hurt him?”

  “Diana! How can you ask?”

  Diana thought about it and decided she did, almost certainly. “How could we use the books?”

  “The man prides himself on always getting a book that he truly wants. He hates to be beaten by other collectors. I wonder if there’s anything particular he’s pursuing.”

  A knock at the door heralded the appearance of Minerva.

  “Diana,” she cried. “Sebastian’s left and he wouldn’t tell me why.” She approached the bed and gave her sister a ferocious glare. “Did you refuse him? Please tell me you didn’t turn him down.”

  “I didn’t refuse him,” Diana said quietly. “He didn’t make me an offer.”

  “But he wanted to, I know he wanted to. What did you do?”

  Since she could hardly reveal the truth to a seventeen-year-old girl, she didn’t know how to defend herself.

  “Minerva,” Juliana interjected firmly. “Lord Iverley has behaved very badly.” Diana shook her head to warn her not to go on. “I can’t tell you the details …”

  “I suppose it’s one of those ‘not in front of young girls’ matters,” Minerva interrupted sulkily.

  “Exactly. Don’t ask questions because you won’t get answers and you’ll make things worse for your sister than they already are. She has every reason to be extremely angry.”

  Minerva had her faults but stupidity wasn’t one of them. “Oh goodness! Did he …?” She covered her mouth.

  “We shall not speak of Lord Iverley or this matter again,” Diana said firmly.

  Astonishingly, Minerva burst into tears, something Diana hadn’t witnessed since her sister was in the nursery. “It’s all my fault!” she said through her sobs.

  The need to comfort her sister got Diana out of bed as nothing else had all day. She put her arms around the weeping girl. “It’s not your fault, darling. I know you liked him. He deceived us both.”

  “I wasn’t deceived. I knew.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The highwayman was Sebastian’s groom. The whole rescue was a counterfeit. I knew it but I didn’t tell you. He wanted you to believe him a hero and I didn’t see the harm in it.”

  Diana hadn’t been entirely sure she wanted retribution. Some part of her understood that Sebastian’s actions had been motivated by the desire to pay her back for what he saw as her own betrayal.

  Now she remembered her terror that the robber would harm Minerva, her deep relief and gratitude at Sebastian’s rescue. Her anger burned bright and clean, dispelling the sadness and self-reproach that had haunted her sleepless night and solitary day.

  She turned to Juliana. “He told me about a book that belonged to Katherine Parr. The last volume he needs for his royal binding collection.”

  Juliana smiled. “Am I right in thinking, Diana, that you have a great deal of money?”

  Sebastian welcomed the driving rain that penetrated his topcoat and made the journey a misery.

  He’d returned to his room the night before aglow with righteous triumph at a mission fulfilled, congratulating himself that he’d overcome a last-minute impulse to mercy. Diana would experience the same pain she’d inflicted on him. They were even. He could return to London and get on with his life.

  But the farther he rode away from her, the more she invaded his thoughts. He recalled all the enjoyable times he’d spent in her company. Most of all he remembered the way she’d felt in his arms.

  Despite every effort to dwell on practical, useful things as befit a man of logic and common sense, he found himself wondering what Diana was doing, what she was thinking, even what she was wearing for heaven’s sake.

  And with whom she was talking. His closest friends remained at Markley Chase. And so did Blakeney.

  Sebastian began to fear he’d made a terrible mistake. And the icy water descending his neck seemed a deserved, if inadequate, punishment.

  Diana accepted Blakeney’s invitation to walk in the garden during a dry interval after two days of steady downpour. The dank weather had matched her own mood and she hoped a little air would improve it. More important, Blake was the only member of the house party who didn’t treat her with exaggerated solicitude.

  Cain and Tarquin were either offering her their arms, as though she were to
o weak to cross a room without support, paying her outrageous compliments, or trying to raise her spirits with a relentless string of jokes. She quite enjoyed the jokes, but the rest was becoming tiresome.

  Minerva and Esther brought her puppies. She had to admit she liked the tiny bulldogs with their wrinkled skin and squashed noses and clumsy paws. The feel of a baby dog snuffling into her neck brought back memories of her childhood, and her mother’s calm presence when things went wrong.

  When Juliana wasn’t scribbling letters to various booksellers of her acquaintance, she coaxed Diana to abandon her reducing diet and accept the comfort of cups of chocolate and the bounty of the Markley Chase pastry cook. Diana accepted the former but hadn’t the appetite for sweetmeats, fruit cakes or much else, one positive result of her humiliation.

  Blakeney treated her exactly as he always had. Now she no longer fancied herself in love with him, she realized that his manner was a combination of admiration and disengagement. He liked her, yes, but not enough to let it interfere with his own concerns. Only a man as self-absorbed as he could have failed to notice something amiss. She found his indifference soothing.

  He tucked her hand into his arm and looked down intently. He was staring at her bosom with a warm look in his eye. Not the most respectful behavior, but at least he didn’t expect her to collapse into hysterics at a moment’s notice.

  “What a fine view,” she remarked.

  “What?” he said, then looked up and grinned. “Superb,” he agreed. “Couldn’t be better.”

  Lord, he was a handsome man. Too bad looking at him no longer increased her heartbeat.

  “I’ve had difficulty getting you to myself,” he said. “Everyone else in the house seems extraordinarily anxious for your company.”

  “Very strange,” she said dryly.

  “Sorry. Very understandable, of course. Even old Sebastian Owlverley was sniffing around you lately.”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “I’m not so sure. That kiss you gave him must have got him interested.”

  Anger and mortification, blended with a tinge of guilt, gnawed at her insides. Without thinking she increased her pace, kicking frost-crisped leaves before her.