Page 3 of Reading the Viscount
Sophie hesitated, scanning the room. There were two other Roman soldiers, but both wore masks, which meanthemust have gone back into the billiard room. Assuredhewasn’t about, she finally nodded.
Ellie turned to her husband. “I’ll return shortly.” At his nod, she looped her arm in Sophie’s and guided her out.
In the entryway, Sophie tensed, hearing footsteps approaching. Without thinking, she pulled Ellie up the stairs.
*
A few moments earlier
Christopher Crauford, theViscount of Tamworth, wanted to yell in triumph as Lord Harewood admitted his loss. It was such an uncommon occurrence that it was a reason for celebration, but Harewood was a close friend of the family, so it would not do to be so uncouth. “I appreciate your admitting defeat and will endeavor to invest the winnings wisely.”
Lord Harewood raised his brows. “Indeed. Last I heard, you had a mistress to support.”
Christopher laughed. “That was long ago, but now that you point it out, that wouldn’t be such a bad investment.”
The earl shook his head. “I will have my solicitor contact yours when I return home.”
Again, Christopher tamped down the urge to yell and instead nodded before clapping the man on the shoulder as he headed for the door to the corridor. The billiard room at the Marquess of Ferncroft’s home was far too staid for his enthusiasm at the moment. Some dancing with a beautiful, mysterious woman in his arms would be much better suited to his mood.
A servant opened the double doors, and he stepped out, though he looked back. “I must celebrate this win, Harewood!”
The lord, in good form, raised his glass before turning to talk to another man, acting as if the fortune he’d just lost was of no consequence. To a first son of the aristocracy, it was probably a pittance. But to Christopher, what he’d won would move up his timeline nicely. He rarely wagered, but when he was very sure he could win, he was willing to take the risk.
Facing the corridor, he forged ahead to find one of the lovely, mysterious women he’d been anxious to dance with standing there. He grinned as he recognized the shepherdess costume of Lady Worcester, the woman he’d spent last evening with in bed. “Ah, and what do we have here but my darling Lydia. I can’t think of a better way to celebrate than with your rosy lips.”
He pulled her into his arms, the thrill of victory running through his veins as he claimed her mouth with his. It took but a moment to recognize her lips were much softer than he remembered and the scent in his nostrils was more vanilla than rosemary, while the soft, curvy form beneath the costume seemed far more petite, but he had been a bit in his cups last night, so he could not depend upon his memory. Besides, as he slipped his tongue between her lips, he tasted a sweetness so divine, he was sure he’d gone to heaven.
When his lovely lady started to squirm, he pulled back to look into her blue eyes, but they were not blue. They were green! He dropped his hands from her person immediately.
At her freedom, she picked up her skirts and ran down the corridor.
He watched her until she turned the corner and disappeared from sight. She wasn’t Lady Worcester.
“Bloody hell.” He straightened the red sash of his soldier costume, sending a whiff of vanilla into his nose. He froze, horrified at what he’d done. He’d accosted a lady he didn’t know. At least, he didn’t think he knew her. No, he’d remember such a pleasant scent and eyes that reminded him of lady ferns, bright green with specks of yellow.
How could he have made such a complete faux pas? As a second son, his manners had to be above reproach if he were ever to succeed in having what his brother had. What if the little shepherdess were the wife of a peer? Would he be banned from Society for his error?
No, her reaction to his kiss had been far too innocent. But if she were a maiden, would she expect a proposal forthwith? Did she evennow run to her parents to demand they approach him?
He shivered at the thought. He needed to rectify the situation posthaste. He headed in the direction she’d gone. He would apologize…in private, but not too private. Damn, he was always happy to enjoy a willing woman, but never did he intend to harm a lady. Luckily, because of the costumes, he could apologize without drawing too much attention to her. He should never have let his win over Harewood cloud his judgment so thoroughly. He knew better, but seeing his goal of owning a country estate within reach had distracted him.
He halted at the corner where his small shepherdess had disappeared, then took a left toward the ballroom. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find her. How many shepherdesses could there be? Quickly, he strode down the corridor until he reached the ballroom. Stepping across the threshold, he scanned the room, searching out his innocent angel.
His optimism dimmed as he counted the women with the same costume. Eight? Did not anyone have any originality? Then again, ladies were not meant to. With a sigh, he started toward the closest shepherdess. He just hoped he could speak to each before the dinner bell was rung.
He slowed his pace. How was he to know which one to speak to? Moving to a column near the dance floor, he took stock of what he knew.
She was petite. Looking at the eight possible ladies, he found four that were of smaller stature than the others. Of those, all four wore white half-masks like she did. Her lips had been soft, and her taste comforting, as if she’d recently drunk hot cocoa. No, not cocoa, more like…clove. Even as he remembered, his tongue lingered beneath his top teeth as if he might still taste her.
That was hardly helpful. He couldn’t very well kiss each of the ladies to see which one it had been. His palms began to sweat. Hehated not being completely comfortable with himself. It itched at him like a coarse woolen horse blanket after a naked dip in a lake.
The music ended and the dancers left the floor as others filed on, preparing for the next dance. A lady passed near him, her lily-of-the-valley scent far too strong for his liking. He stepped back to breathe a bit easier.
That was it! He would know his little shepherdess by her scent. Surreptitiously, he lifted his sash and sniffed. Vanilla. Resisting the urge to take a deeper breath, he searched out his first lady with a smile. All would be rectified soon.
“There you are, Tamworth.” Lord Durham stepped in his path. “I heard you bet against Harewood on theSeaspriteand won. That was a risky endeavor. I admit to a certain amount of awe over your courage. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Christopher gave Durham a nod, accepting the compliment, especially coming from a man who bet on everything, winning and losing fortunes daily. But he was a good sort who’d left Oxford early to help his ailing father with their estates. “Believe me, it was a calculated risk.”
