by Anne Mallory
“She has to return to London on Monday? I know. We are all sad to see her go.”
“But she is a—”
“Wonderful guest, isn’t she?”
“No, she isn’t a—”
“Person who takes advantage of hospitality? Quite right.”
Warmth flowed through her at Thomas’s words and Celeste’s increasingly desperate attempts to discredit her.
“She is bad.” Celeste managed a blurted, but successful sentence. She must have been really desperate in order to show her hand so poorly. Patience allowed a mental smirk.
“Bad? I don’t take your meaning.”
“You know, bad.” Celeste was trying to retreat into coyness, her specialty, having realized her less-than-stellar showing.
“I must ask that you define bad.”
“Oh, really, my lord. I think you know what I mean.” There was a teasing lilt to her voice that was trying to override the desperation.
“I don’t.”
“Bad, as in not good.” She stressed the word good.
“Well, that is the definition of bad, isn’t it? But I don’t see how that applies to Miss Harrington.”
“She is not the kind of person you want to associate with.”
“Because she is bad.”
“Exactly.” This was said with a good amount of relief.
“Bad how?”
“Fast, loose, bad, odd. Strange,” she blurted in obvious frustration.
“Ah, that kind of bad…” Patience could almost feel the inordinate relief from Celeste at Thomas’s thoughtful hesitation. “No, I think not.”
“What?”
“I don’t agree, Miss Finchlet, was it?”
“Finchford!”
“Finchford. You are wrong. Now, how long are you planning on staying?”
Patience put her fist in her mouth to stifle her laughter. Kenfield looked amused at her antics. Thomas’s absolute rude nonchalance had to be stunning—she wished she could see their faces.
She couldn’t help but take a peek. Sure enough, the entire party appeared to be in shock. She pulled back, but not before meeting Thomas’s eyes. It was as if he had been waiting for her to look. Her heart sped up, both at his gaze and having been caught.
“But, but—” Celeste sputtered. “She is awkward. No one would want to befriend or defend her. And she’s nearly on the shelf. Oh!” Celeste seemed to recover. “She’s your paramour. I didn’t mean to offend you, my lord. Surely you are looking for something more…permanent?”
Patience’s jaw dropped. She couldn’t believe that a diamond of the first water like Celeste Finchford had just bleated her thoughts like, well, like Patience would.
“I’m not sure what you mean by paramour.” Thomas’s tone was deadly. “But, you know, you may have a point, Miss Finchton.”
She heard Celeste murmur “Finchford,” her voice low and finally cowed.
Thomas’s voice turned thoughtful. “Do you think she would marry me? I can’t imagine a better wife.”
Patience’s back hit the wall with a thud.
“Have a pleasant stay tonight, Miss Finchrotten, ladies, gentlemen. I’m sure I won’t see you in the morning.”
Five steps later he rounded the corner and came into her view. He leaned toward her and held out an arm. “Dinner looks to be quite a trial. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind dining in the study? Perhaps having that talk over a good meal?”
She nodded blankly, and he led her down the hall after giving Kenfield a significant look.
He helped her sit in a study chair and stoked the fire. “I’m sorry for the way I left things last night. I was hurt. And I know I hurt you.”
“I’m sorry, too,” she said softly.
“The argument was stupid.”
They locked gazes and blurted at the same time, “I’m afraid that you won’t have time in your life for me once the novelty wears off—”
“I’m afraid that you’ll leave me—”
They both blinked, and relief stole across both their faces. Thomas grinned. “Well, that answers that.”
Patience returned the smile, but sobered quickly. “But what about our work? I am mainly in London, but I take frequent trips, and you, you need to be here all the time.”
He cocked his head. “I spend more time in London than most people know. Plus, there is interest in starting a testing facility there as well. The government is also interested in a facility, but I don’t know that I want to deal with them, too.” He smiled, a warm, natural smile. “Besides, what good is any of it if I can’t share it with you.”
“So, you want to continue our relationship?” she asked, a bit tentatively.
“No, silly, I want to marry you. Didn’t you hear me propose?”
Her heart started beating so loudly that she could barely form a response. “I wasn’t sure that was really for me. What about the antiquarian stigma and your sister.”
He picked up her hand. “For the first time in ten years I actually want to let it go. To forgive…everyone. Myself included. It seemed easier to cast blame and work myself silly. It didn’t matter until it hurt you. I needed a good kick in the backside. And someone feisty enough to deliver one.”
She touched his face. “I’m glad.”
“Good. Then I’ll ask you for real. Will you marry me, Patience? We can divide our time between London, the castle, and the occasional trip. We will have to compromise, of course,” he added, airily.
She smiled and squeezed his hand. “That sounds perfect.”
Thomas grinned. He would never tire of hearing her voice and feeling her warmth every time she smiled at him.
“You know what sounds perfect?”
She lifted a brow.
“You without any clothes on.”
She gave a yelp as he proceeded to divest her of her clothing, kissing each newly exposed area of flesh.
“And I planned ahead so that the door is locked for sure this time. Can’t have anyone walking in on my future wife in the middle of the afternoon now, can I?”
He barely removed his own clothing before he was sinking inside her, as if returning home. She smiled up at him again, and he could barely control himself as he worshipped her body with the same intensity and precision that he worshipped her mind. Her soul. This woman that seemed made for him.
He took his time, slowly drawing out sighs and gasps. Her skin turned a delicious shade of pink, and he kissed around her neck, chest, and breasts, as if to taste the color. She was addictive. Like a fine wine or an expensive brandy. Molten, full-bodied, and delectable.
His pace increased. There was a feeling on the periphery of his mind. Something he couldn’t quite grasp. Something that had been building. Building at a pace similar to orgasm.
Her movements were becoming more frenzied beneath him. Lord, she was responsive. And she was his. He increased the pace yet again, interlocking their hands together. Her eyes locked with his, small unintelligible sounds falling from her lips. Realization hit him all at once, clear as the midnight sky.
“I love you, Patience.”
The realization, the look in her eyes, the clenching of her muscles as his words sent her over the edge, pulled him right along. He gripped her hands tightly as sensations washed over him so violently that he felt as if he had died and gone to Heaven. And what a way to go.
He collapsed next to her, pulling her against his side as their breathing returned to normal. He caressed her hair and whispered the words over and over. She turned to him, and he kissed her gently, needing her with the same burning desire that he had since they had met, but now tempered with protectiveness, friendship, and love. Love. He drew back and stared at her kiss-swollen lips and the warmth shining from her eyes. He smiled. Yes, most definitely love.
She pulled him down for another kiss. “And I love you,” she whispered against his mouth.
Thomas felt the last burden lift. They would be fine. She moved against him. Actually, they were goin
g to be much more than fine. And everything would work out. As long as they were together, all their plans, desires, and dreams would be acres past fine.
He planted a soft kiss to her temple, and she lifted her head so that their eyes met. And she smiled.
About the Author
ANNE MALLORY balances her day job as a computer programmer with her passion for writing, reading and art. A native Michigander, since her move to the San Francisco Bay Area she has been plotting ways to enjoy Michigan summers and California winters. Anne sold her first novel to Avon Books after becoming a finalist in RWA’s Golden Heart contest. The Viscount’s Wicked Ways is her third book.
For more information, or to contact Anne, please visit her online at www.annemallory.com. She loves hearing from readers, so please drop her a line while you are there!
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Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE VISCOUNT’S WICKED WAYS. Copyright © 2006 by Anne Hearn. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
ePub edition October 2006 ISBN 9780061758430
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