The Madness of Viscount Atherbourne (Rescued from Ruin, Book One) (5 page)

“A gentleman is here to see you, your
grace.”

Seated with her back to the doors, Victoria
could not see Digby’s face, but she found their unflappable
butler’s tremulous tone rather alarming.

Harrison frowned. “Who is it?”

“Viscount Atherbourne, your grace.”

White-hot fury flashed briefly in Harrison’s
gray-blue eyes before he blinked and they iced over. “Thank you,
Digby. Please show Lord Atherbourne into the drawing room. I will
join him in a moment.”

Her heart stuttered, stomach twisting almost
painfully as she realized what this announcement meant. He was
here. In her house. The man she had been dreaming about, then
cursing, then dreaming about some more for the past
three-and-a-half days.

She heard the door shut behind Digby before
Harrison said, “I think you should lie down for a while, Tori.” His
use of her childhood nickname suggested he was feeling protective;
his dismissing her to her bedchamber implied he wanted her as far
away from the coming confrontation as possible. She hoped he wasn’t
planning to shoot yet another Viscount Atherbourne, although she
could appreciate the sentiment.

He rose from behind the desk and strode
purposefully toward the doors. As he passed, she again grasped his
hand and tugged him to a halt. “Harrison, please don’t do anything
rash.”

He squeezed her hand, set it back in her lap,
and patted it soothingly. “Not to worry. In spite of the severe
nature of the provocation, I am not the reckless sort. I shall
speak to the man and see what he wants. Go and rest now. Trust me
to do what is best.”

*~*~*

“Striking a man seems a most unpleasant way
to begin a conversation, don’t you agree, your grace?” Atherbourne
asked wryly, wincing as he fingered his bruised jaw. Unfortunately,
Harrison thought, whatever damage might have been done by his fist,
it was not enough to wipe the other man’s smug, arrogant grin from
his face. When Harrison had entered the drawing room of Clyde-Lacey
House, the horse’s ass had been leaning casually with his arm
braced on the back of Judith Clyde Lacey’s favorite red velvet
chair, the one Victoria was fond of curling up in when she worked
on her embroidery. Harrison had not been able to stifle his
instant, violent reaction. It was unlike him, but immeasurably
satisfying.

“Perhaps. But it felt quite reasonable at the
time. Now then, let us speak plainly.” Harrison tugged the sleeves
of his tailcoat to straighten the expertly tailored superfine. “The
fact that you continue to draw breath owes more to my restraint
than to your worth. Therefore, you will state why you are here
without preamble or prevarication, and you will do so now. Before
my patience is at an end.”

Atherbourne’s ever-present half-grin faded
for a moment, face hardening and eyes flashing before his
expression became one of calculating intent. He dropped his hand
from where it pressed his jaw gingerly. “Very well. I have come
with an offer.”

“Does it involve you lying in a bloody heap
on the floor?” Harrison inquired politely.

That infernal smile was back. “I’m afraid
not, your grace.”

“Then I cannot see where I would be
interested.”

“Oh, I believe you will be. After all, you do
care
for Lady Victoria, yes?”

Harrison ground his teeth and held his fury
in check by the merest thread. How dare this blackguard even speak
Victoria’s name after all he had done to injure her? “You would do
well to guard your tongue where my sister is concerned,
Atherbourne.”

The quiet statement was met with a moment’s
pause, a hint of wariness that seemed to dampen some of the man’s
arrogance. “Your sister is at the center of my offer, your grace.
Therefore, I must mention her, wouldn’t you say?”

“What the deuce are you talking about?”

“Lady Victoria, to put it bluntly, is ruined.
The damage done by Lady Gattingford’s rather dramatic recounting
has only been worsened by Stickley’s attempts to salvage his vanity
and pride.” The last point seemed to annoy Atherbourne, his
nostrils flaring in a moment of anger—puzzling for a man who had
intentionally brought about this very result.

“Yes, you certainly accomplished your aim,”
Harrison said dryly. “Congratulations on deceiving a naive girl
into trusting you and then destroying her chances at a proper
match. Quite a courageous act, that.”

Under normal circumstances, such a blatant
accusation of cowardice and scurrilous behavior might have ended in
another dawn appointment between the Duke of Blackmore and Viscount
Atherbourne. However, the man seemed quite focused on his mission,
ignoring the insults and, instead, tilting his head and holding
Harrison’s gaze with a predatory one of his own. “Whatever you may
think of me or my actions, the fact remains any hope of a
respectable marriage for your sister has been dashed.”

“Did I not mention a lack of tolerance for
preamble?”

“No peer would have her,” Atherbourne
continued, “and indeed, even should one be persuaded to accept her,
the scandal would forever plague both her and her husband. There
is, however, one exception: If she were to swiftly marry the man
with whom she was caught, and the story were handled carefully, the
scandal might be recast as merely a romantic intrigue, and the
gossip would pass by next season. As I am that man, I propose she
and I marry. Immediately.”

Harrison waited in stunned silence for the
too-handsome, vindictive viscount to laugh or in some way reveal
his “proposal” as a cruel jest. Atherbourne’s motives could not
have been clearer, and were even understandable: He wanted Harrison
punished for killing his brother. His seduction of Victoria was a
revenge play, pure and simple. Which made today’s proposal, at
best, bizarre. Why on earth would he wish to rescue Victoria from
social ruin, an affliction he himself had delivered?

“Just what is your angle, Atherbourne?”

“I wish to make Lady Victoria my wife. It is
as simple as that.”

Harrison shook his head. “Nothing is simple
where you are concerned. Why should I trust you with my sister’s
welfare? You have proven yourself unworthy to mind my horse for an
hour, let alone a member of my family for a lifetime.”

“Perhaps because, while I may have
administered the poison, I can also provide the antidote,” he
replied quietly. “Do you honestly believe she will be content to
live in disgrace?” The viscount paused and glanced up at a painting
perched above the fireplace. It depicted Harrison’s mother as she
had been just after her marriage to the seventh Duke of Blackmore.
She was the very image of Victoria.

Atherbourne met Harrison’s gaze and
continued, “Of course, should you refuse my offer, she could never
return to London, at least not for many years, nor with the status
she once enjoyed. You would be forced to banish her to the country,
or perhaps the Continent or America. Your family has suffered
scandals before, but those were yours and your brother’s. Society
forgives men their failings far more readily than they do women.
You know this to be true.”

Harrison clasped his hands behind his back
and began pacing slowly, occasionally glancing up at the blackguard
across from him. He stopped, stared intently for a moment, then
said, “I am well aware of the advantages such a union would offer
Victoria. But what do you get out of this, Atherbourne? And do not
say Victoria herself, because that is patently absurd. She is your
pawn, not your queen.”

The viscount’s response was a slow smile and
a subtle nod as though to acknowledge, if not concede, Harrison’s
point. “What is any gentleman seeking when he makes an offer of
marriage?”

Acid burned in Harrison’s stomach as his
patience with the man’s game grew thin. “A dowry, social
connections, a mother for his children, and in rare cases, love,”
he snapped, each point on the list firing like a bullet at this
villain who would choose to harm his sister and, indeed, his entire
family. It was not to be borne. “None of which apply in this
situation. You are not in need of funds. Victoria’s dowry equates
to less than a month’s income for the Atherbourne estate. Hardly
enough to consider incentive.”

A full minute of silence preceded
Atherbourne’s reply. “I see you are keeping a close watch on
things. I had no idea you’d taken an interest in the financial
production rates of my family’s holdings.”

“One thing you will learn about me is that I
leave very little to chance.”

Atherbourne nodded calmly, then picked up
their earlier discussion. “She is the sister of a duke. Perhaps I
want her to ensure my children a greater legacy than they would
otherwise enjoy.”

“Perhaps. But you and I know that is not why
you wish to marry
this
sister of a duke. You wish to marry
her because she is
my
sister. And for that reason alone, I
cannot agree to this match. Once you were wed, you could abuse her
in the most grievous fashion—”

Atherbourne’s eyes narrowed and grew deadly,
his voice as quiet and biting as Harrison’s own. “I would never lay
hands upon a woman in such a way.”

“I cannot take the chance. Should I allow you
to marry, and should you harm her, I would be forced to kill you.
And I would hate to be responsible for the death of
two
Viscount Atherbournes.”

For a moment, Harrison was certain the man
would charge him. Atherbourne’s face hardened intensely, his tall
form coiled as though poised to leap. Harrison was more than ready.
He relished the thought of pummeling his enemy into a fine paste.
The drawing room furniture might require some repair afterwards,
but it would be well worth the expense.

The tension shattered as a crash sounded just
outside the doors to the hall. Both men frowned and swiveled their
heads to stare as the noise was followed by a feminine squeak and
sudden silence. Then Harrison heard Digby’s hushed voice. Annoyed
by the interruption, he marched to the door and yanked it open.
There stood Victoria, who halted her heated, whispered conversation
with the butler immediately and gazed up at Harrison with sheepish
eyes.

“I was just … ah … moving a vase from here to
the table in the library. Unfortunately, it slipped and … um …” Her
words slowed to a stop as her eyes shifted past his shoulder and
landed on Atherbourne. Her mouth gaped slightly and her eyes
widened.

His jaw tightened as he realized
that—although it should have been impossible—this day was about to
get worse.

*~*~*

Chapter Four

“
In the art of gossip, eavesdropping is a tool
most would consider both crude and amateurish. However, one does
what one must.”
—The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to Lady
Rumstoke upon receiving her report of scandalous statements
overheard at the Pennywhistle musicale.

She had thought perhaps she’d imagined him as
more handsome, more wickedly sensual than he’d actually been—that
in justifying her own wanton behavior, she had drawn an
irresistible portrait in her mind unwarranted by reality.

She was so very, very wrong.

He was magnificent. The full light of day
only enhanced his attractiveness, as did the splendid midnight-blue
tailcoat, gold embroidered waistcoat, and buff riding breeches he
wore. Aside from the odd darkening along one side of his jaw, he
was a vision of masculine perfection.

Having learned a bit more about his
background over the past few days, Victoria now understood why
Lucien was more muscular and fit than many other men of the ton,
his shoulders wider, his waist narrower, and his thighs … oh, his
thighs. Ladies should never notice such things, but she could not
help herself. In any event, she now recognized these physical
attributes as evidence of his service as a captain in the army.
According to Lady Berne, he had performed quite heroically at
Waterloo, earning commendations from Wellington himself. Not that
he flaunted it. Most gentlemen returning from battle wore their
uniforms proudly and chose to be addressed by their military rank,
as was proper. Not him. Lucien Wyatt refused to answer to his
well-earned title of Captain, and at formal events where men in
crimson uniforms became objects of celebration and admiration, he
instead wore plain civilian black. Precisely why this was so, no
one knew.

Just then, she became painfully aware of the
thick silence, feeling a flush of embarrassment wash over her as
both Harrison, who had not moved out of the doorway, and Lucien
waited expectantly for her to explain herself. Finally, not knowing
what else to do, she resorted to politeness, greeting Lucien with a
curtsy and a “my lord.”

At first he blinked, his eyebrows arching in
surprise. But swiftly, he adopted his signature expression: mild
amusement blended with sardonic sensuality. He executed a perfect
bow and answered softly, “Lady Victoria.”

She felt dizzy as a wave of longing swept
through her body. Oh, this was not good.

He is a bounder,
she reminded herself.
A scoundrel of the highest order. Or would that be lowest
order?
She mentally shook her head. No matter. The point
remained, he had done her irreparable harm. Deliberately and
cold-bloodedly.

Stiffening her spine at the reminder, she
asked in what she hoped was a stern tone, “Does your purpose in
being here include a lengthy apology, Lord Atherbourne?”

“Victoria, you would do well to stay out of
this,” Harrison warned.

She glanced up at him and said, “I’m afraid I
am already very much
in
this, Harrison.” Pushing past her
brother and stepping farther into the drawing room, she met
Lucien’s eyes again, noting that his smile had faded a fair bit.
“Well?”