Page 76 of When the Viscount Seduces
After Mrs. Worsley left, Lazarus would have contemplated drinking a great deal of smuggled whisky, but since learning of Miss Worsley’s child, he’d decided he was much better off not ever being inebriated again. Instead, he’d tried to distract himself with reading. Because that also made him feel closer to Gwen.
He sat at his desk and worked through the exercise she’d given him yesterday, reading it over and over until he did so with ease and relative speed. He realized he’d begun to memorize it, so it had probably lost its efficacy.
Perhaps he should try reading something else. And he could mark it the way she did. Why not?
He went to the bookcase and searched for something to use. His book collection was terrible. Winterstoke had a marvelous library, owing to his father, but here in town, Lazarus hadn’t kept much. He’d sent entire bookcases to the country. Now, he wished he hadn’t.
“Papa, you would be so pleased with my progress,” he murmured. “And you would love Gwen.”
Mrs. Worsley’s mention of his father had carved a hole in Lazarus’s chest. He wanted to make his father proud. And he realized now that his roguish behavior had countered that objective. Lazarus also realized that he’d sought solace in those actions to dull the pain of losing his father. He’d been focusing on the wrong things.
No longer. He would master reading and dedicate himself to a more substantial role in the Lords. And, if he were very fortunate, he would marry Gwen. Not that he deserved her. He’d behaved worse than a rogue.
He’d risked her reputation with their foolish scheme, not to mention his behavior at the literary salon and at the ball last night. He’d also risked his cousin’s and friend’s reputations. It didn’t matter that his reasons hadn’t been scandalous. They’d been selfish.
A knock on the door jolted him from his self-recrimination. Lazarus responded, “Come.”
His butler stepped just over the threshold. “You’ve a caller, my lord. A young man who wishes to provide you with some information.”
“About what?” Lazarus didn’t have time for nonsense. What young man?
“He did not say.”
“Did he give you a card?”
“No, but he said his name was Gawain Price.”
Lazarus nearly laughed at the first name, but the surname made him freeze. “Thank you, Harris,” he breathed, moving past the butler with a deft speed. He stalked to the entrance hall and saw the slender young man. His costume was ill fitting, and to Lazarus, he looked no more like a male than London was a quiet, sedate place.
“Follow me,” Lazarus said, leading Gwen up the stairs. Where was he taking her? His study might have sufficed. Instead, he led her to the drawing room. And closed the door as soon as she was inside.
She’d moved into the interior, away from him so he couldn’t immediately pull her to him. “I was afraid you wouldn’t see me.”
“With a name like Gawain Price, how could I not?” He took two steps toward her but paused. Her expression was a mix of eagerness and something much darker. “Why have you come? And dressed like that?” As much as he loved seeing her in splendid gowns, he had to admit the shape of her legs encasedin breeches was a stirring sight. But then he suspected she could wear a grain sack and be every bit as appealing.
“I needed to see you today.” She spoke softly, almost haltingly. “I don’t know how to broach this topic, so I shall just come out with it. Will you please tell me about Miss Melissa Worsley?”
Lazarus exhaled, his entire body just…wilting like a cut flower left without water. “I was hoping you wouldn’t ever need to find out about her.” His voice was low, as agonized as he felt—not for himself, but for her.
“I wish you had told me.” Lines creased out from her eyes, and he couldn’t miss the sadness they held.
“I am horrified by my actions. I couldn’t bear how you would see me, for the rogue I truly am.”
“You bedded her, then? Her child is yours?”
Did she doubt it? Lazarus was overwhelmed with gratitude—and surprise that she would give him that benefit when he surely didn’t deserve it.
“I did not bed her,” he replied sharply. “We met at a fox-hunting party at her grandfather’s house. Gwen, you must know that I would never—I have never—bedded a young, unmarried lady. And I would certainly never do so in her grandfather’s house.” And yet, he’d done improper things with Gwen, a young, unmarried woman. Whom he’d been purportedly helping to find a husband who wasn’t him.
He wiped his hand over his face, setting aside the turmoil inside him so he could say what needed to be said. “I was very inebriated one night at the party. I’d gone to a pub with Sheff, and the innkeeper shared his smuggled whisky. I don’t remember most of what happened afterward. I couldn’t say with absolute certainty that I hadn’t been with Miss Worsley—I just knew in my soul that I had not. That Icouldnot.”
“I know that too,” Gwen said softly, again surprising him. “But I do wish you had told me. I know you are a rogue. I’ve embraced that about you, haven’t I?”
She had agreed to meet with him privately, and she had accompanied him to a literary salon while wearing a disguise. And she’d thrown caution out the window when she’d kissed him, on multiple occasions. “I’ve corrupted you,” he croaked. “I never meant to risk your reputation or cause you distress. This is all my fault. I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, stop that,” she said, her lips pursing. “I am not corrupted. I am merely in love. With a rogue.”
An unstoppable smile lifted his lips. “I shall never tire of hearing you say that. How did you learn of Miss Worsley’s claim?”
