Society's Most Scandalous Viscount

“It is my purpose and next course of action.” Penwick appeared conflicted though his words rang with determination. “A man can plan his future, know when the correct choice lies in reach, yet sometimes Fate interferes.” A cryptic note of inquiry punctuated his admission.

“I doubt the future holds any such munificence.” Kell stated the fact with bald aplomb. He was a man of singular focus and despite his conflicted hopes for marriage he had his reservations about the condition. “Tell me more about your new horse. Can he compare to my Nyx?” The question was posed as a courtesy. No other mount had the stamina, speed, or intelligence of his Arabian. He straightened his shoulders with pride. Damn it, he loved the animal more than he should.

“Nearly as fast, I presume.” Penwick’s enthusiasm revived with the change of subject. “At least that’s what I was led to believe, although if you’re up for it, after lunch we can take them out for a run. It’s why Oliver and I chose to swing our travels to Brighton in the first place.”

The two men exchanged a meaningful stare and Kell again wondered at the level of truth in Penwick’s statement. He’d determine it soon enough. Discarding suspicion, he pursued the equine topic, always a gratifying diversion.

“Excellent. I propose we ride to South Downs. There are miles of flat range before the crest and as long as we avoid the steep escarpment to the north, our horses can race the wind unencumbered by hazard. The only way to determine your mount’s leg is by a good hard sprint.” Kell spent many mornings outrunning the susurration of regret and enduring remorse. Riding Nyx served as joy and release.

“You’re not suggesting a race through Hell’s Gate? Only a fool bent on expediting his journey to the underworld would dare such a feat.” Oliver’s incredulous tone announced his opinion, while Penwick’s head jerked up with mention of the notorious pass.

“Kell’s not so foolish.” Penwick didn’t say more. “The danger involved is out of the question.”

Hell’s Gate consisted of a narrow opening through dual opposing rock formations near the scarped slope of the undulating chalk downlands. Visitors and locals revered the precipitous rocks as a natural wonder, their irregular shape often epitomized in literature and art, although Kell saw it as a challenge waiting to be conquered. He’d often flicked his eyes toward the constricted opening and clenched his fists to tamp down temptation. He held no doubt Nyx could maneuver through the jagged rocks unscathed, as slick as a key turns a lock. It was more a matter of when he’d choose to accomplish the task and revel in yet another fulfillment of the unimaginable. He’d know when it felt right and then he’d accomplish the same.

“We can race wherever you like. Nyx knows the land well while your mount will be at disadvantage. Take a run along the cliffs if you prefer or eliminate all danger and keep to the vast flats. Nyx and I are game for any challenge.”

“You regard your animal as if a relation.” Penwick eyed him with dubious interest.

Kell couldn’t respond with the words that sprang to mind. He had no family. Not any legitimate sibling, although if bastards mattered he likely had a dozen. His horse served as his closest companion and the relationship worked well. Nyx was a confidant and loyal friend.

“I hope to establish a relationship with my mount in the same regard,” Penwick continued, perhaps to fill the silence that had ensued.

“And then with your lady.” Oliver couldn’t resist the jab. “Penwick is going about wife shopping as if he’s purchasing livestock. He asks for recommendations, pedigree information and then reviews the documents in his study while sipping expensive brandy.” He flashed a wide grin before he continued. “He has eliminated any thought of love and wants to focus solely on attributes and redeeming qualities, although no offer has been made. Is that right?”

“None as of yet, no matter Oliver describes it as cold calculation.” Penwick’s objection rang across the room, a note of jovial amusement chasing his words. “My heart was given once, but it bears no consequence. There’s no need to pursue romance when my predicament is that I need to establish a foothold in society and produce an heir. It’s private and complicated. Nothing to discuss at the moment.”

Kell pushed off the back of the wingchair where he’d leaned. “Society and heir-making. Two of my least favorite subjects.” His morose murmur hung in the silence for a while. “I’d rather ride. Let’s change our clothes, gentlemen, and get to it.” He didn’t wait for agreement, turning on his heel and exiting the room.

Chapter Four

Angelica dared a glance over her shoulder as she locked the cottage door and slipped the cord and key around her wrist. Midnight silence met her ears and she relished the tranquility of the evening. A cricket stopped its eager chirp as she neared, her skirts brushing against the low-lying boxwood hedges framing the slate walk. As if they regretted her departure, the hedges tugged on her gown to remind her that these late-night jaunts were perilous and foolish.

Ever since her chance meeting this morning with the stranger on his horse, an unanswered current of anticipation and curiosity piqued her interest. She wished she’d asked his name, learned more of his person before she’d dismissed him. Perhaps she played her game of plain country miss too well, at a loss for the formality of introduction and etiquette found in high society. Here in Brighton, London seemed a continent away.

Anxious to relish the sand beneath her toes and lose her concerns to the tide’s roll and retreat, she commenced a brisk walk along the same path as the evening prior, her aim the water’s edge. She had no intention of straying as far as before, knowing she should never have trespassed onto the private property near the jetty. Too much contemplation led to a loss in direction. How terribly contradictory. Tonight heavy thoughts muddled her mind in the same fashion. A letter had arrived from Father this afternoon, insisting she return to London with haste. He had plans for her future, his future too, and he wished to confer. A cynical smile twisted her lips. Somehow she doubted her input or objection would be valued enough to cause impact. Her father, a notable scholar and religious enthusiast, held distinct views on most all subjects.

Reaching the beach, she bent to remove her slippers and sighed long and thoroughly at the caress of soft sand beneath her soles. A rush of pleasant memories bombarded her, pushing away former contemplations. When Angelica was a child, Grandmother would bring her to the beach often, and allow her to run and splash in a manner unbefitting an earl’s daughter. Grandmother harbored a delightful rebellious stripe to her character, wishing for her granddaughter to experience the pleasurable joys of life without the constraints of formality and propriety. Oh, the secrets they shared. Adventures they referenced with a carefully chosen word or discreet flick of the eyes, grins to smother whenever someone mentioned a key element of a long forgotten hush-hush activity, forbidden by her father, only permitted during the summer months when she visited her grandmother.

Deep inside Angelica harbored that untamed ribbon of freedom still—thus her wish for adventure before acquiescing to her father’s sedate intentions. It was a private plan and clandestine goal to acquire a memory of absolute abandon: a single transcending experience to keep locked in her heart. She’d draw strength from the experience when she needed courage or regretted her forlorn lot.

At times it was difficult to rationalize how her father had grown through childhood in these surroundings with a mother who tried hard to conceal a mischievous glint in her eye but didn’t quite succeed. Still, Father was straight as an arrow, a humorless analytical thinker.

She glanced to the left, scanning the landscape where the beach curved toward the rocks, the dark looming manor house perched above. As usual it was solemn and quiet. An unexpected shiver rippled through her despite the warm air. She stalled in place to run her palms over her upper arms and stare at the sea. A smarter person would have brought a shawl or pelisse instead of wearing a thin day gown to traipse about in the night hours. She laughed low. Truly, she was hopeless, but at least she’d enjoy these moments. She wouldn’t dare oppose her father’s wishes even though they didn’t align with her view of the future. She needed to grit her teeth, bear his decision, and remain hopeful she’d find happiness in the life he’d planned for her.

Moving along near the water, careful to avoid the edge of lacy foam that washed near her feet, she tried with desperate measure to reassure herself all would turn out right, while she twisted the ribbon dangling from her collar into a frayed tangle. The next time she checked her progression, she stood not ten feet from the rocks she’d visited the night before.

The very devil. Despite her best intentions, she’d arrived at the same spot she’d sworn to avoid. She placed the lantern in a safe position and shook her head at the hypocrisy of it all. Wealthy aristocrats built huge houses and kept them locked up tight. Scholarly lords abandoned knowledge and pledged allegiance to indoctrinated religion. High-born ladies fled to Brighton to avoid their obligations. Children obeyed their parents or were forever cast off.

Still she had until the end of the week to make her decision. She had this evening to be free. She wriggled her toes deeper into the sand and relished a delighted shiver.

“I’ve discovered a mermaid come ashore.” Kellaway grinned when she started, his presence undetected against the rocks where he leaned, her surprise worth his weight in gold. A breeze caught the edge of her skirt, the hem rippling as if it waved him closer, and he obliged, taking two long strides and emerging from obscurity into the gleam of the lantern. The pale light enhanced her skin with a luminescence that indeed convinced him that here stood a breathtaking enchantress, a woman on the edge of reality as if she were a fantastic dream he’d craved so desperately he’d wished it to life.

She regained her composure despite his speculative assessment and eyed him with clever interest.

“And I’ve happened upon a pirate.”

Her voice had a husky quality, likely from the late hour and lack of use, each syllable passing through him to resonate in his groin. He chuckled, the sound captured and washed away with the onslaught of waves against the rocks. Perhaps he appeared piratical, his collar agape and shirt tails pulled free atop his tight fitted breeches and tall boots. He hadn’t bothered with a queue and his hair whipped in the wind as recklessly as hers.

“Aren’t you concerned you’ll be caught trespassing on this stretch of land?” He swept his hand to the left in a careless motion.

What was it about this woman? She possessed rare, ethereal beauty, yet showed strength of character, not at all threatened while speaking to a stranger or repentant in her actions. Females usually simpered when he cast an eye in their direction, vying for an indication they stood a chance of warming his sheets.

The mental visualization of the lovely nymph in his bed, eager and waiting, raised his interest another notch. Damn his lust. He enjoyed a casual tumble. That was all. Emotion was complicated and time-consuming, and this woman intrigued him beyond comprehension. The dangerous notion warned he tread with care.

“Aren’t you?” Her brisk retort snared his return to their conversation.

Excellent. She had no notion of his identity, nor did she care. “I rarely worry myself with aristocratic concerns.” That was a lie—his title and lineage sharp thorns in his side.

She darted her eyes to the house behind him, high on the cliff, pitch black aside from the lanterns Bitters had lit in the front rooms when his friends departed, undetected from where they stood on the beach. The cliffs climbed their steep ascent, so high even he had to extend his neck to follow her line of vision. Goddamn, his house looked like a fortress, locked up tight, sealed from the world of emotion that waited outside. Dark, like his soul. Empty, like his heart.

“You should.” Her mouth hitched in a delightful half smile. “The lofty lord who owns this monstrosity would justly see us jailed for treading on his land. Perhaps he’s counted every grain of sand, every ripple of water that washes ashore.” The last remark held an acidic note of disdain. “I left on an evening walk, but never meant to wander this far. I’m not usually of a reckless nature.”

At last she realized the danger of her actions, but truly she’d be smarter to worry about his intentions than the master of the house, even with her blatant dislike of titled peers.

“Not of a reckless nature? I am.” That was a truth.

When she flicked her eyes to his, caught in the net of interest he’d cast, he elaborated. “At least many believe it true as they assess my staggering wagers with critical speculation, label my phaeton races as harrowing and mad, and hold me responsible for each dangerous liaison when it’s the women who should know better than to tempt me. I’m often accused of recalcitrance for what is more boredom than interest, and yet my absent conscience enamors the gossips into spinning rumors of legendary scandal.” He watched for her reaction.

“And you’re proud of this reputation?”

She appeared unaffected by his lengthy description of imprudent character and unrepentant debauchery, yet he couldn’t be certain.

“More a relaying of facts.” That was the second lie. Stories of his actions and relationships were greatly exaggerated to provide lascivious storytelling. The threads of truth were there, for he enjoyed all the aforementioned disreputable habits in moderation, but the mongers of gossip had woven his exploits into a colorful tale—simultaneously providing him the armor necessary to live with the choices of his parents’ indiscretions. It proved a convenient dual relationship.

A distant boom of thunder drew her attention and he used the distraction to step closer.

Her hair looked as golden as fresh straw, her skin creamy soft, and her body, silhouetted by the wind’s persistence to mold her diaphanous gown to curves in all the right places, offered promises of exquisite pleasure. He wondered for a fleeting moment if he was lost in some strange hallucination, the likes of which he hadn’t experienced since his jaunt through Arabia and his wild decision to smoke from the pipe offered.

But no, this midnight beauty was real.

“And what would cause a mermaid to leave the safety of the sea and run the risk of confronting an incorrigible pirate?” He cast his eyes to the moon, noting a brisk roll of cloud cover racing across the sky.

Her brows shot straight to the heavens. “I’m restless more than reckless, I suppose.”

She didn’t reveal more, perhaps believing her answer sufficient, and he leaned a little closer, catching the scent of fresh cardamom and sweet cherries. The exotic fragrance jolted to the forefront, a rush of memories from sultry past travels. Perhaps he dreamed, after all.

Again a baritone of thunder sounded. A streak of lightning rent the sky soon after. Her eyes flared and, sensing she might slip away before he learned how to find her again, he took one final step.

“With the weather threatening, will you once again slip into the waves, a sea nymph dissolved into gossamer mist?”

She smiled and his heart thumped a heavy beat. The wind scattered clouds to obscure the remaining moonlight and cobalt shadows slid across the rocks, the steady ebb and flow of the waves mimicking the rhythm of their conversation.

“And what would a nefarious pirate do when confronted with a mermaid seeking adventure?”

Her eyes ran over him from top to bottom and his skin heated under her scrutiny. Was she encouraging his attention? He was both confident and unsure, while her bold, flirtatious inquiry caught him off guard and elevated their conversation to an acute physical level. He knew with certainty what he wanted to do. Lower her to the sand, strip her bare, and drive into her luscious warmth. But what could the woman be after? He’d never felt so unbalanced when dealing with a female, still nothing satisfied like a quest or challenge.

With the next gust of wind the clouds broke, releasing a drenching rain that doused the lantern to a gleaming sputter. Without hesitation, he captured her around the waist to sweep over his shoulder in true pirate fashion, as if he’d plundered for booty and now stole the treasure. His long strides carried them to the groundskeeper’s cottage across the beach, partially hidden by a rock formation jutting a line between the coastline and house. It offered a wall of protection and a tangible landmark in the pitch-blackness. Her surprised laughter beat against his back in time with her small fists, and the novelty of her rebellion provoked him to grin.

Shifting to cradle her in his arms, he deposited her with care beneath the eaves of the cottage, then swept a palm across his brow to slick back the lengths of hair fallen forward, both of them soaked to the bone and reclaiming breath, her from amusement and him from the sprint across the sand. He eyed her, not at all sure if she would scream her discontent or lash him for his outrageous endeavor, but she remained quiet.

The downpour transformed into a steady rain, dripping from the eaves to form a curtain of water that secluded them from where they once stood. A palpable tension took hold. They were wet. They were strangers. And each lightning strike ensured they were trapped together for the time being.

Chapter Five

Angelica eyed the handsome pirate who’d captured her attention and absconded with her person. His deep tenor caused a pleasant prickling of gooseflesh to dot her arms, while her mind raced with the current predicament. Here she stood in the middle of the night, hardly able to see the man beside her though she could feel the heat from his nearness, sense his potent masculinity, hear each exhalation. When he’d set her down, his hands had grasped her waist with strength and gentle agility. A flutter of excitement coalesced with fear and anticipation to send her pulse into a mad race. He may have carried her across the beach, but it was her heart that pounded in response. His body hard as stone beneath her stomach as he’d moved them to shelter, the shifting tension of his muscles against the thin barrier of her wet gown difficult to ignore.

She’d wished for some kind of adventure. A kiss from a stranger. A bold flirtation. They were guiltless wants. Indulgences before she returned to London and accepted her father’s decisions. Now serendipity offered a chance to grasp hold of an adventure, to create a memory that bespoke of freedom and choice…and pure pleasure.

Something about the man, his large stature and visceral command, intrigued her on a level she’d never experienced. He drew her to the situation as if she clung to a rope and he merely wound her closer. Deeper and tighter, pulling her into conversation, illicit and rich with innuendo, and though she knew it unseemly, she’d enjoyed it. Worse, she went willingly, any voice that warned she flirted with danger or tempted fate was silenced by her desire to see what might happen next. What he would say or how he might behave. He was tall, strikingly handsome, and absolutely forbidden. Virility rolled off him in waves. She should have a care. She knew better. Still that ever-present undercurrent of wild curiosity suffocated any suggestions made by common sense.

While she contemplated her reckless not restless behavior, he lit the lantern on the hook by the door and bathed them in the soft glow of the lamp.

“We need to dry off.” He said the words as if they were an edict to be obeyed, and she nodded her agreement although how they were to accomplish the task remained unknown.

He wriggled the knob on the door and patted his pocket, although she couldn’t imagine why. Only the groundskeeper and the owner of the manor would retain a key. Then he raised his boot and before she could summon an objection, kicked in the cottage door with a dull thud. He grabbed the lantern from the hook and preceded her, glancing over his shoulder and offering a winsome smile to imply she should follow inside.

She swallowed audibly. What was she doing? This was insane, yet she’d never felt so enthralled. Some unspoken sensation she couldn’t explain assured she was in no peril, but still how could one be certain? If he desired, this stranger would overpower her with ease proving only a fool should enter the cottage. A rumble of thunder concurred, underscoring her decision to depart. She managed one step backward before his hand shot through the doorframe, captured her wrist, and tugged her into the dry shelter of the room.

Once inside she barely moved, though he busied himself with an ease that exuded well-worn confidence. The steady rain on the roof seemed to count the seconds, measure her exhalations. She strove to regain a normal breathing pattern. He made a fire in the hearth, lit another lantern, and gathered towels from a closet near the cupboard. For all intents, he did not appear a sex-crazed ravisher who’d lured her inside with the intent to force his advantage and steal her virginity. For some peculiar reason the rash thought hitched her emotions higher and her pulse raced in response, making her head swim with indecision.

Indeed, she required composure gathering, but the concept was near impossible to fathom. Now that they had light, she noticed every firm muscle outlined through his sodden linen shirt. Her gaze drifted upward over his biceps and broad shoulders to his collar where droplets of rain flicked from the lengths of his long hair to the floor with each movement. He possessed startling handsomeness, his hard-etched features profiled in the glow of firelight, the growth of new whiskers evident on his chin, acting the hero and looking the part, yet one carved of stone. Perfect in almost every way, but not quite alive. The thought struck her as odd, but she had no time to consider it.

“Dry off or you’ll catch a chill.”

Another command and she, who usually had a witty retort or friendly reply on the tip of her tongue, accepted the towel and did as she was told, no matter the deep timbre of his voice sounded more brusque than concerned. When at last she’d accomplished the best result possible, he came to stand before her and she stared at the flesh exposed by the absence of a cravat, his collar plastered to his shirt, almost translucent, the pale linen several shades lighter than his skin, which was darkened to a medium brown from sunshine and negligence.

He stood close. Too close. The hairs on the back of her neck rose in objection, warning that were she to tilt her eyes upward she would be as near to a man, as near to a kiss, as she’d ever been. Her breathing went shallow as if she feared a deep inhalation would overtake the gap between them and somehow close the scant distance separating their bodies.

Still, she didn’t even know his name. This pirate who’d somehow inserted himself into her plan for carefree adventure and tempted too many things to consider. She should return to the beach and find her way home. If only the weather would ease a bit.

She didn’t raise her chin. She couldn’t look at him. To look would be dangerous. How easy to get lost in his eyes. What color were they anyway?

She wouldn’t succumb to the charming tenor of his voice and fall prey to the seduction of his words. He swallowed and she watched the movement of his throat, felt the warmth of his breath against her temple. She thought he might speak, but the moment stretched, bristling with a shared energy, an unknown frisson of tension and potent untapped emotion that radiated between them with unexplainable heat.

Her body reacted.

She should feel chilled—damp layers of clothing clung, her hair dripped, her skin cooled—yet instead, warmth drenched her core. A tingling rise of sensation was alive within, ricocheting from point to point, swirling and settling low in her belly with a tremulous tension as if she’d drawn back a harp string and held it extended, taut and stretched tight, quivering, begging to be released but unable to do so, not knowing how. Was this prurient desire? Men of his ilk likely experienced it all the time.