The Viscount's Wicked Ways

by Anne Mallory

  But she had been labeled fast. She had an idea that a few of the debutantes had encouraged the label to ensure their own places and increase their reputations. She even thought that perhaps the well-timed entrance into the room where Antleberry had taken her might have been planned. Not that it was planned for Antleberry to take her to the room (an action no doubt instigated because of her reputation), but the entrance itself. It was just a little suspicious that four busybodies, all in one group, decided to open a random door…No doubt one had seen her leave with Antleberry and had called the other three to follow.

  Her father blamed himself for not preparing her for the rigors of the ton, and for not hiring a chaperone who could stay awake for more than two hours at a time. Patience blamed the people who had perpetrated the rumors and those who believed them without question. Her plight was sport for their ennui. Who cared if the rumors about a society peon were true or not? All that she was good for was relieving their boredom now and again.

  She sighed. She was going to become a bitter woman if she maintained this train of thought. And she wasn’t going to give anyone the power or satisfaction to do that.

  One thing that her tainted reputation had allowed her was a certain degree of freedom that others her age, station, and gender did not possess. She had a feeling that this perceived freedom had caused the bitterness she had heard in Mrs. Tecking’s voice. Patience didn’t have nearly the power that a man had, but she was somewhere near the “widow” category. Maybe the wicked-widow category.

  The freedom, ironically enough, gave her the ability to pursue things with Thomas and finally fulfill some of her rumored exploits. An additional boon manifested in that she was able to forego regular society functions, which she hated. Her reputation provided the excuse. It did limit her pool of friends, however, and loneliness sometimes set in when her father and their immediate acquaintances were away. But still, she had a lot to be thankful for, and she wasn’t going to languish over other people’s opinions—no matter how hurtful.

  Feeling better, she rang for Tilly. Her maid came in chattering in French, about some goings-on down in the servants’ quarters. Patience let it wash over her as she bathed. She kept remembering the feel of Thomas. His warmth, his hands, his lips, his actions, the picnics and rides, his smile…

  He enraptured her.

  Whereas, contrary to her reputation, she might have been a little nervous about having a man pursue her so blatantly, with Thomas she felt a delicious sense of inevitability. She liked Thomas. Liked him in a way that she hadn’t liked any of the previous men she had met, whether at parties or any of the scientific functions she attended with her father. Of course, she had entertained a fantasy or two about some handsome male, but after a few conversations those fantasies had dissipated into either friendly respect or complete disillusionment. Her feelings for Thomas had only grown stronger since she had met him, even when they had been arguing.

  He was almost courting her. And if she were being honest with herself, she didn’t mind. She didn’t mind one bit.

  Whist that night was an odd affair.

  The silence seemed to stretch on and on during the dinner courses, no one having the temerity or inclination to break it. Thomas looked amused and seemed happy enough to send smoldering glances Patience’s way. Patience was quite happy to sit quietly and let those glances warm her.

  Even Caroline, who usually made a valiant attempt at being a good hostess, was reserved and made little effort at conversation. Since they were Samuel-free for the evening, there was no devil’s advocate either.

  Therefore, when John finally spoke up during whist, there was a visible reaction from everyone except Thomas, who continued to drink and look pleased with himself.

  “Lady Caroline, how was your trip to the village? Did you find the man you were looking for?”

  Caroline startled and nearly dropped her card. “Oh, yes, thank you, John.”

  Patience was curious as to whom they were talking about, but felt it was none of her business to ask. Mrs. Tecking, who had been knitting while they played, had no such problem.

  “Whom did you meet, Lady Caroline?”

  Caroline looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Oh, just a servant asking for a position.”

  Thomas frowned. “Why would you go to the village for that?”

  Caroline studied her cards. “I was in town anyway. It seemed easier.”

  Thomas’s eyes narrowed, but John jumped in before he could say anything. “Caroline was kind enough to pick up a tool from the blacksmith. Thank you again, Caroline. I am in your debt.”

  Patience blinked. She knew for a fact that John’s tool had been delivered from the village yesterday by the same lad who had delivered hers the week before.

  Caroline sent him a grateful smile. “Think nothing of it, John. I was glad to help.”

  Thomas looked irritated. “Caroline, if you could join me in my study later tonight, I have something to discuss with you.”

  Patience couldn’t help but feel a twinge at the panicked expression that crossed Caroline’s face. She didn’t know why John and Caroline were lying, but the woman had been nothing but nice to her since their arrival.

  “Of course I will,” Caroline said, every bit the lady.

  It wasn’t until after they retired that Patience thought of trying to determine what Thomas wanted to talk to Caroline about. She also wanted another book from the library. It was as good an excuse as any, not that Thomas would believe it any more than he had the last time she had used it.

  Stepping into the hall with her lamp, she ignored the shadows and noises and headed straight to her first destination, hoping that John really had intended to turn in for the night, as he had vaguely mentioned when they retired.

  Patience passed the closed study door on the way to the library. It was a quick trip through the library, as she knew exactly what book she wanted to take. With the book securely tucked under her arm and her lamp in hand she walked back down the hall at a turtle’s pace.

  The hall was quiet, the voices not penetrating through the study door. Just as she was deciding whether to press her ear to the door or cap her curiosity and return to her bedroom, the door opened. Instinct caused her to jump behind a statue next to the study door. She cursed her foolishness. If someone were to see her, there would be no explaining away her guilt.

  Caroline emerged from the room. “Thank you, Thomas.”

  Thomas leaned against the archway of the door, hands in his pockets. “Just don’t do it again, Caroline. I can’t afford not to trust you, too.”

  Caroline bit her lip and nodded. “Good night.”

  “Good night, Aunt.”

  Caroline walked down the hall, and Patience held her breath. If he would just turn back around—

  “Examining the castle statuary, Patience?” He stepped forward, his eyes locked with hers.

  “How did you know I was here?”

  “I would recognize you anywhere.”

  She stepped out into the hall, feeling sheepish and uneasy. “I was getting a book from the library.” She held out the book. “And the door opened as I was walking by. It startled me, and I jumped behind the statue.” It all came out in a rush. It was mostly the truth, too, come to think of it.

  One side of Thomas’s mouth lifted. “Well, come in. Let me still your racing heart.”

  He turned and disappeared into the room. She hesitated. It was late…but her thoughts kept going back to the afternoon…

  She followed him inside.

  Chapter 16

  The atmosphere inside the study was heavy with the smell of cleaning solution and anticipation. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth. The room’s shadows were warm and mysterious in the firelight. Thomas swirled a drink, the amber liquid clinging to the sides of the glass before sliding back to the base.

  Patience walked around the room, absently inspecting the books on the shelves and a fresco on the wall that she hadn’t yet had a chance to study.
It was of a man holding the world in his hands. The man bore a passing resemblance to Thomas.

  “The second viscount. He had quite a good opinion of himself,” Thomas said.

  An influx of cherubs sprawled across a fresco on another wall, much different in nature to the herocentric designs of the second viscount’s. Thomas caught her gaze. “The third viscount fancied himself in love. Those were created for his bride Mary—”

  “How lovely.”

  “—who went on to have a lusty affair with their neighbor, Lord Pillenhurst.”

  Patience blinked. “Well, the cherubs and turtle doves are still lovely.”

  Thomas smirked, and Patience turned away from the frescoes. She watched his gaze turn pensive, his face half in the illumination of the firelight.

  “Do you miss your mother?”

  The question startled her. “Yes.”

  “You never knew her.”

  It wasn’t a question, and Patience wasn’t sure how to respond to so personal a comment. She walked toward him. “How do you know of my mother?”

  His shoulders lifted. “I listen when people gossip.”

  She ran her hand along the brocade back of a chair. “My father speaks of her all the time. I feel as if I knew her. I miss her every day.”

  Thomas swirled his glass again and looked into the flames on the hearth. “I never knew my mother. I wonder if I would miss her if Father had ever spoken of her.”

  Her heart gave a tug at the wistful undertone in his voice. “Do you miss your father?”

  He sipped his drink, almost as if fortifying himself. “He was authoritarian. Everything was his way or no way. I’m not sure he ever gave one word of praise. I certainly do not recall one.”

  She felt another sympathetic twinge. Her father had always been her primary supporter. “You didn’t answer the question.”

  He smiled, a slightly wicked smile of upturned lips and creased eyes. Eyes brimming with secrets that dared her to pick up their challenge. “No, I didn’t.”

  Patience continued her saunter, running her fingers along the arm of a plush leather chair in front of the fire before sinking down. “What are you drinking?”

  “Scotch. Would you like some?”

  She shook her head, and he sat in the chair next to hers.

  His hand dangled near hers, and acting on instinct she reached over and picked it up. “Shall I read your palm? Researching the occult was one of my more intriguing areas of study. It has some of the most bizarre and interesting artifacts.”

  His eyes were heavy as he took a sip of his scotch and set it on the table. “Read my palm? Only if you give me a good fortune.”

  She traced the lines on his palm, her hand sliding across his. His hand was warm and inviting, with just enough roughened areas to make it interesting. Not idle hands. He didn’t fritter his days away on a lord’s fancies. They were strong hands. Hands used to command but still able to dirty themselves.

  “I find it fascinating to learn how different people live and in what they believe. One reason I enjoy ancient cultures so much. You can discover the most interesting information from finding out how someone lives.”

  Her finger followed the lines and light calluses on his palm, the feel of his large hand captured between her smaller ones sent a strange thrill through her. His strong lifeline, the heart line that appeared to grow stronger under her ministrations. As she drew her finger across his palm and onto the softer skin at his wrist, his pulse seemed to quicken. She smiled, pleased that she could affect him as he affected her.

  “You will live long and have a prosperous life,” she reported.

  “That’s it?” His voice was even huskier than normal.

  “You will live long and have a prosperous life with a well-hipped woman and many children nipping at your heels.”

  “Mmmm.” He leaned forward, his free hand brushing across the side of her throat, around and under her chin. Feather light touches, almost a breeze against her skin that inflamed rather than cooled. The light touch continued a path around her jaw until gently tilting her chin upward.

  Their eyes met, and something tightened in her chest, making her breath come faster and her eyelids heavier. The firelight danced across his features, but it was his eyes that held her immobile. They were dark and fierce, and just the slightest bit tentative. The tightness in her chest rippled out, and she reached forward and placed a hand against his cheek.

  Slowly she leaned into him until they were nose to nose. She could smell his cologne, the scent of fresh rain mixed with mint. She leaned forward a bit more, and their lips touched. Softly, smoothly. Her eyes slid shut, but not before she detected a hint of triumph in his. The thought was pushed from her mind as he deepened the kiss. She had never realized how many pleasurable tingles could be generated from the lips until he kissed her. And every tingle in her lips appeared to be attached to tingles throughout her body. It was as if a fuse had lit them all.

  His lips moved over hers, and she responded with the same eagerness. His tongue traced her lip, and she gasped at the remarkable sensation, her lips parting beneath his. His tongue darted inside, and he groaned as if the taste of her was more than he remembered. The sound sent a shudder through her body, and she immediately returned the gesture, wanting to know what he tasted like as well. She tentatively returned his caress, tasting the fresh, minty rain of his scent.

  It was intoxicating, and when he tipped her head back and traced his lips down her jaw and over her throat she felt as if she had indulged in too many glasses of wine. He sucked on the spot just below her jaw and her body automatically arched upward. His hands were buried in her hair, rubbing gently on the nape of her neck, but as she arched, they moved down her neck, down her arms, and then up and over the bodice of her dress.

  She hadn’t thought that anything could feel better, but the slow, steady circles he traced over her breasts forced her to reconsider. He continued to suckle her neck, and the fleeting image of a vampire crossed her mind before his thumbs pressed and circled the fabric right above her nipples, causing all rational thoughts to disappear and a low sound to escape from her throat, her breaths still coming in short pants. He caught the end of the sound in his mouth and hands reached around to undo the back of her gown. It slipped from her shoulders, and he continued to ease it down, all the while doing sinful things to her mouth with his.

  He broke away for a second to lift her hips and slide her gown off, the satiny fabric slipping across her skin in a way that she had never been aware of before. And then he was kissing her again, nearly crawling into her lap as he pressed her into the back of the chair. His hand slid down her shift and around her stomach and sides, mapping the area and causing the pleasure to spread.

  The strong fingers lifted her garter and ghosted across her thigh. The muddled, pleasure-ridden center of her brain cleared for a second, the beginnings of a warning sounded as his fingers slid up her thigh and curled between her legs. She opened her mouth beneath his to say something—

  —and promptly forgot everything as he crooked a finger and a noise somewhere between a moan and shriek fell from her lips to his. His mouth curved against hers, and he moved his finger again. Her body moved without conscious consent, and she broke away from his kiss as he stroked her again and again. Her head lolled onto the back of the chair while the rest of her body arched into his. One knee was on the chair next to her as he leaned forward, his free hand returning to her nape, disappearing to stroke under her hair, just as his fingers were stroking under her shift.

  His eyes maintained contact with hers, and the fire inside of them, the intensity, burned her as much as his fingers. His shields were down. She was looking at Thomas. Thomas, the man, who didn’t have ulterior motives or secret plans. Just a man with a ready wit, quirky personality, devastating smile, and a hurt deep in his eyes that begged to be healed. A man she didn’t fully understand, but he was showing her anyway. And she fell in love.

  Hard.

 
; The feelings shot through her, his eyes clasped to hers, his hands urging the heat higher, and she cried out as the heat exploded within.

  His eyes never left hers, seeming to drink in and claim the reaction. Intense, possessive, and dark. And as the waves of heat traveled through her, he kissed her again. A kiss full of need, desire, and possession, echoing his eyes and branding her.

  And Patience had never felt more complete, or more frightened.

  Chapter 17

  Patience dragged a crate forward, ducking her head as she attempted to ignore John’s searching look.

  “You look different today.”

  “The air this morning is invigorating.”

  John frowned at her third evasion in as many minutes.

  Servants bustled in to carry more of the crates downstairs, interrupting further attempts to pry. Patience followed them, calling out directions. She needed to put distance between herself and John. His too-perceptive gaze made her nervous. Had he observed her sneaking back into her room? Or had he somehow been witness to the dreamy smile that graced her face as she fell asleep?

  Thomas hadn’t said much after their interlude. Words had been unnecessary. And the passionate kiss he had given her as they said good night had pasted the foolish grin on her face. It had still been present when Tilly walked in that morning.

  The carts were nearly loaded, and Jeremy gave her a farewell hug and a letter from her father. Another week, and she would be home. A pang shot through her. She missed her father, but the thought of leaving Thomas…well, she wouldn’t think about that yet.

  A higher power seemed to disagree, as Patience caught sight of Thomas disappearing into one of the perimeter buildings. She didn’t know what she was going to say to him, but the urge to see him was too powerful to ignore. She stowed her father’s letter in her pocket, walked to the building, and knocked on the door.