Married to the Viscount (12 page)

When she came out, they headed back upstairs, chatting
about the play until they reached the corridor behind the boxes. Trying not to disturb the other patrons, they fell silent as they hurried down the passage.

Then someone approached and they moved aside to let the person pass. That’s when they heard the conversation wafting out of a nearby box.

“She’s not his wife,” said a female voice. “How can she be? An American of dubious heritage? Ravenswood would never marry so low. And has anyone actually heard him claim her as his wife?”

Cursing the fates that had allowed them to overhear such nastiness, Spencer tried to hustle Abby past the open box door, but she shrugged off his hand to stand frozen, her eyes wide and hurt.

“Someone at the betrothal dinner told me he wouldn’t explain her at all,” said another female. “So she must be his mistress.”

“Don’t be absurd,” a languid male voice put in. “Ravenswood would never introduce his mistress to Lady Tyndale and Lady Evelina. No, it’s probably his brother’s mistress and Ravenswood is acting as a cover for the rascal.”

Now Spencer stood frozen, mostly because he couldn’t believe their idiocy. Bad enough that Evelina had thought it, but the rest of them? It was ridiculous.

“Ravenswood has certainly been keen on the marriage between Lady Evelina and his brother,” the addlepated female said. “He’d do anything to make sure it takes place.”

“Even marry some chit from America?” another addlepate asked.

“Of course he didn’t marry her,” the addlepated male retorted. “Ravenswood probably claimed that the American girl is his fiancée to explain her abrupt appearance at the betrothal dinner. I daresay that’s how all the confusion about her being his wife arose. Still, it’s beyond the pale for him to flaunt her before his future relations
here
.”

Spencer wanted to smash his fist right through the thin walls to grab one of the unfeeling gossips by the throat, but he knew better than to give them such satisfaction. Then he caught sight of Abby’s face. Bloody hell. He had to get her back to his box where she couldn’t hear such poison.

Suddenly, one of the women said, “Oh, dear, the act is ending. Come on, Lucille, let’s go and find an orange girl before the crowd comes out. I’m dying for citrus.”

He and Abby were trapped. They couldn’t make it past the box before the women came out. Then again…perhaps he should put all this silly gossip to rest for good.

Pushing Abby against the corridor wall, he stared down into her surprised face. “Play along,” he whispered.

Then he kissed her.

At first he was too intent on listening for “Lucille” and her friend to be much aware of what he was doing. But soon other sensations crowded in to distract him. Abby’s mouth, soft as roses and sweet as nectar. Abby’s scent, a tantalizing blend of rosemary and wine. Abby’s breasts, full and warm and crushed against his chest.

He scarcely heard the gasp of shock behind him as he pulled back to stare at her. He was already lost in the widening wonder of Abby’s eyes and the breaths stuttering from between her parted lips. Her seductive, parted lips…

And before he could stop himself, he was lowering his mouth to hers again.

Chapter 7

A beautiful woman can tempt even the most discreet employer into indiscretion.

Suggestions for the Stoic Servant

I
n an instant, Abby forgot about the cruel gossip and poor Evelina and all the other things plaguing her since her arrival. Because Spencer was kissing her, really kissing her. And it was fascinating…amazing…and completely unexpected.

It was so unexpected that when his tongue pressed between her lips, she opened her mouth just to see what would happen. Then his tongue swept into her mouth in an intimate and very unexpected caress, and a thrill blossomed low in her belly. Hardly conscious of it, she flattened herself against him, breast to thigh, and a growl of satisfaction rumbled low in his throat, like the thunder god signaling the coming storm.

And heavens, what a storm. His mouth seduced hers in a possession as wickedly satisfying as thunderclouds conquering the sky on a hot summer day. Every nerve in her body sparked like lightning, every pulse pounded like a hard, beating rain. He drowned her in his scent, his touch, his strength, until she knew only the thrusts of his tongue and the tightening of his powerful arms about her waist.

Then things got really interesting. Through the thin layers of skirt and petticoat and chemise, she felt his male arousal rise against her softness, an unyielding proof of his need. She couldn’t help it—this evidence of the incautious Spencer she’d known in America delighted her.

Half drunk with excitement, she lifted one hand to clutch his neck, crushing his starched collar. With a heartfelt groan, he kissed her deeply, savagely, his scent fogging her brain until she sagged against the wall to keep from dropping to the floor.

Never had she known such a kiss—mouths caressing, tongues entwined, hot breaths mingling with hot breaths until neither knew where one began and the other ended. His storm fed hers, raining pleasure over her parched earth so sweetly that she didn’t even react when his hand swept up to cover her breast. With the expert ease of an accomplished seducer, he kneaded it through the satin.

Then someone cleared his throat. Abby started, tearing her mouth from Spencer’s and pushing his hand from her bodice.

The storm had passed, but Spencer seemed to have trouble registering that fact. His other hand still gripped her waist possessively, and his eyes glittered a promise of more storms to come.

“Bloody hell, Abby,” he whispered as shock and wonder filled his features. “Bloody, bloody hell.”

“My lord, we are not alone,” she whispered.

He stiffened. She could practically see his sanity return, see him absorb where they were and who was watching. Releasing her abruptly, he faced the onlookers, whose expressions ranged from horrified to amused. Then with a low curse, he snagged Abby’s hand and towed her down the corridor toward his box.

Now that the music had risen, people were pouring out into the passageway. They shot Spencer curious looks as he hurried Abby past, but he ignored them, his face set in grim
lines, his expression warning off any who approached. Abby had never seen him so out of control. She didn’t know whether to be pleased or alarmed by this intense reaction.

They met Lady Tyndale coming out of Spencer’s box, but Spencer didn’t even pause for her explanation of where she was going. He just dragged Abby inside and shut the box’s door in Lady Tyndale’s face.

Evelina glanced up as they entered. “There you are. We were wondering—”

“You and everyone else.” Spencer dropped Abby’s hand to pace the limited confines of the box. “If people would only mind their own business, the world would be a better place.”

When Evelina flinched at Spencer’s harsh tone, Abby hastened to reassure her. “Don’t mind Spencer—he’s not angry at you. We just overheard some unsettling gossip, that’s all.”

“That’s all?” He whirled on her with face alight. “Half the world thinks you’re my brother’s mistress, for God’s sake!”

Nothing how Evelina paled, Abby said quickly, “I think you disabused them of that notion by kissing me in the corridor.”

“You kissed her. Evelina sounded surprised.

“Yes, I kissed her. What of it? She’s my wife, isn’t she?” Spencer sucked in a shuddering breath, then stared at Abby, a frown carving his brow. “But I didn’t intend—Forgive me, Abby. I never meant to embarrass you.”

“You didn’t embarrass me.” He’d shocked her, thrilled her, and turned her world upside down, yes. But he hadn’t embarrassed her. She hadn’t had time to be embarrassed before he’d hustled her back to the box like a madman.

“You’d think people would have better things to do than speculate about matters beyond their concern,” Spencer grumbled, though he seemed calmer.

Stepping up close, Abby lowered her voice. “I told you that this wouldn’t work. They’d be fools to believe that a viscount—”

“They’ll believe what I tell them to believe. And it’s time I tell them what that is.” He held out his hand. “Come, my dear, I will introduce you as my wife to everyone I see. That should put an end to this nasty gossip.”

Lady Tyndale entered, her face pale. “I wouldn’t go out there just now if I were you. I heard some ladies saying—”

“That Abby is Nat’s mistress?” he snapped. “Don’t believe a word of it.”

“Uh…no. Actually, they’re saying that she’s
your
mistress.” A dainty pink rose over the matron’s cheeks. “It seems that you…well…really, my lord, most men do not kiss their wives so…and in public, too.”

Apparently he understood the vague Lady Tyndale’s babbling, for he squeezed Abby’s hand in a crushing grip. “I am not ‘most men,’” he retorted. “I will kiss my wife wherever and however I please, and I do not appreciate having idiots speculate about her simply because I…got carried away.”

Lady Tyndale stiffened. “From what I understand, you did more than kiss your wife. And that would rouse comment no matter who you are.”

Remembering the heat of Spencer’s hand on her breast, Abby blushed furiously. No wonder they thought she was his mistress. Though that gave her an idea.

“Would you excuse us a moment?” she told Lady Tyndale and Evelina, then pulled Spencer aside and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Maybe you should just let everyone go on thinking I’m your mistress. Then when I leave, you won’t have to maintain the farce of an estranged wife, and everything would be easier.”

“For whom?” His eyes gleamed like polished steel. “My brother has taken enough from you—I will not have him take your reputation as well.”

“My reputation in England won’t matter once I return to America.”

“It matters to me now.” His eyes darkened. “I refuse to
compound my brother’s crimes by letting society heap calumny on your head while you’re London.”

His staunch determination to protect her warmed her so thoroughly that all she could manage in response was a tremulous smile.

“Now come with me.” Tucking her hand in the crook of his elbow, he walked toward their companions, who were also whispering together. “I’ll make sure it’s understood that you’re my wife, even if I must introduce you to every person here.”

Evelina looked up. “Please don’t act so foolishly, Spence.”

He scowled at the young woman. “How I act is not your concern, Evelina.”

“No, but your wife is.” Her soft smile included Abby. “We’re soon to be sisters, and I shouldn’t like to see a sister maligned. Given what those gossips saw, I can’t believe you’d want to subject your wife to the vile comments they’ll undoubtedly make.”

A lump caught in Abby’s throat. The woman who had every reason to distrust her was championing her. Abby hated to repay her trust with deception, but what choice had Spencer left her?

Spencer went rigid beneath her hand. “They would not malign her to her face, not with me at her side. They know better.”

“Perhaps. But they might give her the cut direct before you can introduce her. Then you’ll have forced the issue and lost, because after snubbing her before their friends, they won’t easily turn around and support her.”

“You have a point,” Spencer admitted tersely.

“I’m not sure what the ‘cut direct’ is,” Abby put in, “but I’ve probably endured worse countless times.” Apparently even Spencer’s high station couldn’t save her from humiliation. She forced nonchalance into her voice. “Really, the two of you mustn’t worry. I have a thick skin.”

Spencer’s hot gaze searched her face. “Do you? I seem to recall a certain discussion in my garden that implied otherwise.” When she dropped her eyes from his, he added in a low voice, “I promised to spare you that. I’ll hold to my promise.”

He left her to head to the top of the box where he stood with his hands braced against the balcony rail. As he surveyed the bustling theater, his jaw tightened. The chandeliers were going up—any minute now the fifth act would begin.

Spencer let out a deep sigh. “Evelina, how do you suggest we solve this?”

Evelina started. “You’re asking me?”

Spencer turned from the rail with a tight smile. “Why not? Tonight you’ve shown you have a good head on your shoulders and an astute knowledge of London society.”

Evelina’s astonishment gave way to a pleased smile. Clearly Spencer had never asked for the young woman’s advice before. Given how he spoke of his family—and his family-to-be—that was no surprise.

“I think you should present her formally.” The fifth act began, so Evelina lowered her voice. “Mama is already having that ball tomorrow night to celebrate my betrothal. Why not make it a celebration of your marriage instead?”

“But Evelina,” Lady Tyndale protested with a scowl for Abby, “that ball is supposed to be for you and Nathaniel.”

“I know, but if Nathaniel is recuperating in…Essex, we can’t celebrate our engagement anyway. So we might as well use the ball to help Spence.”

Evelina’s hesitation before the word “Essex” gave Abby pause, but she didn’t dwell on it. She was too busy panicking over appearing at a ball tomorrow night. “No,” she whispered, “I can’t. My gowns won’t be finished and—”

“At least one of them will,” Spencer put in. “I already paid
the dressmaker an ungodly sum to make sure one was ready right away.”

“But
I’m
not ready. I haven’t been to a ball in years.”

“You’ll be fine. Evelina is right—you should be formally introduced to society, the sooner the better. They can hardly claim you’re my mistress if Lady Tyndale holds a ball to celebrate our union.”

For heaven’s sake, this was getting out of hand. “Really, Spencer—” Abby began.

“Thank you, Evelina,” he said, ignoring Abby. “I told you that you have a good head on your shoulders. I couldn’t have devised a better way to handle this myself.”

“As for tonight,” Evelina said, “you should probably not stay until the play is over. After you’re gone, Mama and I will spread the news of your wedding and talk about the ball tomorrow night, just to prepare people. We’ll say you’re so much in love that you couldn’t restrain yourselves and went home rather than embarrass anyone.” A smile lit her face. “It’s the truth, anyway, isn’t it?”