Secrets of a Viscount Read online

  Something flickered in her eyes, but before he could name it, it was gone. Then suddenly, so was his hand from her body as she squeezed his wrist and thrust his hand away. “You are the biggest hypocrite. You’re not interested in protecting me from the unwanted attentions of men who might see me. You’re only interested in protecting yourself. How tragic it would be that the lofty Lord Belgrave desired the young lady whom he’d once spurned and condemned to a life of shame? I do hope you enjoyed this because it is the last time you’ll ever be afforded such liberties from me.”

  “And why did you afford them to me at all?” he asked around the blood thundering through his ears.

  “To see that my theory was correct,” she spat as she retied her bodice. “And it was.”

  He scoffed and reached forward to turn her chin up so she’d have to see his eyes. “You don’t know anything about what you think you do.”

  “No?” Challenge flashed in her eyes. “I know plenty. The very idea that someone else might be allowed to enjoy my body rankles you. I didn’t know why before—” she shot a triumphant glance down below his waist where only a moment ago a large erection has tented his trousers— “but now I do.”

  “Any man would react that way,” he said with a snarl.

  “Not one who didn’t hold any interest,” she retorted. She cocked her head to the side. “What I wonder, is why you have any interest at all when we both know you shouldn’t.”

  No, he shouldn’t. Shame washed over him. “You’re right. I should not have reacted that way. I beg your forgiveness.”

  She sliced a hand through the air. “I don’t want your apologies. I want you to admit the truth.”

  “Which is?”

  “That your interest in me is beyond that of a friend.”

  He pressed his lips together. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s not true. I only care for you as a friend.”

  She arched her brow at him.

  “As I told you before, any gentleman would have responded that way.” He forced a shrug. “Breasts are breasts, Belle. Any man presented with a pair and given the freedom to touch them would do so. It doesn’t matter whose they are.”

  “Liar.”

  Sebastian bristled. “Not at all. Go play that trick on any of the gentleman here tonight, they’d all have the same reaction. Even Giles.”

  Her face turned scarlet. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

  “Were you hoping I had?” he teased, giving himself pause. Did she have an interest in him? He dismissed the idea immediately. There wasn’t a single reason for her to like him and she’d made sure he was well aware of that.

  “Yes, I had,” she said, inclining her chin. “I’d hoped we’d be friends. But instead all you’ve done is given me a shabby list of potential husbands and acted like the highhanded lord you are. If not desire, then I am at a loss for your reasons for being so highhanded with me. Nonetheless, I shan’t abide you or your pompous attitude a day longer.” Then, without another word, or bothering to pick up her shawl, she spun and walked from the room.

  Sebastian should go after her. He knew that, but for some reason he couldn’t as part of her words kept tumbling over and over in his mind: why was he being so protective of her? In all fairness to Belle, Lady Mary’s bodice was even lower than hers had been and he hadn’t once been distracted by what she’d revealed. He fell into a nearby chair and covered his face with his hands. Breasts weren’t just breasts. Every set did not hold as much appeal as any other. At least not for him. He groaned. He did desire her.

  No. He forced himself to sit up straight and hit the arms of the chair with his open palms. He would not allow his desire for her to get in the way of helping her. She deserved to have a husband and be happy. He owed that to her.

  He sighed and took to his feet. At least now he knew why he’d been so protective of her: lust. He shook his head, leaning down to pick up her shawl. Lust wasn’t such a powerful thing. He could deny himself. He’d done so for years. What were a few more months?

  He ran his fingers over Belle’s black velvet shawl and nearly groaned. It had better only be a few more months. Likely after what had happened tonight she’d refuse to receive him again for a while, postponing his torment.

  Scowling, he slipped out of Giles’ townhouse through the window with the simple intent of going home to end the current torment he currently had at the memory of his hand skimming the top of his own wife’s breast.

  What a positively infuriating existence he was currently living.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Isabelle had once heard Edmund use the term swallow hole to describe a giant hole in the ground that had magically formed on his estate, causing a few bushes and a poor helpless cow to fall into the deep hole with no warning. If it were possible to pray these things into existence, Isabelle would get on her knees this second and begin pleading with God for such a phenomenon to occur this very minute. Instead, she ran down the side of the street, swiping at the tears that were spilling from her eyes.

  How in the world could she have acted so boldly, giving Sebastian just one more thing to hold against her?

  And what about everyone at the dinner party? Would it be remarked upon that she had not returned to the room after Sebastian had removed her in such a way? Of course it would, she thought as she yanked open the servant’s door of Mrs. Finch’s town home and raced up to her room.

  Closing the door behind her, she shut her eyes, leaned against the door and sank to the floor in a boneless heap.

  From across the room she could hear the faint ticking of the clock that rested on the top of a little bookcase she had. The ticking so soothing and comforting, it was just what she needed.

  The footfalls in the hall, however, were not what she needed.

  Whether it was her maid or Mrs. Finch or heaven forbid Edmund, she was not in the mood to see anyone just now and prayed they’d keep walking past.

  A soft knocking on the door dashed her hopes.

  “Isabelle?” Mrs. Finch said through the door. “Isabelle, are you in there?”

  Was it possible that if she didn’t answer that Mrs. Finch would leave? Probably not. “I’m getting ready for bed.”

  “Would you like to talk?”

  Isabelle cringed. It wasn’t that she didn’t like talking to Mrs. Finch. She did. Mrs. Finch had always been a good listener and for the most part trustworthy with a secret. But frankly, there just wasn’t anything to say. “No, Mrs. Finch. I’m tired and would like to go to sleep.”

  “All right, dear. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  Isabelle sighed in relief then forced herself to stand and do her best to undress without knotting any of her tapes or crushing her gown beyond repair.

  Fortunately, getting out of her gown was easy enough.

  Her corset, however, was not so easy.

  She reached around her back and stretched her fingers as far as they’d reach, trying to grab the end of one of the ties. She almost had it; she just knew it. She gritted her teeth and arched her back, reaching. Taking a deep breath and holding it while squeezing her stomach even tighter (if such a thing were even possible while wearing a corset) she strained her arm to reach. She felt the end of one of the ties, but just couldn’t get a grip on it.

  She dropped her arm to her side, needing a break.

  Catching her breath, she tried another tactic: reaching overhead. She reached her left arm over her head and behind her back, using her right hand to help push her arm as far as her shoulder would allow.

  It was no use, but that didn’t stop her. She was determined to get that tie. There was no way she’d survive the night if made to sleep in a corset.

  With a grunt, she tried to reach again.

  She clenched her teeth together and strained.

  Tears welled in her eyes. Blast it all, she was so close, yet just couldn’t reach.

  Letting out a cry more appropriate for a battlefield, she gave it one mo
re try.

  “What a fetching view this makes,” came a man’s voice, stilling Isabelle.

  Her eyes flew to the window where Sebastian’s head was coming through the curtains.

  “I’d say I’m surprised to see you at this late hour, but when I remember your love for entering into rooms I’m inhabiting through the window I have to admit that I should not be.” She suddenly felt naked and vulnerable and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

  He flashed her a look of confusion then let himself into her room. “Perhaps you ought to keep the windows closed if my presence offends you so.”

  “I did once, but varmint that you are, you still found your way in.”

  “Ah,” Sebastian said, closing her window. “I remember it being closed, but not locked.” He set the lock on her window as if to prove a point and a shiver ran over her. What was he doing here anyway?

  Inclining her chin, she said, “If you’re looking to have a dalliance, you’ve entered into the wrong bedchamber. Mrs. Finch is two windows to the left.”

  Sebastian nearly choked at her statement and it was all Isabelle could do not to grin. “Gads, Belle, is that all you think about?”

  Her humor fled as suddenly she was transported back in time to the day they were married and in a similar situation, with him being just as condescending. Painful discomfort came over her. “Out!” she demanded, pointing toward the window.

  Sebastian ignored her and walked over to her. “Turn.”

  She stood frozen. “No. I said to get out.”

  He acted as if he didn’t hear her and walked behind her.

  She spun around to face him and swatted at his hands. “Get out!”

  Sebastian’s eyes grew hard. “Do you intend to sleep in your corset tonight?”

  “If I must.”

  His eyes left hers and made a slow path down her barely covered body. “I can only imagine the marks and bruises you’ll have when you awake.”

  “Well, imagine them all you’d like, just do it elsewhere,” she snapped.

  “All right,” he said, nodding. He took a step back, then another, then wordlessly strolled over to her bed and made himself comfortable. “I’m elsewhere.”

  Were she half the docile creature he’d wanted her to be, she’d have gasped and become flustered by his boldness. Isabelle was not. “You intend to spend the night in my bed?”

  A grin that could only be described as wolfish spread his lips. “I hadn’t intended to when I first entered, but how could I refuse your sweetly worded request?”

  Willing herself to stay calm she nodded once, then with all of the dignity of a queen wearing nothing but her corset in the company of her former husband, Isabelle walked to her bureau and removed that scrap of fabric made of silk and gauze she’d found in the top drawer the night she’d first arrived. It was black gauze with red lace—clearly something from someone’s trousseau. “Be sure to make yourself comfortable,” she murmured to Sebastian. “But you might wish to put this on.” She tossed the scandalous nightrail at him.

  He picked up the nightrail with his tanned hands and held it up to let it unfold. He arched a brow at her. “Why would I be the one wearing this?”

  Isabelle shrugged. “Because it’s Edmund’s favorite and he’ll expect to see it tonight when he comes for his regular visit.”

  ***

  A rush of emotions overcame Sebastian: anger, rage and jealousy, among the most prominent, but none of which he had any right to feel. He balled up the nightrail and tossed it to the floor. “You won’t be needing that tonight.”

  “No, I won’t,” she agreed. “You can wear it.”

  He pursed his lips. “The devil you say. I’ll not be wearing that—” he glanced at the offending garment— “and neither will you.” Unless I’m your sole audience. His body stilled and his blood turned to ice. Where had that come from? He didn’t want to see her in that. From the corner of his eye he glimpsed her standing with her arms crossed under her full breasts. Full breasts? He took a deep breath to calm himself and clear his thoughts. But it didn’t work. Yes, she had full breasts. He’d know. His mind still remembered the way her breasts had felt under his hold.

  With a curse he stood and crossed his arms, willing his eyes to look anywhere but at his half-naked and highly delectable wife. “Have you shared intimacies with Lord Kenton?” he asked for no good reason other than the jealousy of wanting her to confirm that she’d cuckolded him.

  “I’m sure I haven’t done anything you haven’t,” she said with a shrug.

  His gut tightened as if someone as big as her father had just punched him in the gut. He couldn’t determine if his reaction was because she’d cuckolded him—and with someone she had no real interest in no less—or that she spoke of it as if it were an inconsequential matter. Blast it! Why did it even matter? He didn’t plan to stay married to her. Pride, perhaps. Once he found her a proper husband, they’d have to annul their marriage and it was likely the truth would be exposed.

  “I don’t know why you’d care,” she continued in a tone that held a waver.

  “Because you—” he broke off. Wait. She didn’t know that they were still married. The realization made him feel a little better about her transgression, but not much. Pride, what a damnable thing. He cleared his throat. “Young ladies should be virgins on their wedding night,” he said by way of explanation. “He should have waited.”

  “I see,” she said slowly, cocking her head to the side. “Dare I ask if you plan to be a virgin on your wedding night?”

  “I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.”

  “Nor do I see how the state of my virginity is any of yours. Everyone knows you and I married in Gretna Green, surely no man actually expects that I’ll come to his bed as a virgin.”

  She had a point. Even couples who had their Gretna Green marriage annulled—usually at the urging of their parents—faced a scandal and questions. Mostly the young lady. Gentlemen always had a way of escaping such scrutiny; ladies did not. No matter how many details were or weren’t revealed about their elopement, one thing was always assumed: the young lady was no longer chaste. Of course nobody, not even a chit as outspoken as Belle could ever contradict this or offer an explanation, even if it were the truth.

  He closed his eyes for an extended blink. So caught up in his own jealousy and irritation at his sudden, but not-so-slight attraction to her, he’d forgotten to really think about how everything had affected her. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s of no consequence now.”

  He pushed down the little niggle of guilt at hearing the slight unevenness of her voice. It was of consequence, but brave girl she’d always been, she wanted to pretend it didn’t matter. Another wave of remorse for all his actions concerning her washed over him. “Might I still be allowed to help you find a husband?”

  She snorted. “I didn’t realize your help was ever truly a request.”

  Sebastian frowned. “It is.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I just want to right my wrongs, Belle. Please, let me do that.”

  Belle dropped her eyes to where she was drawing lazy figure eights on the floor with her pink-tipped toes. “Will you help me find an honorable husband this time?”

  “Giles is honorable,” he retorted, flabbergasted. The man might be a little awkward at times, but he was honorable.

  She met his gaze. “Perhaps honorable was the wrong word. I mean...suitable.”

  He bit back a smile. “All right. I take it you’re not interested in Giles. What of his brother?” He froze. What was he saying? There wasn’t anything wrong with Simon Appleton, so to speak, but the man was...well...he was too young and a bit stuffy by Sebastian’s estimation.

  “His brother?”

  “Mr. Appleton,” he said through clenched teeth, cursing himself for even bringing that man into this.

  She nodded slowly as if suddenly everything made sense to her regarding the dinner hosts. “He’d be a fine catch for a lady in my
condition, I suppose,” Belle said slowly, stealing Sebastian’s breath away.

  He dropped his eyes to her abdomen. “Are you...” He trailed off, hoping she’d take his meaning.

  She stared at him blankly, then dropped her gaze to see what he was looking at. She gasped, and then jerked her head back up, her eyes wide with what he assumed was horror. “That is none of your concern!”

  “I’m just trying to help you, Belle. If you’re pregnant that changes things. Finding a husband who is willing to marry an unchaste bride is one thing. Finding one who is willing to take on another man’s bastard is something else.”

  “And we all know how you’d react at the prospect of entering a marriage with an increasing bride.” The condemnation on her face only compounded the sting in her words.

  “That’s not a fair statement, Belle,” he said defensively. “If I loved her and the circumstances surrounding her impending—” he waved a hand through the air— “grand event were something she had little control over, I wouldn’t hesitate to marry her. But to marry a woman who is increasing because she has given herself to a man by choice—whether out of some disillusion of love or for gain—isn’t a marriage most gentlemen would be delighted at the prospect of entering into.”

  “And yet, ladies are expected to pretend their husbands haven’t visited the bed of every lightskirt in the country and don’t have any by-blows.”

  “Well, if she wants to marry the gentleman, then yes.”

  Belle threw a pillow at him.

  He ducked. “Nobody says you have to marry a scoundrel.” He paused. “If chastity is such an important quality for you when pursuing a husband, then Giles is the right gentleman for you.” He offered her a smile. “I can say without question that he’d be faithful to you, too.”

  “Something I’m sure you’d struggle with,” she mumbled under her breath.

  He clenched his hands into fists, though he didn’t dare tell her the truth. “You might be surprised. You might not intend to keep your vows, but if I make a promise, I’ll keep it.”

  Her throaty laugher filled the room. “And what of our marriage? You couldn’t get back and break that promise fast enough.”