The Dangerous Viscount (8 page)

Both would have to wait. He had another courting task planned. This morning he would propose marriage to Lady Fanshawe. The letters fell to his lap and he relaxed into his chair, reflecting on the astonishing fact that Sebastian Iverley, lifelong scorner of all things female, was about to enter the state of matrimony. Not that his opinion had changed. But Diana was different from other women. One only had to look at her family to see that. Becoming connected to the interesting Montroses was an added enticement. What his own closest relative would say he’d rather not think about. He’d never convince Lord Iverley that Diana was an exception to his favorite precept.

He wondered how long it took to arrange a wedding. For one who’d always avoided them, he found himself eager for his own. Or eager for his wedding night, rather, and the discovery of firsthand details about Diana’s sleeping habits.

He stiffened like a watchdog at the sound of the door opening below, but another look at his watch told him it was unlikely to be her. A murmur of masculine voices announced the arrival of Blakeney and Lambton. He hunched down in his seat.

“You’ll have to lend me the money, Lamb.” That was Blakeney, so extravagant and careless in his spending he was always short of cash. “Might as well make it a thousand. You’ll have it back on quarter day.”

As far as Sebastian could make out, Lambton, an ever-obliging fool, agreed to the arrangement. Not
terribly interested in Blake’s financial difficulties, his attention drifted until her name came up.

“What about Diana Fanshawe?” Lamb asked. “You’re going about it damned discreetly.” Sebastian leaned around the chair so that he could hear clearly. “Have you had her yet? Are you going to give me some details?”

“Damn it, Lamb! When it comes to one’s wife the secrets of the bedchamber remain secret.”

“Wife!”

“I daresay I shall marry her,” Blakeney replied. “Is that necessary?”

“If I want her, and I do, it’ll have to be marriage. That or risk a scandal at Mandeville and the devil to pay with my mother.”

“I wouldn’t think the duchess, or the duke for that matter, would like to see that connection.”

“M’father won’t like it at all but my mother will like it less if I take Diana as my mistress and it becomes known.”

“Which it will, of course. But why should anyone care?” Lamb sounded puzzled. “Aren’t her family nobodies?”

“Not quite. They may be a shoal of queer fish but the family’s been here since before the Conqueror. Or perhaps it’s before the Flood. A devilish long time, anyway. The Vanderlins may be ducal now, but the Montroses were already somebody when we were living in mud huts in Holland. The country folk never forget we only arrived with William of Orange.”

“Still, Blake. Marriage?”

He’ll never get the chance, Sebastian thought smugly, not pretending to deny that beating his
cousin to the prize added spice to the prospect of his wedding.

“She’s beautiful, Lamb,” Blakeney said. “Who’d have thought she’d turn out so well? Fanshawe spotted a diamond where none of the rest of us saw it. And Fanshawe’s nabob fortune would be damned useful. I could thumb my nose at my father. Hey, I wouldn’t have to borrow from you anymore.”

“Rich and beautiful, you lucky dog.”

“She wants me,” Blakeney said.

Sebastian could hardly restrain his mirth. How like his cousin to be so arrogant and so wrong. It wasn’t Blake Diana had been pursuing for two days. It wasn’t Blakeney she’d kissed in the moonlight. Thinking of that interrupted embrace almost distracted him from the rest of the conversation.

“Seeing her with my cousin Owl was quite exciting. The idiot seemed to be getting into the spirit of things. Goes to show Diana’s a hot piece.”

He could have howled with humiliation that Blake had observed that moment of thrilling intimacy. His own fault, Sebastian supposed, that he’d chosen to kiss her by the light of a full moon in front of a building designed to be seen from every part of the park.

The first twinge of doubt assailed him. Had he chosen the location or had she? No. He had. He’d still been carrying her when he kissed her for the first time.

“Rich, beautiful, a hot piece, and a damn good sport,” Lamb said. “Many ladies would have fainted at the idea of the wager, let alone propose it.”

“Don’t remind me,” Blake said. “That five hundred pounds hurts. I hope Diana thinks it was worth
it. Kissing Sebastian Iverley can’t have been much fun.”

Blake’s scornful laugh pierced Sebastian’s gut. “I almost wish I could tell Cousin Owl she was only making up to him to win a bet. As though Diana of all women, the picture of fashion, could ever be attracted to such a ragamuffin!”

His cousin’s hateful voice faded to be replaced by Lord Iverley’s dogmatic Northumbrian tones.

“Never trust a woman, my boy.” If his great-uncle had said it once, he’d said it a thousand times over the years. “A woman will always betray you. It’s in her nature.”

Lady Georgina invited Diana to join her and Felicia on their morning walk. Covering her bets, Diana guessed, in case Diana managed to land Blakeney, or some other gentleman of a rank she couldn’t ignore. Not that Lady Gee had given up thrusting her sister in Blake’s direction. But she must be aware that the sweet, slightly daffy Felicia wasn’t really up to snuff when it came to bearing her elder’s thwarted matrimonial ambitions.

Diana looked up whenever she heard footsteps, but so far only gardeners had interrupted their desultory exploration of the walled rose garden. Lady Gee was in full flood of conversation that Diana had to admit was amusing in a cynical fashion. And she needed to keep on her toes. The lady might seem friendly, but likely it was a feint based on her growing awareness that Diana, with her looks and fortune, was strong competition in the marriage stakes.

“I noticed you only took chocolate for breakfast.
Perhaps you are on a reducing diet. I recommend you try boiled chicken and pickled beetroot. The regime did wonders for my aunt.”

“Which one?” Diana asked, divided between interest and annoyance.

“Lady Stourbridge.”

“Forgive me for mentioning it, but Lady Stourbridge is quite … er … voluptuous.” In fact she’d had a brief affair with the Prince Regent whose tastes, everyone knew, ran to large ladies.

“She used to be much fatter,” Felicia said.

“That was before Stourbridge died. After he fell off the horse, her hair turned gold from grief and she faded to a mere wisp while she waited in the country for a decent mourning period. Stourbridge was a very mean man who kept her short of pin money. There’s nothing like the anticipation of a brand-new wardrobe to spur one to abstinence.”

That or an officious French maid.

“Then she won Prinny’s attention,” Lady Gee went on, “and there didn’t seem any reason for further loss. Quite the opposite. She was on the slender side for him.”

“Your clothes are lovely, Diana,” Felicia said. “I wish I were a widow.”

“You have to find a husband before you can achieve that desirable state,” Lady Gee said. “And I recommend you find one who doesn’t complain about your bills.”

“Husbands aren’t all miserly, Felicia,” Diana assured the younger girl. “Sir Tobias was always most generous, and delightful company too.”

“Poor Diana. You must miss him dreadfully. And
as I remarked to Felicia,” Lady Gee went on, “the little bit of extra plumpness you’ve gained suits you perfectly. Perhaps your lack of appetite has another cause?”

A creak of the garden gate made Diana jump again. Lady Gee smiled at her archly. “Are you expecting someone? Mr. Iverley, perhaps. I noticed the two of you were getting on very well.”

Diana trusted neither of the other ladies knew exactly how well.

Thanks to Blake’s premature arrival on the scene, she hadn’t had a chance to deliver the planned speech in which she carelessly expressed her pleasure in Sebastian’s attentions while assuring him, with a gay laugh, that she accorded their flirtation no more importance than he did. The source of her uneasiness was a nasty qualm in her stomach that told her he might have been serious. When they exchanged good-nights, in front of the whole company, he’d pressed her hand significantly. He hadn’t appeared at the breakfast table, but she gathered he rose early. The other gentlemen had already eaten and were off performing manly feats of animal slaughter.

“I like Mr. Iverley,” she said airily. “And of course I welcome the acquaintance of any cousin of Blake’s.”

“Such an odd young man. Charming, of course.”

By no stretch of the imagination could any of Sebastian Iverley’s interactions with the Howard sisters be described as charming. Diana, on the other hand, had discovered that he possessed a certain appeal. The truth was, she’d enjoyed their kiss. Not the kiss itself so much, especially his first attempt when he’d
mashed her lips rather painfully. She believed Blake’s claim that his cousin had never kissed a woman. The sequel had been better and might have turned into something quite pleasurable had they not been interrupted.

But what she’d enjoyed the most was Iverley’s unexpected strength. Not only had he carried her around as easily as if she were a small child, she’d warmed to the sensation of his hard muscles, pressing herself against him quite shamelessly. Frankly, she relished his youthful virility. Her husband had been a generous and attentive lover, but not a vigorous one. And he was, when it came down to it … old. The next man she took to her bed would have the vital energy Tobias had lacked.

And here he was, as gorgeous as ever, the sunlight catching the gold of his hair and enhancing the blue of his eyes.

“Ladies,” Blake said. “I’ve been searching for you.” “We’ve been discussing Diana’s diet,” Lady Gee said.

Felicia giggled.

“We were wondering where you gentlemen had hidden yourselves,” Diana said.

“We’ve been shooting. Except my cousin. He left Mandeville this morning. He asked me to convey his regrets and farewells.”

“Really?” asked Lady Gee.

“No, not really,” Blake replied. “That was a liberal interpretation of one of his grunts.”

“That’s very naughty of you, Blake,” Lady Gee said.

“Diana,” Blake said. “A word with you in private. About that little matter of business.”

“My, my!” Lady Gee said, her eyes round with curiosity. “What secrets do you two share?”

The last thing Diana needed was for Lady Georgina to get wind of that bet. It would be all over England within days. But she couldn’t ignore Blake’s offered arm. And why would she wish to? Now that Iverley and the silly wager were out of the way, she could return to her principal objective for the remainder of her days at Mandeville. “Nothing of any moment,” she said lightly.

Once they were out of earshot, Blake presented her with a bank draft. “Five hundred pounds and worth every penny to see old Owlverley fall for you,” he said.

Diana felt a wave of distaste for the whole business. Without looking at it, she tucked the paper into her pocket. She would, she decided, give the money to charity.

“You don’t think he found out, do you?” she asked.

“Certainly not,” Blake reassured her. “He hadn’t an idea. A package of letters came for him today. I met him in the hall after breakfast and he told me his uncle is dying.”

“Poor Mr. Iverley. How sad for him.”

“Lucky Mr. Iverley! He stands to inherit a fortune.”

London, the Burgundy Club in Bury Street,
September 1819

T
arquin Compton, sitting with the Marquis of Chase, hailed him the minute he walked in. “Here he comes, the new viscount, returned from the frozen north.”

Sebastian sank into a well-padded leather chair and looked around appreciatively at the sitting room of the new premises. “You have no idea. I’ve inherited the coldest, most uncomfortable house in England.”

“Before I start weeping, let’s not forget that the biggest coal mine in England comes with it. There’s not a collector in England who’ll be able to outbid you when there’s a book you really want.”

Chase, usually addressed as Cain, was a more recent and therefore politer acquaintance than Tarquin. He nodded at Sebastian’s black armband. “May I offer my condolences?”

“Thank you. My uncle complained he was dying for years. Turns out he was right. At least I saw the old man before he went.”

“Did you know him well?” Cain asked.

“Depends what you mean by well. I lived with him from the age of six. He was an odd fellow.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Tarquin said. “You could also say he was mad as a march hare.”

“Over the years,” Sebastian explained to Cain, “Tarquin has somehow gained the impression that the old coot was eccentric.”

“Could that possibly have anything to do with the fact that he never left his house in twenty years and didn’t bother to get dressed for the last ten?”

“My uncle was perfectly rational,” Sebastian retorted with a straight face. “Everyone he needed to see could visit or write to him. He had no interest in mixing with neighbors or slight acquaintances. Everything he wanted to do, his mechanical experiments and clock-making equipment, were in the house. And he liked his old brown dressing gown. He said it was comfortable and didn’t show the dirt.”

“So you see, Cain,” Tarquin said. “By the standards of his upbringing, Sebastian’s clothing is an exemplar of the tailor’s art.”

Cain nodded. “Quite the dandy.”

“Dare I enquire, my friend,” Tarquin said, “if you intend to celebrate coming into your title and fortune by buying some new clothes?”

“I doubt it.”

Sebastian felt better than he had since that morning at Mandeville. The work on the club premises had been completed over the summer: just a small library for reference works and subscriptions to various scholarly journals, and the sitting room for liquid refreshment and serious conversation among
like-minded gentlemen. The Burgundy Club was the perfect antidote to two months of trials: the death of his uncle, of whom he had been fond in a distant sort of way; the assumption of responsibilities he hadn’t thought to bear in many years; and getting over Diana Fanshawe.