How to Catch a Wicked Viscount Read online

  “By ‘others,’ Charlie means the arbiters of society who may invite you into their homes, and to their tiresome balls, and equally tiresome soirees if they deem you worthy enough,” drawled Lord Malverne. He didn’t look impressed.

  “Tiresome?” asked Sophie.

  Charlie laughed. “Nate is worried he will be harried by all of the debutantes looking for prospective husbands. That’s why he steadfastly avoids most of the regular, respectable activities and entertainments of the Season.” She leaned closer and murmured in Sophie’s ear, “Until now, of course. I think your little arrangement will do him a world of good. Even though he’ll never admit it.”

  Sophie had trouble suppressing a smile as she brazenly caught Lord Malverne’s gaze again. “Heavens, that does indeed sound tiresome. Being admired and sought out so much, you feel harried.”

  Lord Malverne’s wide mouth twitched with amusement at her unexpected dig. “It’s a cross I have to bear, but I am happy to suffer through any number of events for you, Miss Brightwell.” He transferred his gaze to his sister. “And of course for you, Charlotte.”

  “Well, I, for one, am looking forward to chaperoning you gels this Season,” remarked Lady Chelmsford. Her brown eyes gleamed with anticipation over the plump powdered apples of her cheeks. “After today, I’m certain we’ll receive a slew of invitations.”

  Charlie gave a small sigh. “I hope so. Because neither Sophie nor I will find ourselves husbands sitting around at home staring at the wallpaper.”

  Lady Chelmsford eventually decided they should stop the barouche beneath the shade of a large willow tree by the banks of the Serpentine. “Let us see how much interest we can snare,” she said as she returned a nod to an older, elegant dame in another barouche driving along Rotten Row. “One thing is certain: a dash of notoriety is better than mediocrity for drawing attention.”

  Sophie had begun to notice that some of the tonnish women passing by—whether on foot or in their carriages—sent curious glances their way before smiling and bending their heads together to exchange remarks that were clearly about them. It was impossible to tell whether they were talking about the fact that the scandalous Lady Charlotte Hastings had at long last made a public appearance with her aunt or if the topic of their conversation was the disreputable rake Lord Malverne.

  Either way, it wasn’t long before a number of ton matrons took turns to draw their barouches and phaetons alongside theirs to pay their respects to Lady Chelmsford. Charlie and Lord Malverne were greeted with polite smiles and due respect, whereas Sophie felt as though she’d turned into a cheap curio—something novel to be examined briefly and then ignored when the observer determines it is of little use or value.

  Turning her gaze to the Serpentine, she watched the bright diamonds of light created by the setting sun dance across the surface of the water. At least no one had laughed at her or given her the cut direct. Yet.

  Lord Malverne leaned closer, drawing her attention away from the lake. “So was I correct in my assessment that tonnish activities are tiresome?” he murmured in a conspiratorial fashion.

  “I’m quite content to enjoy the view,” remarked Sophie, trying to ignore the scent of Lord Malverne’s spicy cologne as it teased her nostrils, or the bump of his pantaloon-clad knee against hers. She didn’t think it would be wise to agree with him within earshot of Charlie, Lady Chelmsford, or their current conversation partners, the Countess of Poole and her decidedly spinsterish sister.

  Lord Malverne smiled in such a way that Sophie’s heart tripped and her cheeks heated. “So am I. The view is quite spectacular.”

  “You really shouldn’t do that,” she said, trying to adopt an expression that would pass as reproving, but wasn’t too stern. It wouldn’t do to appear waspish.

  Infuriatingly, Lord Malverne’s chiseled mouth simply tilted into a half smile that was even more roguish. “Do what?”

  “Openly flirt with me,” replied Sophie under her breath. She tried to smooth the pleats of a frown from her forehead.

  “Why not?”

  “Because certain people”—she shot a pointed glance toward Lady Chelmsford and her friends—“might misinterpret the nature of our relationship.”

  Lord Malverne removed his top hat and raked his hand through his thick chestnut locks as though taunting her. Did he know that simple action always made her chest tighten with longing? “Miss Brightwell, you are about to have your first Season,” he said, his dark gaze holding hers. “You need to know how to flirt. And as I’ve essentially been recruited to help you, I think you should heed my advice.”

  Sophie knew Lord Malverne spoke perfect sense. But even though she’d privately resolved to add the skill of flirting to her rake-ensnaring arsenal as per the Society of Enlightened Young Ladies’ husband-hunting plan, now that the moment was upon her, it seemed her bravado had deserted her. For heaven’s sake, they were in a park in broad daylight, not in a candlelit ballroom. She firmed her gaze and her resolve in the face of such naked masculine charm. “Be that as it may, we—you and I—shouldn’t flirt right under the very nose of your aunt. What on earth will she think?”

  “She’s busy talking with her friends and Charlotte. Besides, what my aunt thinks hardly signifies at the moment. It’s the opinion of other gentlemen that matters.” Lord Malverne’s gaze grew darker and hotter. More intense. “You know I haven’t any designs on you, Miss Brightwell, so what harm can it do? Look at it as practice. Men like it when women flirt.”

  Sophie arched a brow. “You mean, men like you.”

  Another breath-stealing smile broke across Lord Malverne’s face. “You mean, you don’t want a man like me?”

  “Of course I do.” Oh, God, did I really just say that? “I mean, no . . .” Her face flaming, Sophie drew a calming breath. “What I mean to say is, I want a man who wishes to marry me. A man who will care for me, perhaps even fall in love with me. So I don’t think we should flirt in public like this. Onlookers might believe you and I are courting.”

  Lord Malverne cocked a brow and lowered his voice. “So you want to flirt privately then?”

  Good heavens, the man was vexing. And too damn attractive. “I will admit I do need the practice,” she replied. “But conducting a lesson in the middle of Hyde Park during the fashionable hour is one of the least private settings in the whole of London. I’m certain it will keep any potential suitors from approaching. It is not a sound strategy.”

  Lord Malverne leaned back and replaced his hat, tilting it at a rakish angle. “Well, I think you’re wrong, Miss Brightwell. I think men will notice you more, if another man—like me—starts flirting with you in public. Men are competitive creatures, and believe me, they’ll want to vie for your attention if you become the focus of someone else’s. They’ll want to see what all the fuss is about. You’ll become the latest fashion or craze. The talk of the ton.”

  Sophie’s eyebrows snapped together. “So you’re likening me to a hat or mental mania?”

  “Nathaniel, Sophie, my dear,” interjected Lady Chelmsford. Lady Poole and her sister had moved off and they were alone again. “Do stop bickering. People might notice.”

  Lord Malverne looked completely unfazed by his aunt’s admonishment. “I was simply discussing the finer points of flirting with Miss Brightwell. And it seems we have a difference of opinion.”

  Lady Chelmsford arched an imperious brow. “While I agree flirting has its place, scowls and frowns are not usually involved. So please stop teasing Miss Brightwell, Nathaniel.” She nodded toward the near distance. “I think some eligible gentlemen might be headed our way at long last.”

  To Sophie’s surprise and not a small degree of curiosity and amusement, Lord Malverne’s brows plunged into a scowl as he caught sight of two ton bucks riding toward them. Charlie, on the other hand, was smoothing her skirts and tucking a stray curl into her bonnet.

  “You k
now them?” asked Sophie, glancing between the viscount and Charlie.

  “Yes.” Lord Malverne’s mouth was a tight line.

  “It’s Baron Edgerton and Viscount Claremont,” murmured Charlie. “I’ve never been formally introduced to them, but their names should be at the top of our ‘most eligible’ list, Sophie.”

  Her brother’s eyebrows shot upward toward his hairline. “You have a list? Of eligible bachelors? And you put these two scoundrels on it?”

  “Hush, you two,” warned Lady Chelmsford. “They are almost upon us. Smiles at the ready, my dear gels.”

  “I need to have a serious talk with you, Charlotte Hastings,” growled Lord Malverne beneath his breath.

  “Oh, stop acting like some old maiden aunt,” countered Charlie. Turning away, her mouth lifted into a welcoming smile.

  Sophie slid a pleasant smile into place too. Which wasn’t hard to do, in fact, as the two gentlemen approaching them on horseback were both decidedly attractive. Rakishly attractive.

  Greetings were exchanged and Lord Malverne—a stiff smile in place—introduced his aunt and sister. Confusion flickered as Sophie noted Lord Malverne’s forbidding frown had returned when it was her turn to be introduced. Shouldn’t he be pleased his tactic of flirting might very well have worked?

  “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Brightwell,” declared the slender-framed Lord Edgerton. His fair hair was cropped into tight curls and his gold-flecked hazel eyes were filled with laughter. He reminded Sophie of a wicked yet charming fay-like creature who could easily enchant one with a single smile.

  Lord Claremont, on the other hand, had dark brown hair and shoulders almost as wide as Lord Malverne’s, and a brooding, direct gaze she found most appealing. His blue gray eyes caught Sophie’s as he inclined his head in greeting. “As am I,” he said in a voice that was so rich and deep, Sophie swore it vibrated right through her body to her very toes. “Have you been in town long, Miss Brightwell?”

  Sophie sensed Lord Malverne’s glowering stare as she answered, “Only a week, my lord.”

  “Well that’s good to know because if it had been longer, I would have taken Lord Malverne to task for monopolizing your fair company.”

  Sophie felt a hot blush stealing over her cheeks. Lord Edgerton, Charlie, and Lady Chelmsford were engaged in a lively conversation, which meant Lord Claremont and Lord Malverne were both looking at her. It was difficult enough being the sole focus of one rake. But two?

  She cleared her throat and made herself hold Lord Claremont’s gaze. “Lord Malverne and I . . . we are just family friends,” she explained. “You see, Lady Charlotte and I were at school together—”

  Oh no! Why had she brought up that particular subject? In one fell swoop she’d embarrassed herself and poor Charlie.

  However, Lord Claremont didn’t seem perturbed. Perhaps, by some miracle, he wasn’t even aware of their past indiscretion as he smiled. “That is a relief indeed,” he said softly, “because I don’t particularly fancy having to compete with Lord Malverne for your lovely company.”

  Oh, my goodness. Lord Claremont couldn’t be interested in her, could he? Or was he simply flirting because that’s how rakes tended to interact with women? Sophie had no idea.

  Before she could think of what to say next, Lord Claremont continued, “Are you by any chance going to attend Lord and Lady Penrith’s ball next week? Because if you are, I shall be there and I would be honored if you’d reserve a dance for me.”

  “I . . . I’m not certain if I am.” Sophie cast a look toward Charlie, who was now listening to her exchange with Lord Claremont, along with everyone else. Lord Malverne still looked like a storm cloud. “If we are,” she amended. “Attending that is.” Good heavens. Sophie inwardly cringed. Could she be any more inarticulate?

  “I believe we will,” declared Lady Chelmsford. “I received the invitation just this morning in fact.”

  “Well, I look forward to seeing you then, Lady Chelmsford, Lady Charlotte.” Lord Claremont caught Sophie’s gaze again. “Miss Brightwell.” The glance he spared Lord Malverne was fleeting. “Malverne.”

  Lord Edgerton bid everyone adieu as well, and then the two men wheeled their Thoroughbred horses around. Kicking them into a canter, they headed down Rotten Row.

  Charlie slid her aunt a suspicious look. “You didn’t tell me you’d received such an invitation.”

  Lady Chelmsford waved a dismissive hand. “I haven’t. But I shall soon procure one. Lady Penrith owes me a favor, and I’m not afraid to call it in. I’d warrant those two young men are very keen to further their acquaintance with you and Miss Brightwell. This visit to the park has been most successful, don’t you think?”

  “A veritable triumph,” remarked Lord Malverne drily.

  “Watch your tone, young man. You might be seven-and-twenty, but I wouldn’t think twice about boxing your ears.” Lady Chelmsford signaled for the driver to move on and take them home.

  Lord Malverne inclined his head. “My apologies, ma’am.” He caught Sophie’s eye. “I’m pleased for you, Miss Brightwell. A debutante could do worse than Lord Claremont, despite all of his faults. Lord Edgerton on the other hand . . .” Lord Malverne pinned his sister with a pointed stare.

  “Good heavens, my lord,” replied Sophie. Her forehead dipped into a confused frown. “Lord Claremont only proposed that we share a dance next week. It’s not as though he proposed marriage. I imagine he was just being polite.”

  Charlie laughed. “And so was Lord Edgerton. Really, Nate. I hope you aren’t going to behave like a fire-breathing dragon guarding its lair all Season whenever any eligible gentlemen approach us. How on earth are we”—she shot a meaningful glance at Sophie—“to find husbands?”

  “You and I need to discuss what the definition of an ‘eligible’ gentleman is, dear sister. Lord Claremont fits the bill, just. And I very much want to see this ‘list’ of yours.”

  Charlie lifted her chin. “Well, you can’t. If I have any questions about anyone in particular, I’ll ask you.”

  Lord Malverne’s brown eyes darkened to obsidian. “Are some of my friends on this list? Because if they are—”

  “Goodness gracious, I think I’ll need to have a sherry before I venture out anywhere with you two again. And two more when I get home,” declared Lady Chelmsford.

  Sophie couldn’t blame her.

  After this afternoon, she felt as if she needed a sherry too.

  CHAPTER 11

  Spring is in the air! But what of love?

  Suggestions on how to keep your morale high when that special someone you have your eye on this Season remains as elusive as a butterfly.

  The Beau Monde Mirror: The Essential Style and Etiquette Guide

  Hastings House, Berkeley Square

  April 7, 1818

  The following morning was so warm and lovely, the sky such a perfect china blue, that Charlie suggested they take breakfast on the flagged terrace that led onto Hastings House’s small but elegant courtyard garden. The parterre beds were brimming with bright bursts of color—daffodils, irises, crocuses, and tulips all vied to be noticed like budding debutantes—and in one corner of the garden, a large magnolia tree dripping with magnificent white and dark pink blooms held court. It was quite a heavenly space and a balm for Sophie’s soul.

  Last night, she’d tossed and turned into the small hours, yet when she did fall asleep, she was plagued by odd dreams featuring both Lord Malverne and Lord Claremont. Dreams she couldn’t quite recall that had left her feeling unsettled and moody.

  Dressed in a simple morning gown of pale pink sprigged muslin and a snowy woolen shawl with her hair loose about her shoulders, Sophie was enjoying the relaxed pace of the morning. If she were a cat, she would curl up and go to sleep on the warm gray stones beneath the wrought iron table where their breakfast had been set out.
r />   “Gracious, it’s quiet,” remarked Charlie as she poured them both a fresh cup of tea. “It’s strange, but there are times when I do actually miss my younger brothers, rascals that they are.”

  The adolescent Hastings boys—the fourteen-year-old twins Daniel and Benjamin, and seventeen-year-old Jonathon—were currently away at Eton. Charlie had disclosed to Sophie that their father sent the unruly lads to the exclusive college “for some discipline” well over a year ago because he’d been sick and tired of trying to engage, and then retain, sufficiently skilled tutors who could keep them in check.

  Indeed, the only reason Charlie had enrolled at Mrs. Rathbone’s academy was that Lord Westhampton had refused to employ another governess after the last one quit in a flood of tears courtesy of the Hastings boys’ antics. Knowing Charlie as she did, Sophie rather suspected her spitfire friend had not been overly kind to her governesses either.

  Even though noblemen’s daughters generally did not attend such establishments, Charlie had asked her father if she might attend the school anyway; she’d argued that her mother had passed away some years ago, and because she no longer had a governess, becoming a pupil at Mrs. Rathbone’s was the only feasible way to acquire the attainments every young lady needed to make a successful debut.

  Sophie would always be grateful for the fact that she’d crossed paths with Lady Charlotte Hastings, and her other dear friends, Olivia and Arabella, despite everything that had happened after their one night of folly.

  As Sophie picked up her freshly poured cup of tea, she glanced at her friend’s wistful countenance. She took a small sip, then said carefully, “In some respects it must be nice to have so much peace. But perhaps it is too quiet sometimes? I certainly found it that way in Monkton Green.” She didn’t want to suggest that Charlie had been lonely during the past year, but with Lord Westhampton so involved with his parliamentary duties, which she’d heard were a passion of his, and with Lord Malverne constantly coming and going, there must have been countless times when Charlie was at loose ends. And alone. At least Sophie had the company of her mother and half sisters.