Page 4 of When the Viscount Seduces
Then he was gone, and Gwen braced herself for her mother’s concern. She would be disappointed, of course, but she would try very hard not to show it.
Summoning a somewhat encouraging smile, Gwen’s mother said, “I’m a bit fatigued. Shall we go?” It was so like her not tomention what had happened, at least not here. And if she did bring it up—which she surely would in this case—she would do so with a great deal of care.
“Yes, but have Papa and Evan not arrived yet?”
“Not that I’ve seen.” Her mother started toward the door to the entrance hall.
Gwen was relieved to hear that at least. Once they were finally settled in the coach, she let herself fully relax. Though, there was still a faint tremor of excitement left over from Somerton. The way he’d come to her rescue had been unexpected and absolutely wonderful—she would never forget it.
She also ought not to forget that he was a rogue, the sort of gentlemen she and her friends steered clear of. Still, apparently, a rogue could possess a great measure of kindness.
“Tomorrow, we can discuss whether it makes sense to remove to Bath,” Gwen’s mother said.
Taking a deep breath, Gwen gathered her courage to ask what she most wanted to know. “Are you disappointed, Mama?”
Gwen’s mother patted her hand and gave Gwen a warm smile. “Of course not. What happened tonight was an accident. However, I know you are clever enough to understand that it was still…unfortunate.”
That was a nice word. Damaging or disastrous might have been more accurate, however.
“While I expect it makes sense to not return to Almack’s, I am hopeful my Season can continue,” Gwen said cautiously.
Giving Gwen’s hand another pat, her mother then withdrew her hand to her own lap. “We’ll discuss it, dear. I know you’ll be amenable to whatever your father and I decide.”
Because she always was. What choice did Gwen have? If they didn’t wish her to continue her Season, she would not. Just as she hadn’t had a Season until now—that had been their decision,not hers. She’d just gone along with it, both because she respected their wisdom and because she would never demand something they didn’t support.
For these reasons, she would retreat to Bath. And that was exactly what she expected to happen.
CHAPTER 2
Lazarus Rowe, the Viscount Somerton, had promised his mother two visits to Almack’s each Season, the first of which he’d completed this evening. And what an occasion it had been.
While his mother fervently hoped he would search for a wife, Lazarus went only to placate her and generally suffered through his evening there. Tonight, however, he’d helped a friend’s sister and he’d been glad to do it. However, his mother was not yet in London to see his good deeds as she was tending to his middle sister who had just welcomed another child a few weeks ago.
Poor Miss Price. He could not stop thinking of her sprawled on the floor of the ballroom, her skirts about her knees so that all and sundry could see her lower legs. She had rather marvelously shaped calves, not that he should note such things about his friend’s sister.
Having freed himself from the strictures of Almack’s, he made his way to Coventry Street where the Siren’s Call, a well-appointed gaming hell owned and run by women, was located. Stepping into the familiar interior with its lush purple-and-gold décor, Lazarus was immediately greeted by one of the womenwho worked there. Becky was a tall Scottish lass with bright red hair and a brogue as thick as an ancient tree.
“Evening, Somerton,” she said. “Sheff’s over at your regular table.” Becky inclined her head to the back of the main room.
“Thank you, Becky. You look lovely as ever,” he added with a grin, taking in her enticing emerald costume. The women of the Siren’s Call dressed seductively, but the patrons were not allowed to touch them. Their goal was to lure the men to the hell so they would gamble—a true siren’s call.
She curtseyed and gave him a saucy smile. “Thank you, my lord. You are always too kind.” She fluttered her lashes, and Somerton chuckled as he went to join his friend, the Earl of Shefford.
“How was Almack’s?” Shefford asked, his dark blue eyes lifting to meet Lazarus’s. Heir to a dukedom, Shefford held himself with the prestige and privilege owing to his rank, his shoulders pushed back, his square chin slightly jutting.
Lazarus slid into the chair next to Shefford. “Far more entertaining than usual.”
Arching a brow, Shefford regarded him with interest. “Don’t tell me you’ve found a bride. I can’t lose another friend to the parson’s trap.”
The trap had already claimed the Duke of Wellesbourne, the Baron Droxford, and the Earl of Banemore, three of their closest friends. Lazarus had no plans to fall as they had.
“Entertaining was perhaps not the best choice of word,” Lazarus said with a faint grimace. “Price’s sister was there, and there was a rather unfortunate incident.”
Shefford grimaced as well. “She’s prone to those, I’m afraid. What happened?”
“She spilled orgeat on that dandy Eberforce. He was none too kind about the mishap. I expect he’s maligning her at every opportunity.”
“Pompous idiot,” Shefford muttered before taking a drink of ale. “He’ll say anything to gain attention. Price will not be pleased.”
