Page 78 of To Catch a Viscount

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Relief flooded Andrew as he whipped around. “There…” Andrew went motionless. “You.”

“Looking for me, are you?” the woman purred. “My Andrew, all grown up.”

It had been years since he’d seen her.

Time hadn’t aged her.

The baroness. Marianne, Lady Carew. His former lover. The sister of Lord Atbrooke. And also the twisted woman who’d used him years earlier in an attempt to punish Rutland for his role in seeing her and her brother pay for their crimes.

Just as beautiful as ever. Just as evil as ever.

She was the same voluptuous beauty. She’d been round in all the places a woman should be rounded. A catlike smile still graced her pouty, painted lips. Lips which had been some of the first he’d kissed, but back when he’d believed in love and her interest in him, real. Her midnight curls were so black, they fairly shimmered with a shine of blue upon the ends.

The same woman who’d been a former lover of Huntly had used Andrew as a pawn to hurt his sister Justina. She’d put a bullet in him, and then ultimately been sent away for her crimes.

And she was here, now.

“I’m free,” she purred. “Released from that madhouse where you helped put me.” Her plump mouth formed a pout. “That was very naughty of you to let them take me away like that.”

She was as mad as she’d ever been. It glimmered in her eyes.

“How—?”

“How did I get out?” she countered, anticipating that question. “The gaoler was… very kindly towards me.” She smiled like the cat who’d lapped a bowl of cream. “As you can probably imagine why.”

Yes, he could. No man had ever been able to resist her. Himself included.

That had been before. He wasn’t the boy he’d been.

He narrowed his eyes. “Step out of the way.”

Leaning back against the door, so that she was a barrier between him and leaving, Marianne eyed him thoughtfully, and then a coy smile formed on her lips. “I daresay this is the first you’ve ever ordered me gone, Andrew. As I remember, you were always quite eager for me.” Her breath hitched, and she ran a palm down the front of her sapphire-blue silk gown, resting her fingers at the deep crevice of her bodice. “Quite eager.”

“I was a child,” he said coldly. “And that was before you pointed a pistol at me. Now, move as—”

“Bah, mine was an act of passion.” She licked at her lips. “And you always loved my passionate nature.” Marianne paused. “As I recall, where I was concerned, you loved all manner of things about me.”

Revulsion snaked through him. “I’ll not ask you again.”

Surprise lit her eyes. “You’re meeting another.”

Andrew instantly went tight-lipped. Marianne Carew was a ruthless viper. Her discovering Marcia’s presence here and his relationship with the lady would only bring problems and danger to her.

“Youare,” Marianne said with a dawning understanding. “You are passing over a night with me in favor of some other lady.” She clapped her hands excitedly. “Oh, you must tell me who she is.”

The tight quality of that otherwise playful question hinted further at her mercenary nature. And it occurred to him that his disinterest had only the opposite effect on her disinterest. “There is no one,” he lied, needing to protect Marcia at all costs. “Step aside, Marianne.”

“Do you know,” Marianne said, toying a long curl around her index finger, and pondering him contemplatively. “I don’t think I shall. Not yet, anyway. You seem to have forgotten how special our time together was.” She sniffed as if moments from tears. And then her eyes darkened as she released that strand, and with slow, languid movements, she lowered her bodice. Her enormous breasts tumbled free: the crests rouged crimson as she’d always done.

Back when he’d been a green boy, the sight she made now had driven him to the point of madness with his desire for her. Now, he eyed her with only antipathy and pity.

“Oh, my, you really aren’t interested in me, are you?” He heard the challenge there. She palmed her breasts, bringing them together, and closing her eyes, a little moan slipped from her lips.

When he remained completely unmoved, she let her arms fall to her side. “Is it that mouse you were with?” she demanded. “The one you’ve been squiring about the demimonde?”

He tensed.

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