Reckless Viscount (30 page)

Glancing to Langley, who had remained in the doorway awaiting further orders or an official dismissal before shuffling away, Leif nodded. “Please inform the viscountess that her father has come to call and that he desires her presence.”

Without further acknowledgment, Langley turned with unhurried care to follow Leif’s request.

Looking back to Sir Felix, Leif attempted to lighten the dour atmosphere that had entered the room with the visitor.

“I trust your trip from Dublin was without incident, Sir Felix.”

Settling his sharp gaze on Leif, the older man replied, “Lord Neville, I am not here to chat with you. I have done my research and already know all there is to know about you, your activities since Eton, your family and your family’s history going back to the Conqueror. I am here to speak with my daughter. You may hover in the room if you wish or you may take yourself off. I care not.”

Leif smiled then, not terribly concerned by the set down. He had faced harsh prejudice before. Whereas he may have considered allowing a few private moments for the reunion between father and daughter, he now fully intended to stick around. In large part to be contrary, but also because he suddenly couldn’t stomach the idea of Abbigael facing this man alone.

Knowing Langley’s pace and figuring on having at least another twenty minutes before Abbigael could be found and advised of her father’s request, Leif went to pour himself a finger of brandy. Snifter in hand, he returned to his seat behind his desk and settled in for a silent and awkward wait.

Leif rocked back on two legs of his chair to lift his booted feet up onto the corner of his desk. A smile tilted his lips when he saw the other man’s almost imperceptible grimace. Leif thought about what he knew of the Sir Felix Granger.

An Englishman. First cousin to the dowager countess of Blackbourne. Influential in the Irish Parliament. A widower who may or may not have grieved upon his wife’s tragic death. And a father willing to abandon his only child to face debilitating grief alone when it threatened to interfere with his ambition.

Sir Felix held the key to Abbigael’s inheritance, and so also to all of Leif’s dreams for the future, and he had full power to cut her off without a penny. All evidence of his past actions indicated Sir Felix had very little concern for his daughter’s welfare. Yet Leif was compelled to search beyond the indications of his past action. For all of his stiffness and obvious pride, Abbigael’s father had a few revealing tells.

The older man sat in the worn leather chair, glancing about the room with the air of a man who had seen it all and rarely found anything to surprise him. Leif suspected Sir Felix managed to take in a significant number of details in those brief flicks of his gaze, though his expression remained perfectly passive.

His expression may not have revealed any of his thoughts, but there was nothing ambiguous in the way his forefinger tapped in an incessant rhythm against the smooth leather of the armrest. Nor in the way he purposefully kept his gaze away from the doorway, almost as if he dreaded his daughter’s appearance.

Leif swirled the brandy in his glass and lifted the rim to his lips. He didn’t particularly like the stuff, preferring the invigorating fire of whisky, but he knew it to be the more refined choice. He figured he had better make some compromise considering it
was
rather early in the day.

Sir Felix was doing all he could to display the fortitude of a man who would not be put off from his intended goal regardless of how long and awkward the wait may be. And Leif was doing nothing to hide his blatant scrutiny of his guest when Abbigael appeared in the doorway, slightly flushed and out of breath as if she had just dashed the full length of the house.

Leif had already decided to play the unobtrusive observer, and though he should have stood at Abbigael’s arrival, he remained as he was in order to watch every detail of Sir Felix’s reaction. His rudeness went totally unnoticed, as he suspected it would, since the other two occupants in the room didn’t spare him the slightest glance.

Sir Felix rose slowly from his chair when Abbigael took three tentative steps into the room, then stopped to clasp her hands together at her waist.

“Hello, Father.”

“Abby.” Sir Felix cleared his throat. “You look well.”

Though Leif had no doubt the words were intended as a statement, he heard the unmistakable lift at the end hinting at a question.

As if she had heard it as well, Abbigael unlinked her fingers and dropped her hands to relax at her sides as she lifted her chin a touch higher.

“Thank you, as do you. How are things in Dublin?”

The politician nodded and rocked back on his heels. “Much the same as always.”

Leif was seriously starting to consider throwing a book against the wall, thinking maybe that would help to shatter the overabundance of propriety that seemed to have taken over the room. But he didn’t have a tome solid enough to accomplish such a daunting task within reach. He wasn’t exactly sure what he had expected out of Sir Felix’s visit, some shouting perhaps, a few harsh accusations thrown his way certainly, but never had he imagined this stiff, distant formality.

“I am glad you are here, Father.”

Leif noted the taut breath of anxiety in Abbigael’s voice that she wasn’t quite able to hide.

Her father lifted his brows at that and brought his hands around to clasp them behind his back. “It would seem I never should have left.” He gave a heavy sigh and stalked around the chair toward the fireplace. Speaking toward the empty grate, he continued in a tone weighted with disappointment. “I had hoped you would address this issue with some intelligence and maturity. I believed you understood me when I said that any match would require my approval.”

“Father, I—”

“And yet,” he interrupted forcefully, finally turning around to pin Leif with a direct and accusing stare, “I receive a note from Blackbourne explaining that you had run off with a penniless good-for-nothing.”

“Ah, to be fair, Sir Felix,” Leif spoke up then, swinging his feet to the floor and sitting forward in his chair. “Abbigael did not run off with me. Rather, I absconded with her in the middle of the night. She was sound asleep and I was quite foxed, though that bit is irrelevant, I suppose, and she was completely unaware of her predicament until we were nearly to the border. She really had no choice in the matter.” He grinned then and lifted his brandy in a mock salute. “And rumor has it I am good for some things.” He shouldn’t have added that last part, but he couldn’t resist shaking up the stoic politician.

Finally showing some real emotion, Sir Felix turned his shocked gaze back to his daughter.

“Is that true? He abducted you? I will call the magistrate immediately.” He started across the room in long angry strides.

Abbigael put her hands up and side-stepped to put herself between Sir Felix and the door.

“No. Father, please. I married him willingly. Let me explain.”

Sir Felix came to an abrupt halt and eyed his daughter as if she were a complete enigma to him. “You can explain this?”

Abbigael glanced to Leif and then looked back to her father. “Yes, I can if you will let me.”

Sir Felix visibly collected himself. It was apparent to Leif that the older man was not often put at a loss. He returned to the chair he had previously occupied and took a seat.

He settled a stern and unreadable gaze on Abbigael for a few silent moments before replying with calm authority. “I am a reasonable man. I will listen to your explanation
…
” he paused to throw a dark look toward Leif, “
…
then I will call the magistrate to arrest Lord Neville and I will have this marriage annulled.”

Taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders, Abbigael came forward into the room, but she did not sit down.

Over the next thirty minutes, Abbigael retold in concise and sparing detail the events of her London debut from the day Sir Felix left England through to the night when Lord Atwood made his appearance. A few minutes into her story, Leif rose from his chair and came out from behind his desk to lean against the front edge, crossing his arms over his chest in a deceptively casual stance. He was amazed at how carefully she downplayed her emotional distress over Atwood’s perfidy and the ton’s reaction to it.

He studied Sir Felix throughout the explanation. At the first brief reference to the rumors that surfaced regarding Abbigael’s past, a muscle jumped along her father’s jaw. As she continued, his attention slid slowly to the side until his focus was just off center from where his daughter stood before him.

Just as Leif began to wonder if Abbigael had noticed her father’s withdrawal, she paused in her speech and a small sigh whispered past her lips.

He pushed off the desk and stepped closer to her.

When she spoke again, it was to skip quickly through the telling of how she had intended to return to Ireland but had a fortuitous change of plans when she found herself bound for Gretna Green.

Leif almost chuckled at the pleasant spin she put on the venture.

“In truth, Father,” she stated in a tone that was almost a touch too bright, “I am quite content with my current circumstances.” Her smile was fixed and her spine straight as she held her hands out in supplication. “Lord Neville may not be the husband you or I envisioned, but he accepts me. I know he will take care of me.”

A twinge of conscience pulled at Leif’s brow. He didn’t imagine the flat note of deception that had entered her voice at the last statement and he couldn’t fault her for it.

Turning his attention back to Sir Felix, he waited for the man’s response. Though Abbigael had painted a much prettier picture of their elopement than what had actually transpired, her father may easily decide that her future financial comfort was not worth the risk of handing her dowry over to a man of Leif’s reputation.

After a moment of continued silence as Sir Felix narrowed his eyes to glower with faint accusation at Leif, Abbigael spoke again.

“Though I know the asking comes late, I still covet your blessing, Father.”

Clearing his throat, Sir Felix pushed himself to his feet. He was careful to avoid looking at his daughter directly as his sharp gaze swept past her at about the height of her knees. He turned and strode back to the cold fireplace, hands locked securely behind his back. Another moment later, he turned back to face the rest of the room.

“Abby, it seems I have need to speak with your…with Lord Neville alone. If you would please excuse us.” He gestured to the door.

Leif watched Abbigael’s shoulders pull back and her spine stiffen at her father’s gruff dismissal. Reaching out to her, Leif set his hand on her arm and turned her to face him.

Hurt mingled with firm resolve in her sea-green eyes. A crease marred the smooth surface of her brow and her lovely mouth was pressed into a stern line.

Leif forced himself to smile despite the fact that her drawn expression twisted at his guts.

“Don’t worry, Irish, I doubt I will be able to corrupt Sir Felix during one private conversation.” Not caring that her father pretended not to be watching from across the room, Leif lifted his hand to the side of her face and rested his thumb against the corner of her mouth. Then he leaned close so his lips brushed the curve of her ear as he spoke. “Besides, all of my corrupting influence is focused securely upon you, and there is still so much work to do.”

When he pulled away, he was pleased to see some color back in her cheeks. Her pale eyes were soft as she looked up at him. Brushing his thumb lightly over her lower lip, he asked “Have I told you how lovely you look today?”

She gave a small shake of her head as a little smile reversed the downward curve of her mouth.

“My deepest apologies,” he muttered in a low whisper.

Then, right there under the watchful eye of her staid and oh-so-proper father, he planted a firm, and chaste, by comparison to how he had kissed just that morning as the sun rose, kiss on her lips.

Once he released her, he saw that the color in her cheeks had brightened to a rosy pink. She stepped away from him as soon as he dropped his hand from her face. Swinging her attention back to her father, she cleared her throat and lifted her chin another notch higher.

“Father, will you be staying for luncheon? It should be ready within the hour.” Her voice was crisp and polite and contained the strength Leif knew to be inherent in her person.

He smiled openly in satisfaction at the return of her spirit. His smile grew even wider when he looked to Sir Felix and saw the flush of discomfort coloring his face.

“Ah, no, I have an appointment with some colleagues.”

“Of course. It was nice to see you again, Father. You will come by again before you leave town?”

Sir Felix cleared his throat. “Yes, well, we shall see.”

Abbigael nodded then walked with sedate pride from the room.

As soon as the two men were alone, Sir Felix glared at Leif with frigid accusation.

“Was that terribly necessary, Lord Neville? Treating my daughter like a common trollop right before my eyes just to upset me. Disgusting.”

Leif lifted his brows, honestly surprised. “I am happy to disillusion you. My interaction with my wife just now had absolutely nothing to do with you.” He stopped and lifted his finger, glancing to the ceiling as a thought occurred to him. “Correction, it related to you only in that I felt a desire to reverse the damage you seemed intent upon inflicting.” He chuckled and eyed the older man with frank assessment. “And really, Sir Felix, if you found the whole thing so
disgusting
, why did you do absolutely nothing to stop it?”