A Viscount to Save Her Reputation

by Helen Dickson

  Lucy’s eyes followed him as he strode across the grass with a casual grace, took hold of the bridle of a splendid chestnut stallion and swung himself on to its back with all the ease of a trained athlete. She noted how he rode his horse as if he were part of the animal. She still felt the undercurrents created by his presence and, as he disappeared into the trees, she was touched by an incredible sense of loss.

  She had no idea what had possessed her to go off with him like she had, for she had been unable to stop herself. It was as if the innocent part of her had undergone an extraordinary transformation beneath the intense silver gaze and she had become a shameless wanton. When she thought of it and their conversation and he had said that, had she been older, a kiss would be the reward for saving her from a runaway horse, an acute embarrassment washed over her, along with an odd, breathless excitement that she was certain could not be anything but wicked.

  She was sure he had been attracted to her in a special sort of way and there was no doubt he’d had an effect on her. He had made her feel she was no longer a child. She felt frustrated that he had gone before she could understand the meaning of this attraction between them.

  Hearing someone call her name, she looked round to see Emma, who came to stand beside her.

  ‘Who was that man you were talking to?’ Emma asked, looking in the direction in which he had disappeared.

  ‘Christopher Wilding, apparently,’ she murmured a little dreamily, completely unaware that there was a sparkle in her eyes and a delicate pink flush on her cheeks that hadn’t been there before her meeting with the handsome sea captain. From the moment she had set eyes on him she had felt a strong sense of attraction to him, right from the moment she had looked into his silver-grey eyes when he had saved her from being trampled to death by the horse. ‘He came to my rescue when a horse threatened to run me down. He’s a sea captain.’

  ‘Then he must have been with the person I was talking to. He told me he was a sailor. He said his friend was a sea captain, a privateer—the owner of a vessel called Sea Nymph, which is docked in London—and quite famous for escaping at the most crucial moment from impossible situations.’

  Lucy gave her an indulgent smile. ‘I think he might have been trying to impress you, Emma, with his story of derring-do.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right, but he was nice—and see,’ Emma said, running towards a leather satchel on the ground, ‘your captain must have dropped this.’ She handed it to Lucy. ‘Do you think we should look inside?’

  ‘No. If he did indeed drop it—or it might have fallen from his horse—then we should try to find him.’ She looked around, hoping to catch sight of him, but he was nowhere to be seen. ‘He must have left with his friend.’

  ‘Perhaps there’s an address inside where he can be reached. Have a look, Lucy. There will be no harm done.’

  Nervously Lucy unwrapped the package, but there was nothing inside to identify the stranger, just papers with an address in Hanover Square which she immediately put back without reading them.’

  ‘We’ll take them back with us. He knows I am at the academy so when he misses them, if they are important, he might very well go to there.’

  Chapter Two

  Riding away from the fair with Jacob, Christopher found his thoughts turning to his pleasurable meeting with Lucy Walsh, unable to believe he had felt such delight spending time with a young woman fresh out of school eating warm gingerbread under a tree. She had roused his interest and he had been immediately drawn to her, attracted by her physical beauty. He had been at sea until two days ago when he had put in at the port in London.

  It had been a while since he had seen such fresh beauty. When she had turned her face up to the sun, the light had caught her eyes, which were brown and flecked with pure gold, deep and transparent like sunshine on water, and surrounded by incredibly long lashes. If he had looked into them too long he knew he would have become lost. Her skin was soft and golden, and she had a mouth that enjoyed laughter.

  For the short time they had been together he had revelled in her presence and fought down the insane impulse to bend his head and slowly kiss the laughter from her soft, inviting lips. Give her another year or so and she would be a natural temptress, alluring and provocative. But for now she was an innocent, young and with the face of an angel and an unspoiled charm that made him smile. She was also in possession of a strength of character that would mature as she became older—though she had been sadly in need of grooming.

  Her rich cloud of dark hair was highlighted with streaks of gold and boasted dried leaves and bits of grass. The plain white blouse and blue skirt that she wore accentuated her tiny waist and the body beneath, outlining the curve of her young breasts. Her face was enchanting. The primal rush of attraction he had felt for her had surprised him. He was an experienced man of the world, but he was also an honourable man and sincerely hoped she would not be chastised for spending time with him.

  The strength of his desire was unexpected. How, in a matter of moments, had he gone from contemplating an evening’s wanton revelry in London with his friends to finding himself attracted to an eighteen-year-old girl he would very much like to see again? All the time they had been together she had watched him with the wide-eyed, fascinated attention of an innocent, untouched girl for a man older and presumably experienced. It was probably the first time in her young life that she had been in the presence of a mature male with a colourful existence and therefore delightfully dangerous—it would not have occurred to her she could be out of her depth.

  Most of his adult life had been spent on board his ship so he had to take advantage of carnal relationships when he put into port—be it the Caribbean, America or England. He was single by choice and, because long absences would be certain to strain a relationship, he wanted no emotional intimacy or entanglements that having a wife or keeping a mistress would have entailed.

  Born and raised in America, he was a man who liked to make his own fortune—or die trying. Having learned at an early age that the only way to survive was to fight back and use his own initiative, he had become a reckless adventurer and privateer. As the estranged grandson of the Duke of Rockwood he was also heir to a dukedom and the estate of Rockwood Park in Surrey. It was an inheritance shunned by his own father, who had become estranged from his father when, thirty-five years ago, he had married an American woman of lowly birth and chosen to live in America. His grandfather had disowned him for marrying a woman he considered to be so far beneath him that he could not accept her at the time.

  As the years went by it was a decision he had come to regret and sought absolution from his son, but where his son was concerned there was no forgiveness. When Christopher had come to England for his education and spent time at Rockwood Park, his grandfather had been prepared to go to any lengths in order to win his respect. If he could not have his forgiveness, then he would take comfort from the times he spent at Rockwood Park.

  When he had been a boy the estrangement and the nature of it had caused Christopher considerable heartache and bitterness at his grandfather’s rejection of his mother—a gentle woman who had not deserved such harsh treatment and would have given her life to repair the damage her marriage to Christopher’s father had caused. His father had died in America six months earlier, his mother several months before him.

  Christopher had notified his grandfather of the death of his father. Whether it was regret or his effort to make amends for what had happened between them so long ago now, the Duke had taken to writing to Christopher on a regular basis, asking him to give serious thought to his position and not to turn his back on his inheritance, that it was up to him to cherish and safeguard what generations of Wildings had built and would pass on to his descendants. Christopher was the rightful heir to Rockwood Park, the Wildings’ ancestral home, and the Duke genuinely wanted him to take on the responsibility.

  Christopher had known the time wo
uld come when he would have to give serious thought to accepting his inheritance and settling down. Having developed an understanding of his grandfather, out of which had come respect and a closeness having grown out of the times they had spent together at Rockwood Park, with his ship docked in London and up for sale, and a dearly loved sister—who had attempted to take her own life following an unhappy love affair—at Rockwood Park recovering, he knew this was the time.

  * * *

  Having arrived back at the academy, the handsome sea captain was temporarily forgotten when, after tidying herself up in the room she shared with Emma, Lucy was summoned to Miss Brody’s study. As soon as she saw the woman seated stiffly on the gold and green sofa, she knew this was her stepmother. She rose when Lucy entered, her hazel eyes focusing steadily and unnervingly on her.

  ‘Why, you must be Lucy.’ Her voice was low and husky—like honey, Lucy thought. Catlike, she crossed towards her and gave her a peck on the cheek. Standing back, she smiled, the smile remaining fixed on her lips without reaching her eyes, giving a lie to any words of welcome and instant fondness for her stepdaughter. ‘I’m so pleased to meet you at last. I’ve heard so much about you from your dear father that I feel that I know you already.’

  Totally unprepared for this attractive, perfectly formed woman, within seconds of their meeting Lucy felt gauche and terribly unfeminine. Sofia’s long dark brown hair coiled beneath an elegant hat that matched her saffron-coloured dress, and tall slender body, gave her a regal effect. Her mouth was full and red and there were a few lines of age on her face and her cheeks owed some of their glow to the rouge pot, but there was no denying that Sofia Walsh was still a handsome woman and also much younger than her ageing and ailing father.

  ‘You have arrived earlier than I expected,’ Lucy said. ‘I wasn’t expecting you for several weeks.’

  ‘I know, my dear, but I was impatient to see my stepdaughter. I arrived in London several days ago and couldn’t see the point of waiting any longer. I know we will get on well together and soon come to understand each other. Miss Brody has been giving me an account of your time and achievements at the academy. You have done well. I had no idea I had such a clever stepdaughter.’

  ‘Lucy,’ Miss Brody said, getting to her feet and coming to her. ‘You are to leave with Mrs Walsh today. I know you have already packed some of your things, which we will send on later, so I think you should go and pack what you would like to take with you today. I’ve ordered refreshment to be brought for Mrs Walsh while you say goodbye to your friends and collect your things.’

  ‘Yes—of course. Please excuse me.’

  She went out, closing the door softly behind her, And returned to her room, taken completely by surprise by her stepmother’s unexpected arrival. There were so many conflicting and confusing thoughts going round in her head that she couldn’t think straight. The undercurrents she had sensed from the moment she had set eyes on the sleekly beautiful woman gave her a feeling of unease. She began to pack the things she would take with her, while Emma sat on her bed, unable to believe they were to part and not knowing when they would see each other again.

  ‘But—it’s absolutely ghastly,’ Emma retorted. ‘Why would she want to whisk you away without notice?’

  ‘I have no idea, Emma,’ she said, thrusting anything she could lay her hands on willy-nilly into her large bag, ‘but from what I have seen of Sofia, she is a woman who knows exactly what she wants and is not a woman to cross.’

  ‘Oh, dear! You don’t like her, do you? Although I recall when your father wrote telling you of his marriage that you were not prepared to like her.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t. But goodness! How shall I endure it—being thrust into the company of a woman I don’t know and who will probably look on me as something of a freak. Oh, why did my godmother decide to go to France at this time? It would have been reassuring to have her in London.’

  ‘And the gentleman you are to marry? Did your stepmother mention him?’

  ‘No—and I’m not going to marry him, Emma,’ she said adamantly, absently shoving the sea captain’s leather satchel into her bag. ‘No doubt she’ll lose no time in telling me all about him.’

  By the time Lucy had packed and had her bags carried down to the elegant carriage standing in the drive, Sofia was ready and impatient to return to London. Lucy said hurried goodbyes to Miss Brody and all those who came to see her off. The hardest thing of all was leaving Emma. Both girls were tearful and Lucy wondered how on earth she was going to survive without her dear friend.

  * * *

  ‘You will be able to write to your friends when you are settled, Lucy,’ Sofia said as Lucy dabbed away her tears.

  ‘Yes, I will, although I am going to miss Emma. We started at the academy together.’

  ‘And your godmother? She is in France, I understand.’

  ‘Yes—on an extended visit. She—hoped I would join her when I finished at the academy.’

  ‘Your father has placed me in the role of chaperon, Lucy. You must write to your godmother and tell her what has transpired, what it is your father has arranged for you.’

  ‘You mean my betrothal to Mr Barrington.’

  Sofia looked at her coldly. ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Even though I am against it.’

  ‘Yes, even so.’

  ‘Aunt Caroline will not like it at all.’

  ‘There is not a thing Lady Sutton can do about it. I have a letter from your father to give to her explaining everything. Your father has your best interest at heart, Lucy. He sent you to England to take advantage of all the country has to offer a young lady of means. But he never forgot that you are the daughter of a person who has earned his fortune through business and trade—the type of person the ton look down their aristocratic noses at. There are many vicious tongues who will not fail to remind you of that connection. Your father, who is astute in matters of business and knows the way of the world, sees this and is of the opinion that you will be better off marrying into your own kind.’

  ‘I remember that my father told me to remember who I am and to be proud.’

  ‘Which is good advice. Mark Barrington is also a ranch owner, looking for a wife.’

  ‘And I happen to fit the bill,’ Lucy said stiffly. There was stubborn pride in the set of her small chin.

  Sofia gave her a sharp look or reproach. ‘Exactly. There, I knew you would see sense. Make the most of the opportunity that has been offered. Your father is determined to secure a suitable match for you in Louisiana.’

  ‘Even though I am against it?’

  Sofia’s eyes narrowed with annoyance. ‘Don’t be tiresome, Lucy. You must be obedient to my wishes. I do not wish to have to tell your father that you are disobedient. I am sure that would grieve him. The matter is settled. You have a duty and a responsibility to your father,’ she reminded her coldly.

  ‘I do not want to marry a man who is a complete stranger to me. I will not.’

  Sofia looked at her as she would a recalcitrant child. ‘He will not always be a stranger to you.’

  Lucy fought back the anger Sofia’s words stirred, but she was determined to speak her mind. Certainly she owed it to her father to treat Sofia with polite deference, but filial duty only went so far. ‘Getting to know him holds little interest to me—now or in the future. I will never love him and I will not marry him.’

  ‘Really, Lucy, what foolishness is this—what nonsense?’

  ‘Not to me. Do you mind telling me Mr Barrington’s age? Is he young, old—what?’

  ‘He is a sophisticated man—almost forty. He might not be the essence of a young woman’s romantic dreams, but he is caring and will make you a good husband. He is also possessed of a cool, steady temperament and is ready to marry you whenever it might be.’

  ‘Without even seeing me? Goodness, for all he knows I might be fat, ugly and stupid.
’

  ‘Your father has assured him that you are none of those things. You are still very young, but you will learn that few people marry for love when there is business to transact.’

  ‘So, I am a business transaction. Well, at least now I know where I stand. When am I to meet Mr Barrington?’

  ‘Later today, when he comes for dinner. He’s taken rooms at Pulteney’s Hotel in Piccadilly for the time he is in London. You will get to know him before you wed—and I hope for a little fun myself. I haven’t come all this way, to the most famous capital in the world, not to enjoy the pleasure the city has to offer.’

  ‘Why did my father not accompany you to England?’

  ‘He—he had important matters to take care of—but he is looking forward to seeing you when we return to Louisiana.’

  ‘Has he not sent a letter to me, explaining why he is doing this?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘It is most unusual. How was he when you left?’

  ‘I have no wish to worry you, but of late he’s not been himself—indeed, when the doctor told him he must take things easy, he became concerned about you, about your future. If anything should happen to him he wants to be entirely sure that you’ll be taken care of, which is why he arranged for you to marry Mark Barrington, so that you would be left in capable hands.’

  ‘Then we must leave for America at once. I would like to see him,’ Lucy said, deeply concerned about her father’s failing health.