Reckless Viscount (10 page)

Abbigael tried to believe him, but even her father had been unable to stem the tide of speculation and rumor once it had begun.

The threat of scandal had managed to keep thoughts of Lord Riley from alighting in Abbigael’s mind throughout the rest of the evening. That is, until she was ensconced in the dark swaying silence of the carriage. The cavernous quiet of the night when one was not in the midst of the lights, laughter and music of a grand ball was almost unsettling by contrast. Even the noises common to the London streets seemed to come from beyond a soundless fog.

With the absence of ready distraction, she couldn’t seem to keep the scoundrel from laying waste to her consciousness. He settled in with that shameless smile and propped his feet up on the soft cushioned insides of her mind, and she was too weary to stop him. The words he had spoken to her during their three brief encounters twisted through her memory on smooth, snaking wisps of smoke. Teasing, soothing, curious, bold and sensuous.

She became so engrossed in her thoughts that Lady Blackbourne had to lay a hand on her arm to alert her to the fact that they had arrived back at the house.

Abbigael murmured an apology as she took the hand offered to her and climbed down from the carriage. She followed the Blackbournes into the house on feet that ached from the hours of dancing she had endured that night added on top of previous nights.

She longed to crawl deep under the covers of her bed and revisit her dream of a home filled with the love of her very own family. Children to tickle and tease and smother with kisses. A husband who would be a partner and helpmate, someone who would stand by her no matter what difficulties might arise. A man who would love her and understand her. Visions of such a future had always helped to ease her mind when she was troubled. But this time, she worried that her modest little fantasy was fading further and further out of reach.

“Lady Blackbourne?”

They stood in the grand hall of the house having just discarded their coats and hats. The countess had been conversing quietly with her husband and turned at Abbigael’s address. Her fine black brows were arched over her eyes in question.

“Lady Blackbourne,” Abbigael began again, locking her fingers behind her back. “May I have a private word with you before you retire for the evening? It shouldn’t take too long.”

“Of course.” The lady turned to the earl and leaned forward for a kiss on the cheek. They stood together just a moment longer than was necessary and the earl whispered something into his wife’s ear. Her lips held a secret smile when they parted.

The earl cast a kindly look at Abbigael as he turned toward the stairs. “Good night, Miss Granger.”

“Good night, my lord.”

“I will be up in a moment,” the countess said softly before turning back to Abbigael.

“Why don’t we adjourn to my study? Much more comfortable there.”

She led the way into the small study at the back of the house. A low fire glowed in the grate and Lady Blackbourne quickly roused it back to full life.

“Come sit,” she said, indicating the overstuffed chairs placed before the fire. “Would you like a little something to drink? Claret?”

“No, thank you,” Abbigael answered.

Once seated, the two women looked at each other. One slight and pale and stiffly awkward. The other dark-haired, gorgeous and quietly curious. Finally, Lady Blackbourne leaned forward. Her eyes were full of compassion and kindness.

“Are you still worried about Lord Atwood? Whatever trouble he might stir up, you are not alone. The earl and I will not desert you.”

“Thank you, my lady, your words are very assuring.” Abbigael resisted the nervous urge to squirm in her chair. “But there is something else I wish to speak with you about.”

The countess looked at her with some surprise. “Well, what is it, dear?” She smiled. “Sometimes it’s easiest just to start talking and the rest sort of falls into place.”

“What is the nature of your relationship with Lord Riley?” As soon as the words were out, Abbigael’s cheeks flushed with heat as she realized how accusatory the question sounded. “What I mean to say is how well do you know him?”

Lady Blackbourne straightened in her chair then slouched against the back. She lifted a hand to smooth her perfectly elegant coiffure and eyed Abbigael as if she had grown an extra head. By the other woman’s reaction, one would think she had just asked whether or not the King of England was available for matrimony.

Goodness. Surely Lady Blackbourne and Lord Riley weren’t involved in an intimate way? No, impossible. Abbigael had never seen a couple more deeply devoted to each other than the earl and the countess. But there was definitely something about her inquiry that upset the lady.

“Oh bother.” Lady Blackbourne murmured under her breath. Then she stood and strode to the sideboard to pour herself a glass of claret. She turned around to look at Abbigael with a thoughtful expression, took a sip of the wine, set the glass back down and returned to her seat. Her eyes were sharp and direct, but not devoid of kindness.

“Abbigael, has your devotion toward the goal of marriage altered in any way?”

Abbigael gave a concisely negative shake of her head. “No. Of course not.”

“Then I must suggest you turn your thoughts as far away from Lord Riley as possible.”

“That is exactly my problem,” Abbigael replied. “I have been trying to do just that with a miserable lack of success.” She hesitated, unsure if her inquiry might be seen as intrusive. Then decided she might as well forge ahead now that she had opened the subject. “At the ball last week, you seemed to have some specific reasons for why I should avoid him. Perhaps if you enlightened me a bit about your concerns, I might be able to convince my consciousness to reject any further thoughts of him.”

Lady Blackbourne muttered under breath as she pressed her fingertips to the center of her forehead. The look she cast over Abbigael’s tense face was filled with trepidation.

“I don’t know how much this will help, but I like you, Abbigael, and I would hate for your heart to be snared by any man unworthy of your tender feelings. It is because I don’t want you hurt that I am going to tell you these things.”

“My lady, I would not want you to betray your friendship to Lord Riley. I understand if you would rather not discuss him with me.”

The countess smiled and there was a hint of sadness in the expression. “Don’t worry, Leif would be the first to admit his own faults, and much of what I intend to say is common knowledge.”

She paused then as if trying to figure out the best way to begin. Then she smiled, almost apologetically.

“I have known him since we were children, and during my entire long association with him he has always been an exceptional charmer. In a child it was adorable and harmless. But as an adult, he uses his charm and that sculpted face of his to manipulate women for his own selfish gain. He exploits a weakness present in almost every female heart—the need to feel desired, the desire to feel needed.”

The description was apt enough, but something in Abbigael rejected the idea that Lord Riley’s only motivation might be so superficial. She had seen the shadowed desperation in his eyes. There was something powerful that urged him to behave as he did.

“He is a womanizer?”

Lady Blackbourne’s face scrunched into an expression that revealed her reluctance in uttering a clarification.

“Well, it’s a bit worse than that, dear. His women are sometimes widowed, sometimes married, but
always
very, very wealthy.”

Understanding flew through Abbigael’s mind with reckless speed, burning the tips of her ears and causing a heavy fist to squeeze about her chest. She looked to Lady Blackbourne with eyes wide in shock.

“He is a…?”

The countess smiled ruefully. “I believe he uses the term professional lover.”

Abbigael struggled to categorize the unexpected information in her mind. Though she knew it had to be true, she still fought with the full meaning of what she had heard. “But he is a nobleman.”

“True. Leif’s father is the Viscount Neville. His family history traces back to William the Conqueror. For a few centuries, they basked in the glow of royal favor until the time of Queen Elizabeth, when things took a drastic turn. Apparently, one of Leif’s ancestors offended the queen and the Neville family never recovered. By the time Leif was born, the grand Neville holdings had become nothing more than a crumbling castle set on a huge and wasteful plot of land. Leif’s childhood was destitute and lonely. His mother…” the countess paused to find the right words, drumming her elegant fingers against the arm of the chair, “
…
well, she wasn’t there and his father was quite worthless. Leif was left in the care of servants for months at a time as his father indulged in dissolute pursuits in town. I think some of the servants may have tried to make up for the lack of love in Leif’s life by overindulging him as a boy. I am sure that is where he learned that he could get what he wanted by flashing his impish smile.”

Lady Blackbourne stopped abruptly and glanced at Abbigael from the corner of her eye, perhaps realizing she may have said too much.

“Not that any of that excuses his current behavior. There are many impoverished families of noble lineage in today’s world that continue to exist with honor in spite of dire circumstances.”

“However, Lord Riley is not one of them,” Abbigael offered.

“Correct. As much as I adore the misguided lout, his chosen path is one that I do not understand. He has been a loyal friend to me through very difficult times. I know he has a heart, it’s just…I don’t think he knows what to do with it.” She focused on Abbigael with those deep-reading eyes. “For all of his roguish allure, his interest is very calculated. He does not engage in flirtation without a reason and does not give of himself without expecting something in return. I implore you for your own sake, do not think any more upon Lord Riley. He may easily steal your heart, but he will not cherish it.”

Abbigael’s stomach gave a subtle twist.

“Thank you, my lady, I know he is your friend and I appreciate your honesty.”

Lady Blackbourne smiled with encouragement. “You are a practical and intelligent young woman, Abbigael. I am sure this infatuation will quickly pass and you will be able to return your attention to what is truly important.” She lifted an elegant hand and waved it through the air as if shooing a fly. “Besides, Leif has absolutely no interest in fresh unmarried girls. Your very innocence will be a deterrent to his attention.”

Nearly an hour later, Abbigael lay unsleeping in her bed.

Much of what Lady Blackbourne told her about Lord Riley disturbed her. It was nearly inconceivable that a gentleman would choose to trade his intimate company for financial recompense. Then again, women did the same thing all the time. Mistresses were an accepted and even expected element among the nobility as long as they were discreet. That a man might engage in the same practice shouldn’t be so shocking. Abbigael was not naïve, and some of her own experiences had proven just how far a person could go if given enough cause.

She wondered what Lord Riley’s motivation might be.

Even knowing the full truth about him, unsettling as it was, didn’t disturb her quite as much as Lady Blackbourne’s final statement.

Because the dastardly Baron Riley, seducer, manipulator, womanizer, had shown an inordinate amount of interest in Abbigael already.

Chapter Nine

The man found him at his club.

Leif had been playing cards for the last five hours and was finally seeing luck turn in his favor. The hand he had just been dealt was so strong that even with poor strategy there was very little chance he could lose. He glanced at the other players at the table, trying to discern by gesture or manner whether or not there were any other contenders for the pool. Women he could see through in an instant—know exactly what they wanted, what they needed, what shocked them and what titillated them. But Leif was horrible at reading other men. His opponents could have been holding solid trumps for all he could tell by their expressions.

He chose a card and tossed it onto the table.

Leif had gained a reputation for recklessness at the tables. Because he relied solely on his instincts, his card play was often risky and unpredictable. Sometimes it paid off, sometimes it didn’t. Tonight, he was hoping desperately for the former.

He took that trick, but decided to switch tactics on the next round and led high to see what he could draw out. It was a move not typically played at this stage of the game and he heard more than one grumble around the table. He enjoyed throwing serious players off with something unexpected. It made things more interesting.

Leif glanced away from the table as the other players contemplated their strategies and caught sight of movement across the room. A small man of indiscriminate years dressed in the stoic black uniform of a city clerk was trying to get past the two large footmen at the front door with such persistence that it was drawing significant attention from the club members.

The small clerk was Mr. Lawrence Charles, and the instant he saw him, Leif knew why he was there. His hands tensed around the cards, slowly folding them in half, all thoughts of the game drowned out by the cacophonous thudding in his brain. A sluggish mixture of icy dread and noxious anticipation replaced the blood in his veins as he watched the drama escalate.