The Dangerous Viscount

by Miranda Neville

  It couldn’t be. But of course it was. Poor eyesight couldn’t keep him from recognizing the way she stood, her glorious figure, the perfection of her grooming, the unmistakable scent that cut through the pleasant masculine odors of sweat and sawdust.

  If he had a sword or a pistol Blakeney would be a dead man this very moment.

  Then she saw him.

  “Sebastian!” she cried and ran toward him.

  As she came into focus he saw her face and at that moment Sebastian Iverley stopped being stupid about women. For even the world’s biggest idiot, and that’s exactly what he had been, couldn’t misinterpret the look on his wife’s face: joy, trust, and love.

  “I am so glad you are here. Why didn’t you tell me you were in London?” She flung her arms around his neck, gulping back tears. “Minerva’s been arrested. You must help me save her.”

  “Of course,” he said, putting one arm around her waist and shaking off his gloves. He angled around and held out a hand to Tarquin, who correctly identified his demand for a handkerchief.

  “Here, my love. Dry your tears while I dress.” But he didn’t let her go immediately. Instead he gently mopped at the moisture gathered beneath her wide adoring eyes. “So what has your minx of a sister been up to this time? Never mind. You can tell me in the carriage.”

  “Wait a minute!” Blake, always at hand to interrupt a tender moment, shoved at his shoulder. “We are supposed to be having a bout. Are you defaulting on the challenge?”

  “Afraid so. I have something more important to do.”

  His cousin looked at him with narrowed eyes, then at Diana who stood clutching his arm. His eyes dropped to the barely perceptible bulge at her middle, then back to her face, then back again to Sebastian, who could see Blakeney put two and two together and come up with the approximate date of conception.

  “My congratulations, cousin,” he said curtly. “Perhaps I’ll see you here another day.” “Don’t count on it.”

  Some muttering arose from the spectators who’d been laying bets on his and Blake’s “friendly” bout. Sebastian ignored it.

  Five minutes later he climbed into the carriage after his wife. She told him about Minerva’s arrest while he buttoned his waistcoat and tied his neck cloth in a simple knot.

  “It doesn’t sound too serious,” he said. “The new Seditious Meetings Prevention Act forbids political meetings of more than fifty people without prior permission of a magistrate. It’s a monstrous measure, but if they’ve really arrested fifty people the authorities will have worse problems than the threat offered by one young girl.”

  “Will she have to stand trial?”

  “I doubt it’ll come to that.”

  “Thank God.” Then, after a minute’s silence, “When did you get to London?”

  “Last night. I would have come sooner but there was another flood at the mine. Don’t worry. No one was hurt, but I couldn’t leave until I’d seen to the repairs.”

  “I’ve missed you.”

  “I missed you, too.”

  “Why didn’t you come to Portman Square last night?”

  “I wanted to bring you a gift and the jewelers had already closed.”

  “I don’t need a gift. I’m just glad you are here.” She leaned her head against his shoulder and he could feel her smile into his sleeve. “Though don’t let me stop you from buying me something expensive to atone for your shocking rudeness at our last meeting.”

  “I’m sorry about that. I was so jealous of Blakeney I jumped to conclusions.”

  “Don’t do that. In future, if you want to know something, ask. I’d have told you why Blake wrote to me.”

  “You don’t need to.”

  “Did he explain?”

  “No. I trust you.” His head felt thick with emotion. He took her hand in his own ungloved one, and undid the tiny buttons at the wrist. He pulled off the glove and her skin was soft and smooth and a little cool beneath his lips. “I trust you and I love you,” he said, the words emerging as easily and naturally as Northumberland rain. He kissed the palm before enlacing their fingers and tucking them in the narrow crevice between their bodies on the seat.

  “I love you, too,” she said, squeezing his hand.

  Joy pierced his heart and cleared his brain. “I know,” he said, grinning broadly.

  “You do?”

  “Yes, I worked it out all by myself.”

  “That was very clever of you, not that I didn’t give you a few hints.”

  “It was about time I stopped being a fool.”

  “We’ve both been fools, right from the start. Although perhaps we should be grateful for that silly bet. Without it we’d never have got to know each other.”

  “And what happened afterward, I thought I wanted to get back at you, but really I couldn’t bear never to see you again. I know that now.”

  “We should thank Blake.”

  “That’s going too far.”

  She gave a hiccupping laugh. He tilted her chin up with his forefinger. “Are you crying?”

  “Not really. I’m just happy. Do you think I could sit on your lap?”

  Once she was settled they kissed a little but this wasn’t the time or the place to get overexcited. Besides, he had something he needed to say. With reluctance he broke the embrace. “I want to tell you a story. There should be time on the way to Bow Street.”

  “What?” Her gaze was fixed on his face.

  He looked straight ahead and took a deep breath. “When I was six my mother remarried. An Italian nobleman, Count Ugo Montecitta. Handsome devil, I suppose. I remember thinking he was like a character in a story.”

  She snuggled into his chest. “Did you like him?”

  “I hardly knew him. But I was glad. My mother was an emotional woman. She cried a lot. After my father died she cried almost all the time for a while, but when she announced her remarriage she seemed happy again. And I was excited about going to live in Italy.”

  He’d spent so many years forgetting this part of the tale, his brain felt rusty. “During her visits to the schoolroom she’d tell me about it. She said in Italy it was always warm and the sun came out every day, not damp and gray like London in winter. Grapes and peaches and oranges grew outside. She taught me some Italian words, like the word for grapes. Uva. It’s the same as the Latin. She said I could go outside and pick them straight from the vines, and eat them there, in the fields. She promised.”

  Diana kissed his cheek. “Go on,” she said.

  “The day of the wedding came. I was allowed to attend the wedding breakfast for a short while, then my nurse took me upstairs to get ready for the journey. We were to leave for Italy that day, by ship. I’d chosen my favorite books and toys because there wasn’t going to be room for all of them. But now my nurse said I could take everything after all. I was so happy, poor fool. I remember it now, chattering to Nurse about Italy and boasting that I could speak Italian and telling her the words I’d learned. She didn’t say anything about what was happening to me, just cleaned me up and sent me downstairs. Before I went she gave me a hug and a kiss goodbye because she wasn’t coming with me. My mother and new stepfather awaited me, and Lord Iverley, my father’s uncle. That day was the first time I met him. He was tall, like my father, but rail thin and seemed very old.

  “My mother crouched down beside me and took me in her arms. ‘I can’t take you to Italy,’ she said. ‘The journey is too dangerous for little boys at the moment. You can visit me when you are older. You are going to live with your great-uncle.’”

  He fought the pressure in the back of his nose. “That was the last time I saw her. Instead of going to Italy I went to Northumberland. You’ve seen Saxton Iverley. It was a disappointment.” He allowed himself a small sardonic smile. “No sunshine, no grape vines. ‘You are my heir. This will be yours one day,’ my uncle said as the carriage came up the drive. ‘One day you will be Viscount Iverley.’ I hated it. It was always cold, inside and out. Instead of peaches I
got chilblains.”

  “Did your mother write to you?”

  He was so lost in his story Diana’s softly voiced question almost made him jump. “I received her letters but never the one I wanted, telling me I could join her in Italy. After a while I stopped reading them. It was too painful. She still writes occasionally but I never reply.”

  She took his face in her hands and kissed him softly, his forehead, cheeks, and mouth. “Why are you telling me this now?”

  “Because I thought of something the other day. I wondered if she’d had a choice about leaving me. Uncle Iverley was my guardian. She never said a word, but perhaps he insisted I remain in England.”

  She nodded. “I think we’d better go to Italy and find out.”

  Which was exactly the right thing to say. No wonder he loved this woman.

  “I think so, too. But first we should bail your sister out of jail.”

  * * *

  A few words from Sebastian obtained Minerva’s release without charge.

  “I think the magistrate was relieved to get rid of her,” he told his anxious wife who had awaited them in the carriage. “Arresting a young girl with good family connections on such a slim basis could raise inconvenient questions.” He frowned at Minerva. “Personally I wouldn’t want to be responsible for keeping you in jail. I warrant the guards at Bow Street got tired of listening to you.”

  “What were you thinking?” Diana yelled, not ready to make a joke of the affair. “You could have been killed, going out at night like that.”

  “Humbug. I took a hackney and the meeting was full of the most respectable people. The magistrates claim there were fifty people there but I doubt it. It’s my belief they acted illegally and Mr. Bentley and everyone else will be exonerated.” Minerva’s martyred face wouldn’t have disgraced Joan of Arc. “I ought to have remained with them to share their fate.”

  “Being nibbled to death by rats in Newgate? I don’t think so,” Diana snapped. “But let me assure you that you will be locked up: in your room at night until I can find someone to escort you back to Wallop.”

  “Oh no! Not Wallop again!”

  “You can’t come out this year. It’s out of the question. One whiff of this exploit and half of London will cut you dead. We’ll have to wait for the gossip to die down.”

  “Do you think so, Sebastian?”

  “That they’ll find out? Certainly. Nothing stays secret in London for long. Very likely there was a reporter at the meeting and my guess is you stood out in that crowd.”

  They reached Portman Square to find the drawing room already occupied by Marianne MacFarland, Tarquin Compton, and the Chases.

  Marianne rushed forward to embrace Diana. “I came as soon as I heard. My maid brought the news with my breakfast.”

  “I heard about it at Hoby’s while I was measured for a pair of boots,” Lord Chase said.

  “The clerk at Hatchard’s told me,” Juliana chimed in. “And Tarquin just confirmed it.”

  Diana spun around to glare at her sister, who finally had the decency to look chastened. “I told you so! You’re disgraced. There’s obviously not a soul in London who doesn’t know what you’ve done.”

  Marianne seemed baffled. “What has Minerva done? Why should she be disgraced?” She clapped a hand to her mouth. “Surely you didn’t take her with you!”

  “Me? What have I done?”

  Marianne threw up her hands and appealed to the Chases. “We are talking about the same thing, aren’t we? About Diana?”

  “Yes!” they said together. “Diana,” Juliana said with a nod.

  “Lady Iverley,” Tarquin agreed. “I was there.”

  Marianne looked at Diana with a combination of deep concern and avid curiosity. “Georgina Harville is telling everyone that she saw you in Bond Street this morning going into Jackson’s Saloon.”

  “Oh! That.”

  “And I expect you to tell me all about it. Is it true gentlemen box naked?” Every gentleman in the room flinched and lowered his hands.

  “Never mind, tell me later. Now, my dear,” Marianne continued sternly. “You can kiss goodbye to Almack’s vouchers this season.”

  Minerva gave a crow of triumph and flung herself at Diana, hugging her till she was breathless. “You disgraced yourself! It wasn’t me after all.”

  “I’m sorry, Min, it never occurred to me. I’ve ruined everything for you. Maybe I can find someone else to sponsor your season.”

  “I don’t care. I’d just as soon wait. I think I’d like to travel and improve my languages. My German is shockingly inadequate and I believe the German princedoms will have increasing diplomatic importance in the next decade.”

  “As long as you don’t mind, I expect it could be arranged.”

  “But what about you, Diana? Being accepted in fashionable circles has always been so important to you.”

  Sebastian, who had been a silent observer of the unfolding drama, or farce, was studying her face with an anxious expression. She could read his mind: he was thinking that had she married Blakeney she could storm every male stronghold in London and no one would dare snub the future duchess. The surge of gratitude that she hadn’t wed Blake almost overwhelmed her. By a wondrous stroke of providence she’d won the much better man and muddled into a marriage that promised her everything she’d ever wanted.

  And after all, the friends in this room wouldn’t give a damn if Lady Jersey and Mrs. Drummond Burrell refused to let her into their precious Wednesday night assemblies. Her family loved her and always would. She suddenly understood why her mother had regarded a successful London season with supreme indifference.

  She took her sister’s hand. “We’re Montroses, Minerva. We don’t care about such trivial stuff. The opinion of a lot of self-important strangers is of no importance to us.”

  Sebastian came and stood at her other side. “You’re not a Montrose anymore,” he said, putting his arm about her waist. “You’re an Iverley.”

  “And do we Iverleys care about such things?” she asked, smiling up at him.

  “We usen’t to.”

  “And now?”

  “Let me get this straight. I shan’t be allowed to attend balls?”

  “Very likely not.”

  “Venetian breakfasts?”

  “Doubtful.”

  “Musicales?”

  “Perhaps occasionally, if the hostess is exceptionally tolerant.”

  Sebastian nodded. “I think I’d be willing to share your ignominy and relapse into a state of social obscurity.”

  “That’s very kind of you. I will endeavor to make it worth your while.”

  “See that you do. This is a big sacrifice.”

  Marianne broke in. “Does this mean I can have Chantal?”

  “Certainly not. I may be an outcast but I can still be a well-dressed one.”

  Sebastian looked around at their visitors. “Well? Is anyone here going to refuse to consort with such a disreputable pair?” Diana thought he was half hoping they’d all leave. She knew he was anxious to get her alone and she looked forward to it herself. It had been far too long.

  “Mrs. MacFarland?”

  “I’d never desert Diana. And call me Marianne.”

  “Tarquin?”

  “I don’t follow fashion, I set it.”

  “Cain? Lady Chase?”

  “We’re in no position to cast stones at others.”

  “Have you forgiven me yet?”

  “What do you say, Juliana?” Cain asked. Juliana looked stubborn.

  “You know that female book collectors’ club you were talking about founding?” Sebastian asked. “I think it’s a bad idea.”

  Juliana lifted her nose in the air. “You are as ever, Lord Iverley, entitled to your own opinion, however ludicrous.”

  “There aren’t enough ladies collecting books to make a good-sized club.”

  Juliana snorted.

  “So I think you’d better join the Burgundy Club instead. I sh
all propose an amendment to the byelaws.”

  “I’ll second that,” said Tarquin.

  Cain clapped. “An excellent notion. You’ve finally seen the light.”

  Diana intervened. “Wait a minute. Juliana, do you really want to belong to a club with a lot of men?”

  Juliana frowned. “I thought I did.”

  “Will they allow interesting conversation at the Burgundy Club? Will they let you talk about millinery?”

  “It’s perfectly all right by me,” said Tarquin.

  Her husband, Diana was happy to see, was indignant. Where would be the fun if she couldn’t get him wound up?

  “Don’t make me regret my changed position on women,” he said. “It’s bad enough at home. I expect the Burgundy Club to be a fashion-free refuge.”

  “Sebastian,” Cain said. “Before you go any further I suggest you recall a certain discussion on the club premises that you might not wish to have revealed.”

  “Very well, Lady Chase. If you want to talk about hats you may, but Tarquin will be your only audience. Because if my wife has the gall to apply for membership I shall blackball her myself.”

  There was only one possible response to such an outrage. Diana collapsed in a dead faint. She misjudged her fall, almost missed the sofa, and nearly spoiled the effect by laughing. She heard a good deal of clucking and fussing.

  “I think you’d better all leave,” she heard Sebastian say. “She’s in a delicate condition, you know, and mustn’t get overexcited. Minerva, why don’t you go with the Chases and call on Lady Esther? I shall take Diana to her room.”

  Halfway upstairs he stopped and set her on her feet. “They’ve all left. You can open your eyes.”

  She gave him an exaggerated pout. “Do you expect me to walk the rest of the way?”

  “Wouldn’t you prefer me to conserve my strength?”

  “You make a good point. You’ll need it.” Throwing her arms about his neck, she pressed her body to his in a suggestive manner. “By the end of this afternoon,” she whispered, “you’ll be begging me to join your Burgundy Club. You have no idea of the full force of my persuasive powers.”