How to Catch a Wicked Viscount Page 16

  “Kitten? When did Charlie get a kitten?”

  “A few days ago. After Charlie’s maid heard there was a mouse in my room, I believe some of the female staff became a little nervous about the whole matter. So one thing led to another . . . and now Charlie has a kitten.”

  “Good God.” Nate rounded the end of the settee and claimed a dainty wing chair by the fireside.

  “You don’t like kittens?”

  “I suppose I’m more of a dog man, myself. I have several hounds at Deerhurst Park. And you? What do you prefer?”

  Sophie smoothed a palm along her soft pink muslin skirts. “We have several barn cats at Nettlefield Grange. And my stepfather has a collie for rounding up the sheep, but I’ve never had a pet of my own.”

  “But if you could, what would you choose?” He supposed his questions might be about inconsequential matters, but he found he really did want to know more about this young woman. Which was strange; he normally didn’t give a brass farthing about such things. He supposed it was just another peculiar quirk he could add to the growing list: My Odd Behaviors around Miss Brightwell.

  “I think I’d rather like a horse,” she replied with a decided nod. “My mother, and my two younger sisters, Alice and Jane, we all share a mare. She’s really my mother’s horse actually. My stepfather keeps other horses, of course. Great hulking draft horses for the farm.”

  “Charlie suggested we all go riding sometime. I think that would be a rather capital idea too. Would you like that, Miss Brightwell?”

  She smiled and Nate’s heart jolted oddly against his ribs. “Yes. I would. Very much.”

  “Excellent. Perhaps when the weather is better.”

  “Yes.” Her whispered agreement was barely audible. Yet somehow Nate got the distinct impression she might be saying yes to something else . . .

  His whole body tightened with acute awareness, and as he pushed his restless fingers through his still-damp hair, he noticed Sophie’s eyes following the movement. Damn, he really wished she wouldn’t look at him like that. It made him ache in a way he shouldn’t. He’d never experienced anything quite like it before.

  “Sophie.” Her name escaped him without conscious thought. In the quietness of the room, he suddenly became aware of the desire humming in the air between them. Of his own heart beating much too fast and the increased pace of Sophie’s breathing. His gaze drifted from her eyes to her mouth, then lower to her décolletage, where the firm ripe mounds of her small but tantalizing breasts rose and fell with each breath she took. His mouth watered and his cock twitched.

  What if he stole one small kiss? It’s not like he was naked and in bed with her. Undressing her . . .

  Sweet Jesus. What the deuce was he doing, teasing her with his eyes and, in the process, torturing himself?

  I really must go . . .

  Instead, like a man possessed, he began to lean forward, his gaze riveted on Sophie’s mouth. And that’s when she broke the spell by whispering, “Do you like to read, my lord?”

  He blinked and sat back. The daze of desire had turned him into a dolt in more ways than one as he said quite idiotically, “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  Sophie repeated the question, a little louder this time. “I wondered if you like to read.” Beneath her breath she murmured, “I thought I heard someone outside in the hall.”

  “Right.” Dear God, he hadn’t even closed the door. And if one of the servants, or worse still, Charlie, had walked in on them, he would be visiting the archbishop to procure a special marriage license. Of that there was no doubt. The idea of being leg shackled was akin to someone throwing a bucket of ice water over him. His ardor began to cool.

  “So do you? Like to read?”

  Nate cleared his throat. “No, not particularly. I take it you do?”

  “Yes. Very much so.”

  “Charlie does too.” He glanced toward the book Sophie was reading when he’d come in, and her hand immediately slid over the cover again. “Are you reading anything good at the moment? You seemed engrossed when I entered.”

  Sophie’s cheeks pinked to the color of her gown. “Oh . . . it’s just a book from your library actually.” Her hand bumped a cushion and it fell on top of it, hiding the cover. “It’s not that interesting. Just something to help while away the time on a rainy afternoon.”

  Curiosity pricked Nate. The cushion’s fall, had that been by accident or design? Even though he hadn’t glimpsed the title of the book, the distinctive dark red leather cover and the faded gold tooling seemed familiar somehow. “Oh? What’s the title? It might be one of the few books I have read.”

  Sophie’s whole face turned the same hue as the book she was trying to hide. “I’m sure it’s not.”

  Nate leaned forward, intrigued. What the devil was the minx reading? “Well, I won’t know unless you tell me.”

  Sophie swallowed. “It’s . . . it’s a set of memoirs. They’re deathly boring, to be perfectly honest.”

  Nate cocked a brow, and amusement stirred in his chest. He suddenly had an idea of the book’s title after all. “Oh, really? Your nose was practically buried in that book, Miss Brightwell. Whatever you were reading didn’t look deathly boring to me. In fact, I suspect it was more than a little stimulating.”

  Quicker than a swooping bird of prey, Nate’s hand dove beneath the cushion and snatched up the book. And then, his suspicions confirmed, he burst out laughing.

  “Well, well, well, what have we here, Miss Brightwell?” he said, flipping through the dog-eared pages. “Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure, volume two? Tell me, how was volume one, because I assume you read that first? Which part was your favorite?”

  Sophie’s expression was so stricken with mortification, Nate’s heart immediately cramped with guilt for tormenting her so.

  “I . . . I don’t know what to say, Lord Malverne,” she whispered. She dropped her gaze to her lap where her fingers twisted in her skirts. “What you must think of me . . .”

  “Oh, Sophie.” Nate cast the book onto the low table before the settee. “I’m sorry I teased you. A little salacious reading never hurt anyone. And it’s not like I can sit in judgment considering I’ve read it myself. Actually, when I was younger, I read both volumes several times. Cover to cover.”

  Sophie’s eyes widened. “You did?”

  He waggled his eyebrows. “I most certainly did.”

  “Char—I mean, it seemed like a good idea to read them so I would know what to expect if I ever marry. Not that a husband and wife would ever do things like . . . I mean . . . I really don’t know why I’m saying all this. I only seem to be casting myself in a light that’s worse than bad.”

  “I hardly think so, Sophie.” Just knowing she enjoyed reading erotic material was making Nate’s head spin and his cock twitch again, but that wasn’t important right now. He needed to reassure her that he didn’t think any less of her. “You are the sweetest, most lovely girl, and—”

  “I’m sure you’re talking about me, aren’t you, Nate?” Charlie entered the room, a small tortoiseshell kitten in her arms.

  “Of course.” Nate sat back in his chair and crossed one ankle over his knee. “Soph—I mean, Miss Brightwell was just telling me you had procured a kitten. But I said I didn’t believe her, so I decided to stay here and see for myself.”

  “Her name is Peridot,” Charlie said.

  “Peridot?”

  “Yes, on account of her striking green eyes.”

  Charlie crossed the carpeted floor and placed the ball of black, white, and tan fuzz in his lap. “Peridot, meet Nate, and Nate, meet Peridot.”

  Nate lifted the kitten into the air and stared into its wide, blinking, light green eyes.

  “Isn’t she pretty?” said Sophie.

  “Very.” The kitten batted at his nose with one small paw, and Nate laughed. “Pleased
to meet you, Miss Peridot.”

  “Will you stay for tea, Nate? While I was downstairs in the kitchen, I ordered a tray. There’ll even be ginger cake.”

  He shook his head as he placed Peridot on his thigh and tickled the soft fur beneath her tiny chin. “Thank you, but no. I was on my way to White’s when I saw your sitting room door was open and I thought I’d stop by for a chat before I headed out.” He glanced at the window. The rain hadn’t abated at all, and he was suddenly tempted to throw his plans aside and instead stay here with Sophie and Charlie, drinking tea and playing with the kitten.

  Horror lanced through him. Dear God, what was he turning into?

  His decision made, he passed the purring ball of fluff to Sophie. “I shall see you all tomorrow, I expect. And if the weather is fine, perhaps we can at last all go on that ride we’ve been talking about. Good afternoon, ladies.”

  Ignoring Charlie’s quizzical stare and the errant, completely inappropriate wish that he could somehow trade places with the kitten—it was sitting on Sophie’s lap and she was stroking its head with gentle fingers—he started for the door.

  When Sophie called farewell in that sweet, lyrical voice of hers, he nearly turned back.

  But only for a moment. He’d almost descended into madness once this afternoon, and he wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.

  * * *

  * * *

  As soon as Lord Malverne had disappeared, Sophie buried her face in her hands. “Oh, Charlie, I’m so embarrassed. I think I might die.”

  “Why? What happened?” Charlie came and sat by her on the settee.

  Sophie peered through her fingers and nodded at the “memoirs” on the table.

  “Oh . . . ,” said Charlie. “Nate caught you reading it, did he?”

  Sophie dropped her hands and petted Peridot again. “Not quite, but it doesn’t matter. He knows I’ve been reading it. He must think I’m the most awful hussy.”

  “I’m sure he doesn’t. He didn’t say that, did he?”

  “No, of course not. Na—I mean, your brother is too much of a gentleman to say anything like that. But how could he not think I’m a flagrant hussy?”

  Charlie sighed and tucked a stray strand of hair behind Sophie’s ear. “You know, he’s read it too.”

  “Yes, he said that also. Both volumes from cover to cover.”

  “And the reason is, those memoirs were the only books that could hold his attention when he was a youth. In fact, those books were the first ones Nate ever read. When he was thirteen.”

  Sophie gasped. “Surely not . . . Are you certain?”

  Charlie turned around to make sure the door to the sitting room was closed. “Nate once confessed all to me when he came to me for help with a document his man of business had sent and he couldn’t decipher a few long-winded legal terms. Apparently, when he was young, he had great difficulty learning to read and spell. Indeed, he was deemed to suffer from illiteracy.”

  “Goodness. What a terrible affliction.” Sophie couldn’t even imagine not being able to read and write. “My younger sister Jane had a similar difficulty when she was very young. I remember how frustrated she would become. And how hard she worked to overcome it. It wasn’t until she was nine that she could really read on her own.”

  Charlie’s smile was sad as she nodded. “So you understand perfectly. Nate has always felt his failure most keenly. For many years, his tutors and governesses despaired. He was wild and unruly and it didn’t matter how cross anyone got with him, or how often Father took away things he loved like horse riding to punish him, he just couldn’t seem to learn. Father sent both Thomas and Nate to Eton, but things only seemed to get worse. In fact, the school threatened to expel Nate during his first semester. It probably didn’t help that Thomas was a gifted student. Father was always comparing them and telling Nate he was such a disappointment.”

  Oh, poor, poor Nate. Sophie ached for the young boy he used to be. Always in trouble. Never being able to succeed. “But he can obviously read and write adequately now.”

  “Yes, although I believe he only reads because he absolutely has to, not because he enjoys it. He’s been to Oxford—not that he studied all that much—and has served in His Majesty’s army, but he still struggles at times. But if it hadn’t been for Thomas and those memoirs, I suspect he wouldn’t have learned to read at all.”

  Understanding glimmered in Sophie’s mind. “So Thomas helped him?”

  Charlie nodded. “Yes. After Nate’s first terrible semester at Eton, when he and Thomas returned to Elmstone Hall for the holidays, Thomas found the memoirs in the library. And considering he was fifteen and Nate was thirteen, he decided to teach Nate how to read by using a text that would spark his interest, make him motivated to succeed. And it worked.”

  Oh, my goodness. While Thomas’s plan was both wicked and unconventional, it was also brilliant. Sophie was not familiar with the workings of an adolescent boy’s mind, but if reading about the amorous adventures of Miss Fanny Hill had helped Nate to learn to read when every other method had failed, she couldn’t condemn him or his brother.

  As Charlie had said, it had worked.

  “Thomas sounds like a very clever and caring brother. No wonder Nate feels his loss so deeply.”

  “Yes . . .” Charlie picked up the sleeping kitten from Sophie’s lap and transferred it to her own. She stroked the soft fur between the kitten’s ears with a gentle finger. She looked as though she was about to add something else, but at that moment, there was a knock on the door. Their afternoon tea had arrived.

  Sophie removed the naughty memoirs from the table and tucked them beneath the cushion again as two of the housemaids entered bearing trays stacked with fine bone china teacups and saucers, a silver teapot and urn, the tea and sugar caddies, a milk jug, and the ginger cake.

  As Sophie poured the tea and sliced the cake—Peridot was curled into a tight little ball on Charlie’s lap—her mind kept returning to Nate. Lord Malverne, she reminded herself sternly.

  He was a complex man, and the more she learned, the more she was intrigued by him.

  Enamored of him.

  No matter how she tried, she couldn’t seem to rid herself of this unwise infatuation.

  Her hand trembled and she almost spilled the milk as she dispensed it into the cups. If she hadn’t heard that noise outside the door—whatever it was—if she hadn’t said anything, would Lord Malverne have kissed her on the mouth?

  She bit her lip to suppress a small smile. It suddenly occurred to her that perhaps the viscount might be a little bit infatuated with her too.

  CHAPTER 14

  It seems scandalous scoundrels and wanton women galore were present at a certain address in C. Square last night.

  Find out what really happened at that ball . . . One wonders if the ton’s most Errant Earl will ever learn his lesson?

  The Beau Monde Mirror: The Society Page

  Astley House, Cavendish Square, London

  April 18, 1818

  The next few days passed in a whirl of social activity for Sophie. Charlie had eventually accepted the invitation to Lady Kilbride’s musicale, and Lord Westhampton had escorted her, Charlie, and Lady Chelmsford to the King’s Theatre to see a vibrant production of Rossini’s The Barber of Seville. Lady Chelmsford had also hosted a small private dinner party. At the musicale and dinner, Sophie had made the acquaintance of several respectable young gentlemen from her own rank, but no one had really caught her attention.

  Lord Claremont had not attended the dinner party despite the fact that Lady Chelmsford had invited him. And Lord Malverne had not been present, either, much to Charlie’s annoyance. Indeed, since the rainy afternoon when she and Lord Malverne almost kissed, Sophie had barely seen him. Even though it was probably for the best, it had left her with an odd feeling of dissatisfaction. Although she didn’t really w
ant to admit it to herself, she missed him.

  But perhaps tonight she would have better luck in the husband hunting stakes. Perhaps tonight would be different and she’d meet the man of her dreams. A man who’d fall in love with her and she with him. That’s what Sophie told herself anyway as she followed Lady Chelmsford and Charlie around the edge of the elegant ballroom in Astley House.

  As they’d prepared for the evening, Charlie had reported her brother would be attending the Earl and Countess of Astley’s ball to assist with “chaperoning” duties. Apparently she’d threatened once again to expose his bedroom faux pas to Lord Westhampton if he didn’t, and so Nate had promised he would definitely be here. However, he’d told Charlie he would make his own way to Cavendish Square.

  Taking up a position near the supper room again, Charlie and Sophie made sure Lady Chelmsford was settled on a comfortable shepherdess chair close to friends before they moved closer to the ballroom floor to “mingle”—although Sophie suspected it was more a case of “being seen.” It also gave them the advantage of looking out for any eligible gentlemen of means. The event certainly wasn’t as crowded as Lord and Lady Penrith’s spring ball, so it was far easier for Sophie to scan the throng for the only gentlemen she was really interested in, Lord Malverne and Lord Claremont.

  It had been five days since she’d last seen Lord Claremont at Penrith House, and although her pulse hadn’t raced in the same way it did whenever she was with Lord Malverne, his apparent disinterest, after seeming so very interested in her, stung. It made her wonder what she’d done wrong. But then again, perhaps he’d simply learned more about her—her inferior birth and her family’s lack of a fortune. That would easily account for his turnabout. She supposed she couldn’t blame him if that were the case.

  She blew out a sigh before she sipped her champagne.

  “Why so glum, Sophie dear?” murmured Charlie in a low voice. “Remember we must smile and look agreeable if we are to have any hope of attracting the attention of the opposite sex. Neither your gorgeous blossom-pink gown, nor the pearls in your hair, will be enough.”