How to Train a Viscount (Wedding Trouble, #4)

by Blythe, Bianca

  “Oh?” Her voice gave an unnatural squeak. Perhaps her heart was beating just as wildly as his was.

  He shouldn’t kiss her.

  She was the daughter of an earl, and he was a man who pretended to be a viscount. She was the real thing, and he was a fraud.

  But she knows that.

  She knew everything about him.

  All his secrets.

  And for some odd reason, she didn’t seem to be gazing at him in horror. For some reason she hadn’t stepped away. And for some reason, some very odd reason, she was narrowing the distance between them.

  And then their lips touched, and everything was wonderful.

  He claimed her mouth with his, acquainting himself with the exact feel of her limbs.

  He trailed his finger over her back, over her arms, as he kissed her. Her mouth was soft and splendid and welcoming, but there was a power in the rest of her body that was disguised by the flounces and frills on her dresses.

  When he withdrew he vowed to see the solicitor at once. He wanted to move forward with his life, and he wanted it to include her.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Adam had read about London before. He’d even seen some paintings of the city. And yet nothing could have prepared him for the city’s opulence as the carriage wound through the city. Neighborhoods that had once seemed impressive, gave way to neighborhoods that exceeded them in beauty.

  Finally, the carriage stopped and the driver opened the door. “We’re here, My Lord.”

  “Thank you.”

  Adam wished he could invite the driver inside. No doubt the driver knew how to behave better than Adam. He hadn’t once seen the driver tilt his head up to examine these magnificent buildings, and Adam fought to resist the temptation.

  “That’s it.” The driver gestured to the door, as if he suspecting Adam might wander. “I’ll stay here with the horses.”

  “I won’t be long.” Adam forced his voice to sound cheerful.

  He didn’t want to ponder what would happen if the solicitor thought him a fraud. Would he send for the magistrate?

  He shivered, thinking again of Ware, the magistrate who’d murdered Randall. What had compelled him to do that? He wouldn’t have done it in the mere hope he might discover some coin in Randall’s desk. Magistrates were not known to be without funds. They tended to be selected because they were already citizens of importance. Adam had even thought magistrates possessed a natural disinclination toward crime, given their commitment to punishing it.

  Randall hadn’t seemed to fear for his life.

  Adam marched toward the door. The Cape Colony was in his past, and this was his future. The portico seemed an elaborate, expensive construction for something that would protect someone for a few moments while they found their keys. But then London was nothing like any other place he’d been. Brighton was lovely, but it was far smaller than this. London didn’t need its homes to face a dazzling seafront: it already dazzled.

  Adam inhaled. He glanced at the driver who looked at him expectedly.

  Adam pushed open the door and stepped onto marble floor. An elaborate oriental carpet stretched over part of the floor, as if the solicitor had thought marble not sufficiently sumptuous.

  Adam hadn’t thought he’d suffered any difficulty breathing before, but his chest tightened.

  He stepped onto the carpet, glancing at various paintings on the walls. The paintings were all of middle-aged men with stern faces and formal attire from various centuries. Adam didn’t want to contemplate how long this firm must have been around. How many Viscounts of Tremont had used this firm?

  His heartbeat quickened.

  “May I help you?” a voice called from an adjoining room that Adam noticed now for the first time.

  “I’m—er—Lord Tremont.” He shifted his legs from side to side, and the clerk gave him a strange look.

  Confidence. I must emulate confidence.

  He straightened his shoulders and widened his stance. Adam’s figure already took up space. He tried to emulate the natural swagger of the Duke of Belmonte or the Duke of Vernon, and shot a lofty look at the clerk.

  “Oh.” The clerk blinked. “The solicitor is waiting for you, Lord Tremont. Please go right inside.”

  Adam gave a curt nod, strode past the clerk and into the new room, trying to give the impression his heart was not attempting to fly from his body.

  “You’re the Viscount of Tremont?” Mr. Gilroy grabbed his quizzing glass and stared at Adam.

  “Indeed.” Adam bowed.

  The solicitor surveyed him, and Adam shivered.

  “Well, what can I do for you?” Mr. Gilroy asked finally.

  What if this was all some joke? Randall had been a horrible man, after all. Someone had murdered him. Was it inconceivable someone might have desired to convince him he’d become a lord?

  Adam wondered why the thought had not occurred to him before.

  Would the solicitor start to laugh?

  “Do you have the letter I sent you?” Mr. Gilroy asked.

  Adam removed the letter, smoothing the creases. His hand shook slightly, and he passed it to the solicitor.

  The solicitor scanned the letter, but soon raised his head and gestured to a chair. “Please take a seat, My Lord.”

  Adam did so.

  This must be a good sign.

  The solicitor inhaled and then smiled. “It is a pleasure to meet you, My Lord.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I trust your journey went well?”

  “It did.” Adam rifled through more of his papers. “I have some documents that should verify my identity.”

  “Ah. Good, good.”

  Adam handed the solicitor the papers, tensing slightly.

  The solicitor raised his gaze. “You don’t appear to be thirty-eight.”

  “My skin is good,” Adam said casually.

  “So it seems.” Mr. Gilroy scrutinized him for another moment, and Adam forced his expression to remain placid.

  Adam wasn’t thirty-eight. He was over a decade younger.

  He hoped the solicitor had never met Randall.

  “Spent all your life in Africa?” the solicitor asked.

  “I was in India first,” Adam said, glad he was familiar with Randall’s life and finding it useful that in location at least, Randall’s life mimicked his own. Many of the less successful civil servants had traveled from India to Cape Colony once Britain lay claim to it. There were jobs to be had, and more importantly, hope for their future. They dreamed of more land, and new beginnings. British society in India was already regimented, and a man like Randall, a man who was cruel, might see benefits in starting over somewhere new where his entrance was not met with quite so many whispers.

  “Quite, quite.” The solicitor’s hands shook somewhat, and he seemed to be suffering from an abundance of sweat.

  “Where are you staying?”

  “In Brighton.”

  “You know people there?” The solicitor raised his eyebrows. “Brighton isn’t near Wiltshire.”

  “I have some acquaintances.”

  “Who?” Mr. Gilroy gave him a hard stare.

  Adam smiled. “I know the Duke and Duchess of Belmonte, the Duke and Duchess of Vernon, the Earl of McIntyre and his sister.”

  The solicitor paled somewhat. “I wasn’t aware you were acquainted with so many of our finest gentry. I was under the impression you’ve been quite isolated.”

  Adam was silent. Mr. Gilroy could assume what he assumed.

  The solicitor took a deep sip of water. He read the rest of the papers quickly. “These look like they’re all in order. I must apologize for asking to meet you in person. I’m certain you’re a busy man, My Lord.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be even busier when I have the estate to manage.”

  “Er—yes. It’s quite a large estate. Terrible burden.”

  “I don’t mind. So I suppose I get keys?” Adam said awkwardly.

  The solicitor gave a
weak smile. “Yes. And papers. There’s still some staff. We let some of the staff go after your—er—remote cousin’s sad death. I must confess, we weren’t certain we would find any heirs, but Lancaster, Lancaster and Gilroy is certainly thorough.” He glanced in the direction of his young assistant, and Adam thought he saw a momentary glare on the solicitor’s face.

  Perhaps the solicitor was annoyed it had taken so long to find the successor. That must have been a frustrating experience for the solicitor’s firm. How would he have been expected to handle the large estate?

  “Please do not worry about letting some of the staff go,” Adam said. “I will make certain to rehire those of them who desire to come back.”

  “Oh?” The solicitor’s face paled somewhat. “That’s kind of you, but unnecessary. I’m certain a young man like you will want to spend time in the capital. Or Brighton, of course, seeing as you already have most revered friends there. What would you want to do in Wiltshire?”

  Perhaps another man might have mused over the solicitor’s statement, but Adam didn’t require such contemplation.

  “It has always been my dream to live in the countryside,” Adam said, and this time he did not need to hide any words. Adam wasn’t a city person. The only emotion he felt was guilt he could take another man’s inheritance, even if the man in question was dead.

  “I must apologize it took so long to find you.”

  “I was not easy to find,” Adam said.

  “Indeed you were not,” Mr. Gilroy said.

  “What would happen if I should die?”

  “The property would revert to the Crown,” the solicitor said. “You would not be the first nobleman to die without heirs, though it is not a practice to be encouraged.”

  “I have no intention of an untimely death,” Adam assured the man.

  “Very sensible.” The solicitor rummaged through a file and then withdrew some keys. “You will find these useful. There is a townhome in Kensington as well as the manor home in Wiltshire. The late viscount’s former butler still resides there with a small staff. He will be able to assist you too.”

  “Good. I intend to visit soon.”

  “How nice,” the solicitor said.

  Indeed.

  It was nice.

  The solicitor handed him another document. “This is a statement of your funds.” The solicitor looked to his left. “Everything is in order.”

  “Thank you.”

  Adam glanced at the paper. The sum was enormous, and his stomach lurched. He did not want to imagine what might happen if anyone discovered he’d taken Randall’s identity.

  “I can give you an advance, should you require.”

  “Please,” Adam said.

  He wanted to pay Isla.

  The solicitor nodded and handed him some funds. He filled out paperwork.

  Adam stared at the money.

  He’d passed the test. Perhaps he always would have. Perhaps the training sessions with Lady Isla had been unnecessary. And yet, he would never regret them. Perhaps they’d given him the requisite confidence.

  He was now ready to visit his estate.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THE BUTLER’S FAMILIAR footsteps sounded on the landing, and Isla closed her book.

  Was it the viscount? Had he returned?

  Her heart soared.

  She pulled Thabisa toward her. She’d been watching her while Adam visited the solicitor. Carriage rides were unpleasant for everyone, and Adam hadn’t desired to subject Thabisa to one.

  The butler cleared his throat. “You have a visitor.”

  “Oh?” the word came out curiously like a squeak.

  “Have you noticed that Lord Tremont has a habit of visiting when Miss Grant isn’t here?”

  “It’s only happened twice,” she said.

  “In a row.”

  She bit her lip to keep from smiling. It was kind of Giles to worry, even if it might be somewhat frustrating he seemed to have taken it upon himself to add both paternal and fraternal worry into his job description.

  “I’ll be brief,” she said. “You needn’t worry. I’m sure he’s just come to pick up Thabisa.”

  Thabisa heard her name and stretched her hands in glee.

  “Very well, Lady Isla.” The butler gave a deep bow and exited.

  Isla’s heart clenched in a peculiar manner, and she smoothed her dress and then smoothed her hair, before remembering that hair smoothing did not keep curls immaculate. In fact, it did rather the opposite.

  Isla leaped up and sprinted toward the mirror.

  “Lady Isla?” The butler’s tenor voice wobbled behind her, and she turned around.

  Giles cleared his throat. “The—er—viscount is here.”

  Oh.

  Giles’s eyebrows were at a higher perch than normal. Behind him was the viscount.

  Thabisa squealed, and Isla descended into a curtsy.

  Lord Tremont lowered his torso at the appropriate angle.

  Normally, Lady Isla might have complimented him. But she didn’t feel just like a simple tutor anymore. The last time he’d been here, he’d kissed her. Today, when she’d hoped he’d arrive, she’d sent Miss Grant on a long errand.

  “Thank you, Giles.”

  Thabisa rushed toward Adam.

  Isla didn’t blame her.

  If it weren’t improper, she wouldn’t mind rushing toward Adam either. She didn’t think Giles’s eyebrows could ascend any higher though.

  “Good afternoon, Thabisa,” Adam said.

  Thabisa tilted her head at her name and gave a toothy grin. She rolled on the carpet, seeming to find pleasure in the soft texture. The settee had been chosen more for its regalness than for comfort. Thabisa rose and proceeded to climb the bookcase.

  Isla smiled and lifted Thabisa from the bookcase. In that, perhaps, they differed. Isla had never mused on the possible pleasures of bookcase climbing.

  “You’re going to greet Lord Tremont,” she whispered.

  Thabisa looked confused at having been taken from the books, but she wrapped her arms around Isla.

  “It seems you have a new waltz partner.”

  Isla swirled around, and Thabisa tightened her hold on her neck at the sudden movement.

  “Good afternoon,” Isla said. Normally she would have more things to say, but normally she wasn’t hugging a monkey.

  Adam had returned, and everything would be fine.

  Her heart thudded.

  The solicitor must have accepted Adam as being the viscount.

  But she had to ask. She strode toward him, still clutching Thabisa to her, taking comfort in the monkey’s presence.

  “Did it go...well?” The words didn’t indicate everything she wanted to ask him, but Giles might still be nearby.

  Adam nodded. And somehow, that gesture answered everything she asked.

  She exhaled. “That’s good.”

  “Indeed.” He grinned and then he inclined his torso.

  His breath was so near, and butterflies danced within her. His lips were close to hers. Perhaps he would kiss her. Her spine was tense, aware of every move.

  “Hello, Thabisa.”

  Oh.

  Naturally, he was greeting his pet.

  “Have you been a good girl, Thabisa?” he asked.

  Thabisa beamed.

  “She has been,” Isla said.

  “She didn’t destroy anything?”

  “The parlor is still intact,” Isla said.

  Her bedroom was rather less intact, but she decided not to mention that now. Thabisa hadn’t done anything that she hadn’t been able to handle. Monkeys were not known for their use of chamber pots.

  “The solicitor is writing the estate manager of Tremont House,” Adam said. “I just wanted to retrieve Thabisa and inform you of the good news.”

  “I suppose the etiquette lessons are over,” Isla said, despising the slight quiver in her voice.

  He beamed. “You trained a viscount.”

  �
�Yes.” She tried to mimic his enthusiasm, but her lips felt strangely stiff, as if upward motions ranged on the impossible.

  It was over.

  It was of course what was always going to happen, but when she’d agreed to the training, she’d never imagined that she would miss his presence once it ended.

  But now, that was her only thought.

  She would be in Brighton, and he would be on his estate in Wiltshire. He wouldn’t need her anymore. He would be a young new viscount and be flung into the Season. There would be no question of his identity, now that he had a whole manor home to invite people to and vast grounds for them to wander in. Any missteps with correct utensil selection when eating could be explained away by his colonial past, and doubtless any matchmaking mama or proud papa would be happy to overlook such flaws. There would be countless debutantes thrust his way who could teach him anything additional.

  She swallowed hard.

  “Are you not happy?” he asked.

  “O-of course,” she stammered. “Naturally. This was the goal. It’s accomplished.”

  He beamed again, and this time even she smiled effortlessly, because the sight of his smile did strange things to her heart.

  “I hope you have an excellent time in Wiltshire,” she said formally. “I am certain Thabisa will appreciate the trees.”

  She stared out the window, at the seafront which was devoid of any trees.

  “I’m certain she will,” Adam said. His gaze was still on her, and she shivered.

  “Will you go soon?”

  He nodded. “There’s a mail coach going in that direction tomorrow. I—er—already inquired.”

  “How convenient.” She forced her voice to sound enthusiastic. “Splendid.”

  He looked at her strangely.

  She suddenly wished she were holding Thabisa instead of him. Thabisa’s warm presence would be pleasant. And a distraction would be nice. Instead she was aware of Adam’s presence, inches from her. She was aware of his muscular form, and she was aware of the curve of his lips.

  “WHAT’S WRONG?” ADAM asked.

  “Oh, nothing.” Isla smiled, but Adam could see the slight unnatural movement of her neck, as if she were trying to swallow.