Page 3 of How to Enchant a Viscount
As they neared Harwood’s estate, Brooks allowed himself one final thought on the matter. Marriage was for other men, men like Kendal who believed in love, in devotion, in a life shared. But for him? It was an impossibility—and that was all he would consider on such a foolish notion.
The wedding had been beautiful. So romantic it made her heart weep with joy. Maeve was so happy for her sister. Everyone should be loved the way Roman adored Athena. It still amazed her that her sister was now the Countess of Kendal and would be leaving to live at a different home. She would not be able to walk down the hall and knock on her sister’s door if she just needed to talk.
She would still have Isla, but her twin would not be so easily accessible. She was happy for her. She truly was, but Maeve almost felt as if she had lost something as Athena said her vows. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She would have to remain pleasant and happy for as long as possible. Athena could never know that she felt even a small amount of sadness on her wedding day.
The wedding breakfast would be starting soon. After the festivities her sister would leave with her new husband. Roman had planned a wedding trip for them, and then they would take up residence at his country home. Athena would likely love it there. Not that any of them had visited Roman’s estate. But Athena was always happiest in the country where she could ride her brute of a horse, Hades.
She strolled along the garden path heading to where they were holding the wedding breakfast. The servants had been working tirelessly to ensure it was all perfect for Athena’s special day. The back lawn had chairs and tables set up along with tents to hold all the guests. It was going to be a grand meal with some light entertainment, and Maeve could not wait for it all to be over with. Even knowing at the end of it all her sister would leave their family home and start her new life with her husband.
“It’s supposed to be a blessed day,” a man drawled. “There was this romantic wedding and all the sappy nonsense that goes along with it. I thought all women loved weddings. Why do you look so miserable love?”
She let out an exasperated sigh. Who was this man who thought to interrupt her time alone before she had to pretend to feel nothing but happiness. Also…how had he seen through her carefully crafted façade? She would have to do better once she was in polite company. Maeve glanced up and inhaled sharply. This man… Good lord. He was beautiful. He had golden blond hair and green eyes so light they reminded her of newly formed leaves. Ones that were just starting to bud on an early spring day. Maeve did not think she had ever seen a man so gorgeous it almost hurt to look at him. “Who are you?” She should perhaps not have asked that so bluntly, but she did not much care if she sounded rude. He had been rude first.
He chuckled softly. “I see you are avoiding my question. But I will allow it. For now.” He bowed slightly. “I am Viscount Pemberton.”
She arched a brow. “Well, Lord Pemberton,” Maeve began. “To answer part of your statement earlier… Why would you believe all women love weddings.” She shook her head in disgust. “Some women think they are archaic and traps designed to cage a woman. Not all of us believe such an event is truly blessed.”
He chuckled softly. “As you are nearly identical to the bride,” he began. “Does your sister know how much you loathe weddings?”
Maeve had never told her sister that she did not believe marriage was for everyone. She wasn’t entirely against weddings. If she ever fell in love she liked to think that she would happily marry the man who held her heart. But she did not know for certain what she would or would not do. Instead of focusing on any of that she said instead, “Nearly identical?”
His grin widened. “Only the most discerning eye would notice the differences. There are not a multitude.” He leaned down and said in a husky tone. “I am a connoisseur of women. I notice these things.”
She rolled her eyes. “In other words,” she said in a droll tone. “You’re a rake.”
“Indeed,” he agreed, then winked. “Do you wish to know the differences I have noticed.”
“I don’t know if I care,” she told him. There was something about this man though… Maeve found him intriguing. That was perhaps what made him such an effective rake. He could easily lure women in with his easy charm and gorgeous face.
“Oh, you care,” he said. “Or you would not have commented upon it.”
Maeve crossed her arms over her chest, lifting her chin as she studied him. “And what, pray tell, do you believe you have noticed about me, my lord?” she asked, her voice carrying just the right amount of indifference.
Lord Pemberton’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile, one that Maeve suspected had made many a woman weak in the knees. He took a leisurely step closer, just enough for her to catch the faintest scent of bergamot and sandalwood. “For one, your eyes are a shade darker than your sister’s—more storm than sky,” he murmured. “And your mouth? Slightly fuller.” His gaze flicked downward before returning to hers, amusement gleaming in the depths of his green eyes. “Your twin also smiles more freely, whereas you—well, you seem to measure each expression, as if you do not wish to reveal too much.” He smiled. “Also, there is one difference that most would notice if they bothered to look.” He lifted his hand and brushed his thumb over her right cheek. “The dimple, of course, is on different sides.”
Maeve blinked. She should have pushed his hand away, but she was stunned speechless. How had he seen so much in such a short time? It was disconcerting, truly. Most people could hardly tell her apart from Athena, even those who had known them for years. Yet this man, this insufferable rake, had picked up on details that even her closest friends often overlooked.
She pursed her lips, feigning boredom. “Perhaps I am simply not given to idle frivolity.”
He chuckled. “No, I do not believe you are.” He tilted his head, studying her with unsettling intensity. “But you do not fool me, my lady.”
“Oh?” She arched a brow. “And what, precisely, do you think you see?”
His expression turned thoughtful, his playful smirk softening just a fraction. “A woman who does not enjoy being observed too closely,” he said after a moment. “Who hides behind sharp words and cool glances. A woman who loves deeply but does not trust easily.”
Maeve’s breath caught, her stomach tightening at his words. How had he unraveled so much of her in mere moments? It was as if he had reached inside and plucked the very thoughts she kept most private.
She forced herself to scoff. “You think a great deal of your own perception, my lord.”
He grinned again, but this time there was something different in it—something that made her insides flutter, much to her annoyance. “I have been accused of such before,” he admitted. “Though, if it is any consolation, I find you far more interesting than your sister. Not that I know her, or you, well. It is just a feeling I cannot ignore.”
She blinked at him. “That was hardly a compliment.”
He chuckled. “No, but it was the truth.”
Maeve opened her mouth to retort, but before she could, the sound of laughter and conversation drifted toward them. She turned her head, noting that the guests were already gathering for the wedding breakfast. She had tarried too long. With a sigh, she faced him once more. “I must go,” she said, though she was not entirely sure why she felt the need to tell him that.
Lord Pemberton inclined his head. “As must I.” Then, after a pause, he added, “I do hope we shall speak again. I find myself most intrigued.”
