Page 66 of To Catch a Viscount

There it was again.

Her heart did a somersault in ways it never had with or because of her betrothed, and it was only because she knew Andrew, and… it didn’t make sense. Because friends surely didn’t cause other friends’ hearts to leap the way hers did now. The way it had these past days with—

Panicked, Marcia tossed back a long swallow… and felt Andrew’s stare.

She glanced at him, more than a little afraid that he, with his intuitive way of following her thoughts, knew what she was thinking. “What?”

“You… have drunk spirits before,” he remarked.

“Yes.” With that, she took another, more leisurely sip and went back to examining Forbidden Pleasures. As the warmth of the drink settled in her veins, more of her reservations melted away. For surely this was only dangerous if she were caught. And Andrew had taken every precaution to ensure her identity was not discovered.

She’d often wondered at the rakes and rogues and scoundrels who frequented these hells. Now, she saw that there was an appeal to them.

Excitement hummed in the air, and the tables buzzed with the possibility of a grand win. And it wasn’t… quiet. Why, even the well-attendedtonevents had a measured quality to their respectable noise.

“When?” Andrew’s prodding voice pulled her focus back his way.

“Hmm?”

He pointed to her glass. “When did you start drinking brandy?”

She shook her head. “I haven’t.”

Andrew ran a hand over the side of his cheek. “Marcia—”

“This is my first brandy, as my father never stocks the stuff. You know that. But I’ve sampled his whiskey and his claret. I don’t enjoy them, but neither do I mind them.”

“And do your parents know you’re indulging?”

Damned if he didn’t sound like a reproachful governess threatening her charge. Her lips twitched, and dropping an elbow on the table, Marcia leaned in. “Andrew, my parents do not know I’m out here with you now, or that I’ve been sneaking about London. Do you truly believe they know that I sip my father’s spirits?”

“They’re lax,” he said tightly.

She waggled her eyebrows. “Or I’m really just that good at sneaking about.”

Grabbing his glass, Andrew held it up. “I’ll drink to that,” he muttered and touched the edge of their glasses, the crystal clinking.

They exchanged a smile, and it was as though the rest of the room, in all its noisy commotion, faded, and only they two were present.

Andrew’s grin flagged, and his lashes dipped as his eyes slid down the lines of her face before settling on her mouth.

He narrowed his eyes, and her heart did that funny thing that had fast become its new normal thing whenever this man was near.

“Wh-what is it?” she whispered, touching her fingertip to the corner of her lip. “Do I have something—”

“No,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. “It is fine. You are fine.” The column of his throat moved. “More than fine.”

He stretched across the table, and her body curved the same way, and his mouth hovered close to hers.

Marcia closed her eyes and leaned up just as he leaned in and—

“Waters, old chum.”

That cool greeting brought them swiftly apart. At that familiar voice, she glanced up and froze.

The Earl of Stormont.

Her former betrothed’s closest friend peered intently back.

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