To Wed A Viscount (7 page)

Faith colored. Not a delicate, pretty blush, but a deep scarlet hue.

“Miss Linden, did you say?” Lord Dunstand bristled. He brushed off the fan he had retrieved from the floor and handed it to Lady Meredith, then turned to face Griffin. “I'm afraid you're very much mistaken, Lord Dewhurst. This is Miss Maxwell, a distant cousin of Lady Meredith's. She's visiting from the country.”

“Miss Maxwell?”

“Y-yes?” Faith's hand rose to her cheek, then fluttered down to rest at her throat.

Griffin licked his lips. What sort of nonsense was this? “And your given name?”

“I say, Dewhurst, that is a rather forward request. You've only just met the woman.” Lord Dunstand wrinkled his forehead. “Actually, you haven't even been
properly
introduced.”

Griffin could feel the muscles in his arms tense. Apparently Dunstand hadn't heard Faith shockingly whisper his name earlier. Any fool could tell that something was amiss, but apparently Dunstand was too much of a lackwit to notice. Still, Griffin had gone to far too much trouble to let this opportunity slip away from him.

“I do beg your pardon. Dunstand, would you kindly do the honors?”

With a self-important air, Lord Dunstand did as he was bade. “May I present Lady Meredith Barrington, only daughter of the earl of Stafford and her charming cousin,
Miss Maxwell
. Ladies, Viscount Dewhurst.”

There were polite murmurings and slight curtsies. Griffin itched to grab Faith's hand and bring it to his lips for a startling kiss, but wasn't sure how she would react.

Instead, he deliberately moved closer to Faith, trapping her between the wall and his solid bulk. If she turned to bolt, her nose would collide directly with his chest and bury itself in his snowy white cravat. Escape was now impossible until he allowed it.

The tension steadily increased, but Griffin decided it would be wisest to hold his tongue and fully assess the situation before acting.

For some absurd reason Faith had chosen to assume an alias. Until he discovered the reason why, it would probably be best to play along.

He bowed with exaggerated aplomb. “My sincere apologies for my earlier mistake, Miss Maxwell. You reminded me of a childhood acquaintance, but after additional consideration I see that I was gravely wrong. The woman I was referring to is far older in years than yourself.”

“Oh, really?” Faith sniffed and finally met his gaze directly.

“Indeed. She is much shorter in stature also.” Griffin rocked back on his heels with an exaggerated slow motion and stared pointedly at Faith. By this time the spots of color in her cheeks had darkened to an even deeper shade of red. “Most consider her a plain woman, yet 'tis not her looks but rather her volatile and unstable nature that have gained her some measure of notoriety in our small community.”

“A bit unbalanced, is she?” Lord Dunstand queried with unmasked interest.

“Oh, far more than a bit,” Griffin replied.

“Posh, she sounds rather frightful.” Lord Dunstand smirked.

Griffin's lips twitched momentarily. “Well, one does not wish to be unkind, but she is something of a harridan. Feared by most of the children of the village, or so I've been told, and given to dressing in odd clothing and pretending to be the queen.”

“The queen?” Faith echoed faintly.

“Of England, naturally.” Griffin let his lips curve into a grin. “One would have to think her totally over the edge if she pretended to be the queen of France.”

“There is no French queen,” Faith muttered.

“Precisely.”

Glaring at him, Faith ground out, “How about warts, Lord Dewhurst? Does this poor unfortunate creature also possess an abundant amount of them?”

“Now that you mention it, I do seem to recall—”

“Gracious, my throat is dry,” Lady Meredith interrupted. She shot Griffin a murderous glare, then softened her features and turned to the dandy by her side. “Would you be so kind as to fetch me a glass of champagne, Lord Dunstand? I noticed the footmen were uncorking numerous bottles, but no one has ventured into our little corner. It would be a delightful refreshment to combat the warmth of the room.”

“I should be honored, Lady Meredith. And I shall fetch a glass for you also, Miss Maxwell.” With a sweeping bow to the ladies and a pointed smirk at Griffin, he departed.

“Well done, Lady Meredith,” Griffin said in a calm, even tone. “Now that we have lost our audience, there is no need for the two of you to jump like scalded cats each time I open my mouth.”

Faith fixed him with a narrow gaze. “How dare you order us about. After that disgraceful conversation I would think you would at least have the decency to leave us in peace. Good evening, my lord.”

“Please, hold your recriminations for another time, my dear
Miss Maxwell
. I suspect Dunstand shall return posthaste with your champagne, and unless you would like to take him into your confidence, I would advise that you start talking. Why this ridiculous charade?”

“This is none of your concern, my lord.” Faith met his gaze directly, almost challengingly. “I have already told you that we do not wish to be in your company any longer.”

“I want the truth. Now.” A sound that closely resembled a growl emanated from deep inside Griffin's throat. “What sort of game are you playing?”

It was truly incredible how suddenly the atmosphere had completely changed. The peaceful beauty of the evening had been shattered, the joy and amusement threatened, and all due to the sudden, most unexpected appearance of one man. Viscount Dewhurst.

Faith was certain if she thought about it long and hard she could find something worse about the evening. But it would take some doing.

Oddly enough it had been Meredith's suggestion that Faith pretend to be her distant cousin, the mythical Miss Maxwell this evening. Since Meredith had always been the soul of propriety, worrying constantly that the smallest misstep on her part would bring disgrace and scandal upon her family, Faith assumed it was an idea that had great merit.

Appearing as herself really was out of the question. Faith was in mourning for both her father and her fiance. This harmless little lie would allow her to spend an evening among society, as she had always longed. Just one stolen evening among the glittering ton. Was it truly too much to wish for?

They chose Lady Dillard's musical evening, assuming it would be the least popular event of the night.

When it was first suggested, Faith had considered it a lark, merely a fantasy that could never become real. She had refused to go along with the idea. But Meredith had persisted, squiring Faith to the dressmaker and helping her select an appropriate new gown, regaling her with stories of the many people she might finally meet, encouraging her to take what was considered a rather slight risk.

Thus, the notion had taken hold in Faith's heart, and she found herself embracing it. The freedom of not being herself, even for just one evening, was an intoxicating notion. After all, who could it hurt?

The possibility of encountering anyone she knew was beyond remote. None of the local gentry had ventured into town, so Faith felt secure in her assumed identity—until the viscount had suddenly materialized by her side.

“I am waiting for my explanation, Miss Maxwell.”

“Oh, do stop calling me that,” Faith hissed. She felt as if the ground had fallen away beneath her feet and she was tumbling through the air. Where would she land? And how? On her head or her buttocks? “What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were busy attending to matters on your estate.”

A muscle twitched in Griffin's cheek and his eyes narrowed imperceptibly. “I have come to town in search of you.”

“Now who is playing games, my lord?” Faith huffed, as she tore at the silk reticule she held in her hand.

His steely gray eyes burned with a flash of anger. The atmosphere became charged with increasing tension. Nervously, Faith raised her head, searching for Lord Dunstand. Drat, where was the man? How long could it possibly take to fetch two glasses of champagne?

Merry coughed behind her fan, but did not budge from Faith's side. For an instant Faith almost wished Griffin would turn his eyes away from her and once again gaze upon her beautiful friend.

In a way, it had been Merry's irresistible beauty that had led to her unmasking. Faith had not missed how Griffin's eyes had glittered when he looked at Merry from across the room. Like a magnet, an invisible force had pulled him to her side. Where he had discovered far more than he dreamed.

Faith felt a sharp stab of pain pierce her chest. Meredith and Griffin would make an extraordinary-looking couple, but contemplating the notion of the two of them belonging to each other made Faith feel ill.

This sudden distress gave Faith the courage to imitate the icy stare of disdain that Meredith had perfected when trying to disarm overbearing gentlemen.

For an instant Lord Dewhurst looked a bit self-conscious. Faith felt a surge of triumph as she witnessed his reaction, fully expecting him to finally leave them in peace.

Yet he did not move away. Instead, a wicked smile caught the edges of Griffin's mouth and traveled slowly into his eyes. “If you will not explain yourself, then I shall be forced to draw my own conclusions.” He rested a sharp gaze upon Faith that made her want to flinch. “Are you trying to elude the authorities?”

“What?” Faith turned her head so quickly a piece of hair dislodged from its pins and bobbed against her bare shoulder. “That is an insufferable remark, sir. What precisely are you implying?”

Griffin gave her a smile that made her breath stop. “It has always been my experience, Miss Maxwell, that a person assuming an alias is hiding from something. Usually because they have done something illegal.”

“It does not surprise me in the least to hear that you personally know individuals who have strayed from the law, Lord Dewhurst,” Faith remarked dryly, in no mood to explain herself or her outrageous actions. This man was nothing to her, neither relative nor friend. She owed him no explanations.

Still, she must tread cautiously. He could easily cause a scene if he decided to challenge her identity. Faith lifted her head to show she was not afraid.

At first she was able to meet and hold his gaze, but his continued silent scrutiny started to make her nervous. His expression was deceptively amused. Faith could see that beneath his languid lids his eyes were sharp and alert. He held the power to expose her if he so chose. Would he?

She exhaled slowly. Her heart was thumping madly and her chest felt tight as a drum. Feeling herself blush beneath the intentness of his gaze, Faith self-consciously brushed the loose curl of hair behind her ear.

“We shall take a stroll in the garden,” Griffin declared. “That will afford us some measure of privacy.”

“I will not leave this room with you, Lord Dewhurst,” Faith insisted. It was difficult, but somehow she managed not to tremble, not to react at all. The thought of walking alone in the romantic moonlight with this awe-inspiring man frightened her silly.

“I will have satisfaction in this matter,” he said calmly. “If not this evening, then tomorrow afternoon. I shall call upon you at three o'clock. I expect to be received.”

His words were an implied threat. A cold shiver ran down her back. Faith did not doubt his intentions, for despite his elegant aristocracy, she suspected Lord Dewhurst had hard, rough edges she couldn't even begin to comprehend.

“You will not be turned away, my lord,” Meredith answered grimly. “My father's house is in Grovsnor Square. Do you know it?”

“Not yet, but no doubt I shall locate it easily. Until tomorrow, ladies.”

“Good evening, my lord,” Faith countered after a hesitant moment. She deliberately held herself very still as Griffin bowed, then turned and walked away.

“I'm so sorry, Faith,” Meredith said the moment they were alone. “This is all my fault. If I hadn't pressured you into attending the soiree this evening Lord Dewhurst never would have found you. I hardly know what to say.”

“ 'Tis no one's fault. We just had a run of incredibly bad luck.” Faith shrugged. “Griffin said that he had come to London to find me. Do you suppose he was telling the truth?”

Meredith raised her brow helplessly. “Why else would he have come to town?”

“I don't know. I suspect I shall discover that tomorrow afternoon,” Faith replied, trying to sound casual and unconcerned.

Once, the notion of an impending visit from Griffin would have filled her with giddy anticipation. Now, she ruefully admitted, it made her distinctly uneasy.

Faith lifted the heavy gold brocade drapery and peered out the window to the street below. Carriages drove by sedately, sharp-looking dandies cantered past on fine-looking steeds, tipping their hats to the fashionably dressed individuals strolling in the sunshine; a harried-looking governess raced along, fast on the heels of her wayward charges. Yet there was no sign of Lord Dewhurst.

With a sigh, Faith hoisted the fabric higher and placed her nose against the glass. She had insisted that they wait in the morning salon to greet Lord Dewhurst, and Meredith had graciously acquiesced. It was a smaller, more intimate space, furnished with light gilt furniture and priceless antiques, but more importantly, the morning salon was located on the second floor at the
front
of the house.

“I believe this situation is rather like the watched pot my dear nanny would often reference,” Meredith commented. “It shall never boil if you continue to stare at it so intently.”

Faith hastily dropped the curtain and whirled around to face her friend. Meredith was perched calmly on the upholstered love seat, her lovely head completely hidden behind the newspaper she was reading.

A newspaper! It was almost scandalous. Most women sat in the parlor doing embroidery or other fancy needlework, but not Meredith. Her daring both puzzled and fascinated Faith.

Meredith didn't exactly manage her own money, that would have been completely beyond the pale, but she did keep a close eye on the investments that were made with it and expressed her opinion on what she wanted done. Faith often marveled that if Meredith's two vivacious younger brothers would take merely half as much interest in their monetary affairs, their finances would not constantly be in such a dismal state.

Nor would mine
, Faith thought bitterly.
Although it truly isn't my finances that are a mess, but rather my life
. In less than a month she would lose her home, and there wasn't a thing she could do to prevent it.

For a moment Faith allowed the anger at this injustice to engulf her. If she were a man, this wouldn't be happening. She would have inherited her father's title and his property whether she was married or not. A rush of pure helplessness ran through her, followed quickly by a fatalistic sense of acceptance.

She was not a man and her father's will had been meant to aid, not harm her. It was purely a case of lack of forethought that had brought her to this sorry state. Not a curse of womanhood.

At Meredith's insistence, Faith had gone to see a solicitor the day after they arrived in London. His assessment of her rather complex dilemma was not at all encouraging. Perhaps, in time, and for an outrageously sizable fee, her father's will could be successfully reversed. There were, of course, no guarantees.

Having neither the time nor the funds to enact such a procedure, Faith had thanked the man and left, feeling more and more trapped by circumstances that were not of her doing and far beyond her control.

Faith slid a hesitant glance at Meredith. Her friend was still engrossed in her newspaper. It was almost a relief not to engage in conversation, though the distraction might have been useful.

Feeling restless, Faith began to pace back and forth, her mind racing despite how many times she told herself to relax. She pulled up short and glanced down at her hands, noticing first how they trembled slightly and second the jagged edge of one of her fingernails. Absently, she brought the hand to her mouth and nibbled at the end of the broken nail.

“Now he has you chewing your nails for an afternoon snack,” Meredith commented wryly. “What next, the ends of your hair?”

Faith blushed self-consciously, remembering how as a little girl she was forever putting the end of her long braid in her mouth when she felt anxious.

“How can you possibly know that I was chewing on my fingernail? Do you have a hole cut in that paper?” Faith quipped, flopping with unladylike abandon into a chair.

“I don't need a hole, the paper is quite thin.” There was a rustling noise as Meredith folded it neatly in her lap. “Besides, I can practically hear your anxiety.”

“Forgive me for being so nervous,” Faith retorted. She shifted her position in the chair, deciding it was most uncomfortable. “I've barely slept at all since that dreadful incident last evening. Of all the people we had to encounter, why did it have to be Lord Dewhurst?”

“You said last night that it was just a run of bad luck that threw us in his path,” Meredith replied sensibly. “I'm sure there is no need to be so concerned.”

Faith's mouth took a grim turn. “Well, today I no longer believe in luck or fate. Besides, Lord Dewhurst mentioned that he had come to London specifically to find me.”

“I'm sure he was exaggerating. Men tend to do that when they are taken unawares.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely,” Meredith confirmed.

Faith took a deep breath and pressed back against the chair, finding herself drawing strength from the robust determination in Meredith's voice. Merry was right. What possible harm could Lord Dewhurst intend toward her? And why would he even care about her little masquerade as Miss Maxwell? It in no way concerned him.

Yet her stomach took a steep dive when a knock came on the morning-room door. Desperately hoping the lost feelings that were engulfing her were not apparent on her face, Faith raised her head and straightened her spine.

He entered the room carrying a sizable bouquet of flowers. The sight of those lovely blooms, fresh, fragrant, and her favorite shade of pink, so startled Faith that she unconsciously rose to her feet.

“Good afternoon, ladies.” He bowed politely, then smiled with casual ease.

“Good afternoon, Lord Dewhurst.”

Meredith's voice was stiff, but at least she had managed to return the greeting. To her great consternation, Faith discovered she could not.

Griffin raised an eyebrow, yet thankfully made no mention of her lack of greeting. Instead, he moved forward to present her with the flowers. As he neared, Faith realized he actually carried three separate arrangements, each identically lovely.

As he presented her with the bouquet, their fingers met. A frisson of pure heat ran up Faith's arm. His touch was warm and oddly exciting. It took nearly every ounce of concentration she could muster not to sigh with giddy delight.

Griffin, naturally, was completely unaffected by the contact. He gave her a brief, curt nod and turned toward Meredith. She silently accepted a matching bouquet.

“Your chaperon?” he questioned, holding the final cluster aloft.

“Aunt Agatha is taking her midafternoon nap,” Meredith replied. “She was unaware that we were expecting visitors today.”

The viscount's shoulders shifted slightly as he cocked his head to one side. He glanced down at the flowers and then back at Meredith and Faith. The crux of his dilemma was clearly visible on his handsome features. Whom would he favor with the extra bouquet?

Lord Dewhurst swung his arm toward Meredith, and Faith's breath caught in her throat. Her fingers curled around the stems of the roses she held, a gift that had moments before brought her such an unexpected burst of delight. Clenching the stems tight, she barely felt the prick of a thorn. It was far more important that Griffin not see her hands tremble when he once again looked her way.
If
he once again glanced at her.

“I suppose if your aunt is given the flowers she will then learn of my visit?” Lord Dewhurst questioned.

“It is not meant to be kept a secret from her,” Meredith answered truthfully.

“Splendid. Then kindly present her with these humble blossoms and convey my best regards when she awakes.”

“Thank you, my lord. That is most generous.” A visibly surprised Meredith accepted the flowers. “I'm sure Aunt Agatha will be delighted. It has been ages since anyone has gifted her with flowers, and roses have always been her favorite.”

He acknowledged Meredith's remarks with a brief grin, then turned his head to Faith and favored her with a sly wink. She almost dropped her bouquet. Meredith, who had turned to ring for a servant to bring refreshments, did not see the gesture, making it seem all the more wicked.

Sternly ignoring the way he made her heart pound, Faith took a seat on his left and busied herself with arranging the skirt of her gown. When she felt composed enough to raise her head, she discovered Griffin and Meredith engaged in conversation. Her involvement was neither sought nor required, so Faith took a moment to more closely examine the viscount.

The elegant cut of his blue superfine coat bespoke of Weston's talents, for it fit his broad shoulders most impressively. His white cravat was tied with a simple, uncomplicated knot, but the stark whiteness showcased the healthy glow of his skin. There were black Hessian boots, polished to a glossy shine and fit inside tan breeches that clearly defined the strong muscles of his thighs.

Yet despite all this elegant civility, it was his bearing and countenance that held her so enthralled. He was a man clearly in command of himself and those around him.

He turned his head to answer a question posed by Meredith, and Faith caught a view of his profile, all sharp edges and perfectly formed lines.

“Don't you agree, Miss Linden?” a deep male voice inquired.

Startled out of her woolgathering, Faith lifted her chin. Their eyes met, and she saw the amusement dancing in those gray depths, as if he knew she hadn't a clue to what had been asked.

“No, my lord, I'm afraid I don't agree,” Faith replied boldly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of asking him to repeat his query. Besides, it was logical to assume she would take the opposite stand. There seemed to be very little that she and Griffin agreed on these days.

His eyebrow inched up in mock surprise. “How strange. I thought most women felt Prinny has been most unkind toward Princess Caroline.”

“All women are not the same,” Faith responded loftily, although she truly did believe the regent's treatment of his poor wife was both scandalous and unnoble.

Yet she'd sooner start nibbling on her bouquet of roses than admit to the viscount that she hadn't been paying attention to the conversation.

He stared at her for a brief moment, but let the matter drop. “If you have no objection, Lady Meredith, I would like to speak with Miss Linden alone.”

Faith bit her tongue to keep her gasp of surprise from escaping.

“That is for Faith to decide, not me,” Meredith responded. “Faith?”

She regarded the viscount warily. “I have no secrets from Meredith.”

“So I gathered. Still, I prefer that we speak privately.”

He ended his request with a smile that transformed his face from handsome to irresistible. Faith discovered it was nearly impossible to resist, though she struggled mightily.

“Perhaps it would be best,” Faith replied slowly. Who knew what he was going to say? Though Faith fully intended to relate every detail to her dearest friend, it might prove less embarrassing not to have an audience.

Also, Faith had not forgotten the way Griffin had stared at Meredith last night, as if he were a starving man sitting before a ladened banquet table. The memory was vaguely disquieting. At least if they were alone Faith would have his full attention.

“Very well. If Faith wishes it, then I shall leave the two of you alone. For a time.” Meredith walked toward the door, then paused to cast the viscount a cool smile. “I shall, however, stay close enough to hear any loud voices.”

“She is rather protective of you,” Griffin commented as the door closed. “Or is it just me she mistrusts?”

“Lady Meredith has a realistic opinion of men and is well acquainted with their limitations,” Faith replied primly.

“I daresay the right man would make her change her tune. Quickly.”

“Perchance, would that man be you, Lord Dewhurst?”

He gave her a long considering look that made her tremble deep inside. He seemed on the verge of saying something, thought better of it, then merely grinned. “No, I am definitely not the man for Lady Meredith.”

An odd sense of relief rushed through Faith. Instinctively, she knew it would be unbearable to see Griffin pursue Meredith. With his charm, grace, and good looks, he just might be the man who finally captured her heart.

Faith assumed a thoughtful expression. “I suspect you are curious about last evening,” she began, but she was interrupted by the arrival of two servants with the tea tray.

There was a great amount of fussing and shuffling as the footman and maid set up the tea service. Twice Faith found herself biting her lip in frustration. Now that the matter was at hand, she was eager to get this discussion with Griffin finished.

My heavens, would the servants never leave?

“Tea?” she offered, halfheartedly, when at last they were alone again.

“No, thank you,” he replied. “Perhaps later.”

Too tense to even consider pouring herself a cup of the tasty brew, Faith drew in a breath. “As I was saying—”

A sharp knock echoed through the room.

“Now what?” Faith exclaimed in annoyance, jumping up from her chair. She strode to the door and unceremoniously yanked it open. “Yes!” she snapped waspishly.

The startled young maid on the other side of the door nearly dropped the small pitcher she held.

“I f-forgot to bring the cream, miss,” she stammered. “I'm so sorry.”

Faith blew out a long, low breath. She took the pitcher from the maid's trembling hands. “No, I am sorry for speaking so sharply. It was not intended toward you. Thank you for bringing the cream. 'Tis exactly what we needed.”