Society's Most Scandalous Viscount (29 page)

Again, the room hummed with curiosity although not a soul voiced a decipherable word.

“A private matter then.” Jasper approached, an affable expression assuring his assistance. “We shall all leave you to it.”

It proved the only suggestion needed and in a flurry of reassembly and brief farewell most everyone made way to the door.

Except Benedict.

He claimed her ungloved hand in his and leaned close to whisper in her ear.

“Do not do anything rash. Good God, do not flee. I'm at home at the Duke of Acholl's residence in Mayfair. Find me there tomorrow evening for dinner. Bring your Grandmother to chaperone, and your sister if desired, and remember this when you begin to fear your decisions.”

He leaned closer still, his mouth brushing the sensitive skin of her ear.

“I love you.”

He swept to the door and down the stairs before her heart absorbed the wondrous impact of his words.

Benedict loved her. It was an answer to her prayers.
To her heart.

The room had emptied with remarkable fluidity. Emily St. David approached with Grandmother while Angelica sorted her emotions. With Benedict's confession echoing in her ears she struggled to explain her predicament, grateful and relieved when Grandmother took control of the conversation.

“My son, the Earl of Morton, has been a dedicated zealot of religious studies for over a decade. When his wife died during childbirth, he grieved deeply. Unable to eat or sleep he wasted away and I sent word to the vicar with the thought the calming word of a religious man would produce a positive effect. As it happened, in his weakened state my son developed a dependency of scripture. I thought little of this interest and at times encouraged it, at first gladdened to see him moving beyond the tragedy of death. Until I noticed concerning behavior and idiosyncrasies whenever he'd visit Brighton, which occurred less and less frequently as he lost focus on anything but religious doctrine. Soon he barely left the house, then his bedchambers. All efforts to draw him out had an adverse effect.

“His interactions with Angelica and Helen were limited to holiday visits and annual interrogations to assess their Bible studies. The summers the girls spent with me offered the only carefree joy of their childhood and he held a threat to their well-being over my heat to prevent my objecting to his rules. That is, the little I knew. It wasn't until the girls were grown that I learned the extent of my son's inflexibility and their consequential suffering.

“At a loss to do much else, I attempted to dissuade his edacious preoccupation, but as time progressed, his religious studies consumed his mind and heart. I had no idea my granddaughters languished at his hand. His letters to me expressed the girls were involved in studies and education. Little did I know, he'd advanced his devotion to a level incompatible with my granddaughters' welfare and future goals. When Angelica's sister, Helen, was involved in an indiscretion, the incident provoked my son to an abusive level of lunacy and unfortunate rash action. In an effort to keep Angelica chaste and encourage her service to the lord, he took extreme measures.”

“He locked me in a priory.” Angelica's vehement insertion added weight to the somber confession.

“Oh dear. He sounds a formidable adversary.” Emily shook her head in empathetic despair. “I've never had a situation such as this at the league. Most ladies attend meetings to gain independence and seek opportunity, more than escape danger. I'm concerned I may not be able to assist you if your father becomes involved. He will certainly locate you if you remain in London, most especially if you dare attend a public function.”

“Yes, we know he searches for us already.”

“Confrontation, embarrassment, accusation. It will become the grandest scandal yet.” Emily paused, her mouth drooping into a frown. “Oh dear. Kellaway avoids scandal at all costs having just been exiled from the city months ago. He doesn't know about this, does he?”

The suggestion Benedict would discard his feelings for her were he to discover the risk of exposure discomfited Angelica. She still didn't know the details of his meeting with Helen in Hay Market. She only knew she loved him.
Quite thoroughly.

Grandmother reached for her hand in consolation and understanding. “I'm sorry, Angelica. I've failed you and your sister. I should have realized something was amiss and acted to remove you.”

The bleak note of Grandmother's apology pained Angelica as much as the situation. “It wasn't your responsibility.” She raised one hand to stroke a fingertip across her grandmother's tissue-thin cheek. “Nor was it as terrible as it sounds.” Her voice waned, leaving everyone unconvinced. “Mother wished for us to be raised with values and Father misinterpreted her intentions.”

“He locked you in a priory against your will.” Emily refused to allow her to sweeten the bitter reality.

“Indeed,” Grandmother punctuated Emily's sentence.

“We can't dwell on the past.” Emily huffed a determined breath. “I learned that lesson well. Instead let's solve this problem. No one will defeat us. I won't allow it.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Benedict endured Bitters' ministrations for as long as possible and then with a curt wave dismissed the servant. He was more than capable of dressing himself despite the formal attire being more nuisance than indulgence. The servant's not-so-subtle questions were more intrusive than the layers of linen and wool necessary to his ensemble. True, Bitters minded Kell's business more closely than his own. Kell gave the hem of his brocade waistcoat a sharp tug.

What would Angelica wear this evening? He'd only seen her in mousy cotton gowns and moonlight. The latter much preferred to the former. Still the startling revelation that his mermaid was indeed a proper lady tested the boundaries of his enthusiasm. If Angelica showed this evening, if she wasn't deterred by her father's imprudent and senseless actions, if she didn't fear recrimination or scandal, if she harbored sincere emotion toward him…the endless list of “ifs” eroded his confidence.

“There you are. Looking every bit the rakish viscount.” The Duke of Acholl entered Kell's bedchamber and cast an approving glance to where he stood motionless in front of the hearth. Prinny lumbered in Grandfather's shadow.

“I hope the lady practices punctuality since we've gone to the trouble to dress in formals and prepare a careful menu. I'd planned to sup with Prinny and review correspondence this evening while sampling a new bottle of brandy. Your lady best be worth the effort.”

“I assure you, she is.” To elaborate would invite unwanted attention and he'd only dispersed of Bitters ten minutes before. He reserved doubt Angelica would arrive at all. Best to change the subject. “You look every part the duke.”

“This from a man who prefers to run barefoot with his shirt tails flapping in the breeze. I'm not sure I trust your skill of evaluation.” Grandfather chuckled. “I never achieved my goal of instilling in you a core of formality and convention, but you're the better for it. You'll always be young at heart.”

“Mother and Father obliterated your goal, and as far as being carefree, I find I'm adjusting to the trappings of my title.”

“True enough. Where your parents are concerned, I'd rather not explore skeletons hidden in closets. I keep my cupboards shut as tight as you do. We are of the same ilk.”

They abandoned the conversation with haste—too many unanswered questions clouded the room—and made their way downstairs to the formal sitting room. If only the butler would announce Angelica and her family.

“What are your plans?” Grandfather walked to the brandy service, perhaps impatient to taste the new bottle he'd mentioned.

“I do not know.” Kell didn't say more although he released a long-held breath and paced the length of the room.

“So, you're in love then?” Grandfather chuckled. “I am anxious to meet the woman who has claimed your heart. Has she any idea of your long list of roguery?”

With serendipitous timing, a knock sounded on the door to rescue Kell from his grandfather's inquiry.

“Enter.”

“Your Grace, the guests have arrived. I have installed the ladies in the cobalt parlor.”

“Thank you, Huntley.” The duke set his brandy on the sideboard and without a word made for the door. Prinny followed, his tail whipping against the spindled legs of the cherrywood sideboard as he passed.

“Are you coming then?”

Kell strode toward the hall, ignoring his grandfather's laughter and wondering exactly what havoc he'd invited to his doorstep this evening.

“You look lovely, dearest.” Grandmother touched Angelica's shoulder, adjusting the gold silk ribbon so it lay perfectly flat. “It's miraculous how quickly one can secure the newest design and most dependable servants when one calls upon loyal acquaintances. My friends jumped out of their skin to offer assistance, and seemed astonished I'd returned to the city. It's a fine benefit of living so many decades, to have established trustworthy relationships and a large accumulation of coin.”

“Grandmother, you're incorrigible.” Angelica released a nervous little laugh hoping it would assuage the fluttering in her stomach. True enough her gown was exquisite, sewn from the finest periwinkle silk, shot through with silver thread and adorned around the hems with tiny pearls and white seed beads. Dainty lace sleeves trimmed in satin hugged her shoulders while her hair, pulled to the side and fastened with decorative combs, left her nape exposed. The neckline dipped low in the back to display the delicate curve of her spine, while the front offered a tempting view of bodice, her skin flushed from the excitement of seeing Benedict again.

She prayed he still possessed the feelings he'd expressed the day before and that he hadn't reconsidered, or worse, misspoken. How she treasured his confession in her heart.

“Greetings.”

A sharp bark preceded the corpulent canine who waddled into the sitting room before any person appeared, though an elderly man entered a breath later. His gaze settled on her face before focusing on Grandmother across the room, when a swift change transformed his expression from gregarious welcome to wide-eyed alarm.

“Dolores?”

“Adam?”

“Grandmother?”

“And so a closet door falls open and a skeleton's exposed,” Benedict remarked with wry intonation and paused within the doorframe, his presence filling the air with masculine strength though he'd hardly entered. When he did so, he navigated the room with grace and surety, not a trace of pirate to be seen.

“You know each other?” Angelica's incredulous exclamation rushed across the room.

“Angelica…” Grandmother's smile reached her eyes “…you failed to tell me your viscount was related to the Duke of Acholl.”

“My grandson observed the same lack of sense and courtesy.” The duke's grin grew wider if that was possible.

“I didn't know you were acquainted.” Benedict hadn't taken his eyes from Angelica.

“Neither did I, although the familiarity lends itself well to our planned evening.”

To Angelica's shock, the duke clasped Grandmother's hand in his own and placed a long lingering kiss on her knuckles. Grandmother colored a fanciful shade of crimson, her usual efficacious conversation absent.

“It is my esteemed pleasure, Dolores. Timeless beauty was always one of your most admirable charms. The years have been kinder to you than me.”

“I remember your gilded words with fondness, Adam. You always were a silver-tongued devil.”

Dragging her gaze from Grandmother, Angelica found Benedict in equal speculation. His amused smile expressed every word stalled on her tongue.

The duke nodded in their direction. “You may carry on without us. We have years of conversation to reclaim.” He looped Grandmother's hand through his elbow and escorted her to the wide French doors and out into the garden, Prinny dodging their heels. Angelica and Benedict remained awed.

“What just happened?” Angelica struggled for composure, curiosity and bemusement at war, and a giggle of relief bubbled to the surface. Benedict looked wickedly handsome in his cutaway tailcoat, his broad shoulders squarely tailored within the fine fabric, all muscle and solid masculinity. She remembered the feel of his skin and her fingertips grew restless, rustling against the folds of her skirt. Forcing her focus upward, his rakish assessment of her gown caused her skin to flush. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, alert with the heat of his gaze. Mercy, her heart beat as if she'd swum across the ocean.

“You devastate me.”

“Is that a good thing?” Her voice shook a little with the question.

“You have no idea.” He crooked a finger in her direction. “Come, my mermaid. Always mine.” He spoke softly, as if to confirm the last two words rather than share them. He enveloped her hand in his and pulled her into his embrace, and she went, as carefree and helpless as a tiny wave caught in the effervescent tide.

“I cannot wait for explanations or introductions.” His eyes glittered in the lamplight, his long lashes bowed. “Our chaperones have abandoned their posts. What kind of rogue would I be if I didn't take advantage of the situation?”

His attention dipped to her mouth and an eddy of anticipation washed through her. “Wait.”

“You have something to say?” He appeared shocked outright.

I love you too.
“My father—”

“I know all about your father. Helen kindly informed me of his reprehensible actions.” His voice had taken on a hard edge and his grip tightened on her arm. “No one will force you to conform to their ideals again.”

“It's not as simple as running to the beach or hiding in your embrace.” How sad and true her reply.

Something flickered in his eyes as her final words registered. He loved her. She could see straight to his heart every time his gaze settled on her. He would keep her safe.