Page 28 of The Lady's Guide to Marrying a Viscount
That kiss!
His impulse was to return directly, to find Hugo and discover his intentions, but he couldn’t face those people again, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to hear Hugo’s answer. Better to stay outside, letting the night cool his blood.
By the time Mallon re-entered, the madness had leeched away. He felt only exhausted and chilled. The tree, festooned with ornaments and reaching almost the full height of the atrium, dominated the hall. After his mother’s death, his father had stopped bothering much with Christmas, but Mallon remembered how it had been when he was small.
Among the decorations had been a toy soldier. He’d wanted to keep it, clenching it in his fist. She’d laughed, prising apart his fingers and explaining that it was for the tree, lifting him to placeit upon a branch. Opening a whole box of wooden soldiers on Christmas morning, he’d soon forgotten about it, but he supposed it was here still, hanging somewhere among the other toys and stars and baubles.
Impossible to avoid memories. Everywhere he looked, there was something to remind him of her and his father. It would get easier. He’d been back barely three days, after all.
From beyond closed doors, he could hear the party breaking up—Marguerite’s voice, strident, thanking their guests for attending.
Taking refuge in the library, Mallon poured himself a whisky. From the window, he saw the carriages brought around, horses stamping impatiently, tossing their heads in eagerness to get moving. Within minutes, there were footsteps in the hall and the chatter of merry voices.
Tomorrow, he’d talk to Hugo man to man, and find out the seriousness of his intentions. He was no expert on matters of the heart, but it was wrong, surely, for him to deny his nephew’s happiness. There had been little enough affection in Mallon’s life but there was still time for Hugo.
Mallon knocked back the dregs of his glass. No matter his own feelings, Hugo would come first. It had to be. Whatever attraction Mallon felt for the countess, it must be put aside.
In this, if nothing else, he could do the right thing.
CHAPTER 14
Geneviève punched her pillows.She’d been lying awake for a good hour and without sign of dropping off. It wouldn’t do at all. They were riding out with the hunt the next day. More to the point, she’d be sending Lisette with a note for Hugo, inviting him to meet her by the stones on the hill, at Fox Tor.
Rather apt, she thought wryly. The others would be setting off in pursuit of their little fox, while her hunting would be far more efficient. Hugo would come to her. She’d done enough chasing. Time to bring events to the desired conclusion.
If she had anything to do with the matter, Lord Slagsby would not be visiting them once she’d taken Hugo back to France. Annoying that he’d be staying at the hall another week. She had a feeling he’d be just as obnoxious sober as drunk. Even Hugo’s announcement of their engagement mightn’t stop him from pawing her and making lewd comments. Not that she lacked experience in fending off advances from Maxim’s so-calledfriends, but it had been a relief to have Mallon step in. Hugo was gallant in his way but, she feared, ineffectual.
Leading Hugo to the mistletoe had certainly done the trick. With a public kiss secured, he’d surely be in the bag tomorrow. The stolen meeting at Fox Tor would provide the perfect romantic setting. He need only begin in the right vein. She’d carry the dowager countess’ ring in her pocket, presenting it as part of his inheritance. One mention of her having always admired it and he’d be sure to pop the bauble on her finger.
It was what she’d come for, wasn’t it? Making the journey to this godforsaken place. Except that, perhaps, it wasn’t as forsaken as it seemed. Rather beautiful, in fact, and its people friendlier than she’d expected. Even with its ghoulish tales of demonic hounds and hairy hands, there was something about the moor that spoke to her. She liked its wild, open spaces and its wide skies.
The dinner itself had been a success. Marguerite had made her approval clear, voicing a desire to return to her family’s estate and dropping hints that Hugo would do well to take a French-born wife.
All the while, Lord Wulverton had stared at her from the other end of the table, though he still hadn’t recognized her, of that she was sure.
During their day together, she’d admitted her desire to find a husband, and he could hardly have failed to notice her conduct with Hugo. Lord Wulverton hadn’t seemed to judge her—had accepted her as she was, but would he attempt to foil her now that he saw the direction of her hopes?
Was that why he’d intervened as Hugo had led her todance the second time? Lord Wulverton’s gaze had been so intense, she’d worried he would challenge her. His hold upon her waist had been far firmer than was necessary. She’d had the strongest sense he wished to say something. He’d moved with utter surety and with grace but with passion, too, his thigh intruding almost between hers as he’d guided her, his eyes fixed on Geneviève’s, excluding all else.
The music had seemed to fade, coming from far away, and she’d been consumed by remembrance, his hands, firm and insistent, pulling her body to meet his. During the waltz, she’d felt herself surrendering as she had in that darkened carriage.
Had he felt it, too? That overwhelming attraction?
Dear God! Had he remembered?
Allowing him to hold her so near, had she given herself away? Some mannerism, perhaps, had exposed her.
If so, then it was all the more imperative that she act swiftly.
For an instant, she wondered whether to push aside the viscount’s domination of her sensual thoughts and seek out Hugo’s chamber.
Were she to climb into his bed, would he accept the seduction?
From chivalry, he’d be inclined to propose as soon as he’d had his release, but she feared it was too clumsy. He was just as likely to recoil in horror.
She needed to think. Better to wait until tomorrow. Daylight tended to add perspective.
Perhaps she ought toread for a while. The distraction would be welcome. Anything to turn her mind from its current wheel. She’d picked up several new volumes during her shopping trip in Paris, and hadn’t begun any of them yet.
