The Kiss of a Viscount (The Daughters of the Aristocracy) (11 page)

Poor thing.

With his recent death and that of his father’s in a horrible house fire, she was probably now betrothed to Grinstead’s younger brother – the new Duke of Chichester. Joshua Wainwright had survived the fire, but lay nearly comatose in a London hospital. If one believed the
on-dit
spoken in parlors throughout Mayfair, the young man’s body was entirely covered in burns that would leave him disfigured for the rest of his life.
His Grace with half a face
, he’d heard someone say at the ball the night before. To hear Lady Charlotte speak of him, though, one was led to believe he would be fully recovered in a few months and ready to take on the duties of his new title.

George decided the truth was somewhere in-between.

And he also realized that Lady Charlotte seemed quite satisfied with the change in future husbands. Given Grinstead’s penchant for bedding whores even while employing a string of mistresses, George could understand why.

Joshua Wainwright’s only vice, on the other hand, seemed to be gaming hells. He favored faro but was known to limit his bets to those he could cover with his own allowance. Given Lady Charlotte had been training to be a duchess her entire life, Joshua Wainwright might make a fine duke with her by his side.

George returned his attention to the Lord Chancellor, managing to follow his discourse for nearly a half hour before boredom forced him to glance around the chambers again. He noted that the Marquess of Devonville seemed especially attentive, his scowl suggesting he disagreed with what was being said.

The marquess had held court the night before in the card room, enjoying a cheroot and a port while most played whist. He was complaining of being confounded by his daughter, Lady Hannah Slater. Due to two years of mourning – both her mother and then an aunt had died quite suddenly – she was finally having her first Season at the ripe old age of twenty. And despite being a beauty, with tight spiral blonde locks surrounding a complexion that was the epitome of flawless porcelain and lips that were quite full and the color of almost-ripe berries, she had yet to secure a husband from the half-dozen young gents who called on her. She claimed to prefer the company of one Harold MacDuff, an unfashionably large Alpenmastiff that followed her everywhere and left gobs of slobber in his wake.

“She insists she wants a man only with whom to have children,” Lord Devonville complained as he lit his second cheroot of the evening. “Says that men only love their mistresses, and so she is only interested in a husband for the children he can give her.”

George had listened intently, surprised that a woman of only twenty could already know what it took most women in the
ton
years to figure out – mistresses were a man’s passion while wives were merely the mothers of their children.

Perhaps Lady Hannah’s mother had explained it to her when she was younger.

But as George thought more about it, he realized he did not really
love
his own mistress. At least, not that in the romantic, passionate way in which he thought Lady Hannah meant.

The way he felt about Elizabeth.

Josephine Wentworth had become his best friend and confidante, it was true, but he could not claim to
love
her.

And he hadn’t bedded his mistress in several weeks.

“It sounds as if your daughter knows you too well,” the Earl of Torrington teased the marquess from his place at a card table. “And her dog is very intelligent.”

Devonville pointed his cheroot in the earl’s direction. “Damn you, Grandby, you know I never loved
any
of my mistresses,” he shot back, although there was no animosity in the rebuke. The comment was followed by light laughter, but George noticed the look of hurt in Devonville’s eyes as he resumed smoking. The marquess might have married for convenience, but, by the time he’d lost his wife to a sudden fever, he dearly loved her.

And the man hadn’t employed a mistress in a very long time.

George thought of Josephine and wondered when he might see her again. These days, to say he employed her as his mistress would be stretching the truth, he knew. At one time, he had looked forward to his twice-weekly visits with the elegant, older woman, enjoying a tumble or two and a glass of brandy at a townhouse in Westminster which he at first rented and then later purchased on her behalf. But after his uncle’s death and his inheritance of the viscountcy, George found he looked forward more to the time they spent in conversation than the time they spent in her bed. Now, during his visits, which tended to be during tea time, they met in her parlor and spoke of politics, gossip and the arts of seduction and sex. These last topics sometimes led them upstairs, where she tutored him in kissing, foreplay and how to make love while in a variety of positions. The last time he had shared her bed was more than a month ago, when she’d taught him how to use his tongue on her most intimate parts in order to send her into ecstasy. Her lesson proved so effective she succumbed to
la petite mort
, leaving George wondering what he’d done wrong.

Josephine was finally revived with the help of a vinaigrette used so liberally the bedchamber smelled of the vile odor for the remainder of the night, forcing them to retire to another room. She explained what had happened, praising his lovemaking skills as she did so. Not quite sure he wanted his mistress to faint on him again, though, he had avoided bedding her in favor of conversation.

Having spent the entire summer at his estate in West Sussex learning about women – their desires, their needs, their fears, and their beliefs about men – he decided it was time to put his new knowledge to the test. Armed with what he thought was enough information to get him through a
ton
ball or any society event, George agreed to Josephine’s suggestion that he attend three events scheduled during the next week – Lord Weatherstone’s ball, Lady Worthington’s ball, and a tour of the latest acquisitions at the British Museum. He promised Josephine he would use those occasions to seek out and speak only with members of the fairer sex. He had also promised Josephine he would ask at least one lady to accompany him in his curricle for a drive in Hyde Park.

Josephine’s advice proved invaluable during the ball’s supper. For after Lady Charlotte had finished her comment to Lady Elizabeth about the health of Joshua Wainwright, the new Duke of Chichester, Lady Elizabeth introduced him to Lady Charlotte.

“Mr. Bennett-Jones,” she started to say, as she indicated him with a wave of her hand.

No one need know you have a title until it becomes necessary for them to know. Use it as a last resort
, Josephine had instructed. “Please, call me George,” he insisted as he nodded to both ladies.

The eyes of both widened, indicating he had shocked them just a bit with his plea. “George,” Lady Elizabeth said, as if she were saying it for the very first time in her life, drawing out the name so that it was two syllables rather than just the one boring syllable he’d heard hundreds of times in his life. “I would like you to meet Lady Charlotte Bingham, daughter of Lord Ellsworth.”

George, who was hearing her say his name in his mind for at least the third time, as if he stood on the edge of a canyon, and it was echoing to him in that marvelous voice of hers, nearly missed the introduction. He knew who she was, though, since he’d been in Sussex when the Wainwright fire occurred. News reached him that the daughter of Edward Bingham had made a hasty trip to Kirdford to retrieve Joshua Wainwright and arrange his transport to a hospital in London.

George bowed and then took Lady Charlotte’s gloved hand to kiss the back of it. “My lady, it is so good to make your acquaintance. I must inform you that everyone in Sussex looks forward to your becoming the Duchess of Chichester,” he said with a solemn nod. “And to the day Wainwright can assume his duties as duke.” He pulled out the chair next to Elizabeth’s. “I do hope his recovery is going as well as I have heard. Will you join us?” he added as he held out an arm to indicate the chair next to Elizabeth’s.

Lady Charlotte cocked her head to one side, the look on her face indicating she was very surprised by his comments. Pleasantly surprised, if one read her reaction correctly.

Charlotte wasn’t aware anyone in Sussex even
knew
she was betrothed to the new duke.

At least, she
hoped
she was betrothed to the duke.

And everyone in London seemed to think her betrothed was on his deathbed. Badly burned, yes. Disfigured on one side of his face and along one side of his body, yes. About to die? No.

Not if she could help it.

“Why, thank you ... George,” she replied, her eyes quickly glancing in Elizabeth’s direction before she took the proffered chair and gave George a tentative smile.

Make them feel as if they are the only women in the room
, he remembered Josephine’s words. “May I fill a plate for you?” George asked then, noticing Lady Charlotte had neither food nor drink. He motioned for a footman and a glass of champagne was placed in front of Charlotte.

Charlotte exchanged a quick look with Elizabeth, noticing the filled plate George had deposited in front of her. “That’s very kind of you, George, but a footman can see to my meal.” She nodded to the servant nearest their table and pointed at the plate that rested in front of Elizabeth. The servant took note, nodded, and was off to the buffet table. “I feel as if I have interrupted,” she spoke quietly, as George took the chair on the other side of Elizabeth.

Lady Elizabeth shook her head. “Not at all. George escorted me to supper since he so elegantly rescued me from a fate worse than death.” She reached out with a gloved hand to pat his sleeve. Warmth crept through his arm at her light touch.

Lady Charlotte’s eyes widened at the implication of Elizabeth’s statement.

Keep your compliments light, and be self-deprecating when it makes sense to do so
.

George leaned forward a bit to catch Lady Charlotte’s eye. “She means the Duke of Somerset, of course,” he said in a teasing voice. “I just happened to be in the right spot when he grew another left foot. Although if I had not been, Lady Elizabeth would have managed to finish the supper dance even more beautifully without me.” He finished his comment by winking at Elizabeth, the wink witnessed by her and her friend but by no one else in the room. Elizabeth’s sudden inhalation of breath was quickly covered by her hand while it was Charlotte’s turn to giggle. “George,” she whispered in astonishment. “Everyone
knows
the Duke of Somerset already
has
two left feet!” The three of them broke out into laughter that drew the attention of several nearby diners, who, when they realized the joke was private, merely smiled and returned to their suppers.

Ask questions that show you are truly interested. And then
listen
to their replies
.

“So, tell me Lady Elizabeth. What is your favorite entertainment?” he wondered, noting the footman was setting down a plate full of a little bit of everything in front of Lady Charlotte. Her eyes were once again wide as she took in the sight. George took the opportunity to eat a sweetmeat from the plate he and Elizabeth were sharing, although Elizabeth had so far only helped herself to a strawberry. He’d watched in agony – as her lips surrounded the red fruit, as her fingertips pulled out the stem and leaves, as she swallowed the ripe berry – before she turned to answer his question.

He found himself wondering if she would ever allow him to feed her.

“I rather enjoy the theatre, but I find that those in the audience seem far more interested in the rest of the audience rather than in what is happening on the stage,” she commented before helping herself to something else on the plate.

“And isn’t that because you
are
more interesting?” he countered playfully.
Dare I say what I really want to say?
The words were out out of his mouth before he could censor them. “You’re certainly more lovely than any of the actresses in Drury Lane. But I digress. Opera or plays?”

The two ladies exchanged quick glances, as if they couldn’t believe their supper companion’s banter. “You are too kind, George,” Elizabeth said in response to the compliment, her face taking on a pretty pink hue. “I prefer plays,” she added, attempting to keep her lips in a tight line but failing. A brilliant smile appeared, and Elizabeth put a hand up to her mouth to cover it.

“Forgive us, George,” Charlotte said as she leaned forward to better see him. “Lady Elizabeth and I just saw ‘A Midsummer’s Night Dream’ last night, and we were most amused by the story.”

“And by a certain actor,” Elizabeth interrupted before rolling her eyes. “He made a spectacle of himself, and he had the entire audience laughing so hard, the other actors could not speak their lines.”

George grinned. Although he hadn’t been to the theatre in months, he was at least familiar with some of Shakespeare’s works. “A fan of the Bard, are you?” he asked then, hoping he wasn’t getting into the wrong territory. He realized immediately after he asked the question that he was, but it was too late to steer the conversation to a different topic.

Elizabeth sobered quickly, considering his question. “The comedies, yes. The tragedies, not so much.”

Charlotte placed a hand on Elizabeth’s arm. “We’ve had a bit too much tragedy in real life,” she said and dropped her eyes to their dinner plates. Between the two women, they had managed to eat most of the finger foods from both plates.

George thought at first the tragedy to which they referred was the quick consumption of their food, but he gave up on that idea when Elizabeth reached out and helped herself to the last of the rolls of roast beef and cheese.

Offer condolences when appropriate, help when needed, and be a knight in shining armor whenever given the opportunity.

Taking on a look of concern, George said, “I am, of course, familiar with your tragedy, Lady Charlotte, but Lady Elizabeth, whatever has happened?”

The woman dared a glance in his direction, her solemn face suddenly turning a bright pink. Her eyes glanced at the chandeliers above where they sat before she returned her attention to George. Lady Charlotte’s face took on a look of curiosity, as if she wasn’t already privy to the tragedy that had beset Lady Elizabeth.