The Viscount Always Knocks Twice (Heart of Enquiry Book 4) (6 page)

In tones that brooked no refusal, he said, “I want your word that you’ll stay away from Wick.”

“You’ll get no such promise from me.”

Enmity crackled between them. His blood pounded, the pressure in his veins rising.

“This is no lark, by Jove. Wickham’s life is at stake,” he growled. “You’re no good for him.”

“I’m
no good
?” Her eyes blazed.

God, he hated how women always twisted his words. “That is not what I said—”

“Well, you’re nothing if not consistent when it comes to judging my character,” she snapped. “To think I was going to
apologize
for our prior encounter.”

“I don’t expect an apology from you,” he said flatly.

Females, as far as he knew, didn’t admit a wrong. They were more apt to feign innocence over their wrongdoing (as the erstwhile object of his affections, Miss Lucinda Belton, had done), burst into tears (Lady Audrey’s wont), or pretend it never happened (his mama’s preferred strategy).

“I’m not going to apologize
now
. Now all I want to do is push you into a fountain again,” Miss Kent said, her hands balled into little fists.

“You didn’t push me. I slipped,” he bit out.

“Care to give it another go and see what happens?”

Raw and powerful emotion tested his restraint, yanked at his self-control the way an unbroken stallion might at the reins. Staring into her flashing eyes, he knew an unholy urge. A crazed desire to grab her, hold her,
make
her surrender to him. He leaned in—

“There you are, Violet.”

The crisp female tones jolted him back to reality. Chest burning, he forced himself to step back at the approach of the Duchess of Strathaven. A petite and buxom brunette, Her Grace had clear brown eyes which were probably quite fine when they weren’t narrowed suspiciously upon one’s face. She arrived at her sister’s side, her tall, black-haired husband a step behind.

Gathering himself, Richard bowed. “Your Graces.”

“Carlisle.” Strathaven’s acknowledgement was cool.

Despite the fact that both he and Strathaven were Scotsmen, and their estates were located in neighboring counties, their acquaintance was passing at best. They had little in common, and, frankly, Richard didn’t approve of the other’s lifestyle. For years, the wealthy duke had filled Society’s scandal pages with his affairs, each more licentious than the next. It was widely said that Strathaven’s second marriage had transformed him from rake to devoted husband; judging from the duke’s protective stance behind the duchess, Richard judged that this was likely true.

It still didn’t make him like or trust the man.

“Come along, Violet,” Her Grace said briskly. “You’re wanted elsewhere.”

The duchess took her sister by the arm. Miss Kent aimed one glowering look back at him before allowing herself to be led away.

Strathaven lingered. His celadon gaze was icy. “Watch your step around my family, Carlisle.”

The warning got Richard’s back up. “Is that a threat?”

“I don’t make threats. Only promises.” Strathaven turned smoothly to follow the ladies, his voice trailing behind him. “I’ll be watching.”

Richard remained where he stood, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

~~~

It took some finesse, but Violet managed to deflect Emma’s questions about Carlisle. The last thing she wanted was to cause her sister worry, not only for her sister’s sake but for her own. If Em found out that Vi had pushed the viscount into a fountain, she wouldn’t leave Vi alone for a single minute during the house party. Vi’s freedom would be utterly curtailed.

Worse yet, there’d be more sermons. Exasperated glances exchanged amongst her siblings that said plainer than words,
There goes the idiot sister again, making a mull of things…

Vi would rather eat rotten cheese than witness those looks.

I’ll just have to handle Carlisle on my own
, she decided.

She couldn’t believe that he thought she was
trifling
with Wick. That he’d tried to warn her away from his brother—because, according to him, she was “no good.” Her heart thudding furiously, she told herself she didn’t give a whit about the cad’s opinion of her.

About what Viscount
Killjoy
thought.

Was it childish to call him names? Perhaps. Did it make her feel better?
Absolutely.

As she went along with an animated Gabby, who was giving her and Polly a tour of the house, she amused herself by thinking of other choice sobriquets for Carlisle.
Lord High and Mighty, Lord High Horse, Pompous Prig…

They entered the main atrium, and awe interrupted her musings, dissipating any remaining ire. Eyes wide, she gazed upward at the fluted marble columns that rose two stories high to support a frescoed ceiling. Checkered marble gleamed dully underfoot.

“Thunder and turf, Gabby,” she said, her words echoing in the vast space, “I can’t believe you’re the mistress of this place. It’s grander than a palace.”

“I’m not the Paper Princess for naught,” Gabby said with a rueful grin.

As much as Vi disliked the unkind moniker, she admired her friend’s pluck for taking ownership of it, for turning meanness into humor. She slid one arm through Gabby’s, another through Polly’s, and said, “Well, don’t just stand there. Give us a tour, Your Highness!”

Her grin turning into a true smile, Gabby obliged.

From the atrium, their hostess took them through a set of public rooms. The main salon was an elegant chamber with yellow silk-covered walls, rosewood furnishings, and three multi-tiered chandeliers. In the dining room, five tables had been impressively laid out to accommodate the many guests. The cameo blue music room boasted a gleaming pianoforte that Vi knew her sister Thea, the family musician, would adore.

The girls arrived at the library, a long, cavernous room which occupied the back of the building. Unlike the spaces they’d seen thus far, this one was more old-fashioned, with dark paneled walls and a massive, ancient-looking stone hearth carved with flora and fauna. A labyrinth of bookshelves took up half the room.

Gabby led the way to the mullioned windows, which gave an expansive view of the courtyard. The garden was beautifully designed with statues, manicured hedges, and graveled walking paths.

“The west wing houses the family quarters and guest chambers.” Gabby gestured to the building on the left side. “Over to the right is the east wing, which has a few galleries as well as all the servants’ rooms.”

“Is that the amphitheatre?” Violet asked excitedly, pointing to the small domed structure just beyond the west wing.

“Yes. Its construction just wrapped up and has put all the renovations behind schedule,” Gabby confided. “The architects couldn’t get to this room and Papa’s study around the corner.”

“Oh, but the library is lovely just as it is.” Polly’s aquamarine eyes were dreamy as her fingers brushed one of the green velvet drapes. “One can practically feel the history that’s taken place here.”

“As a matter of fact, Traverstoke has a
very
interesting history. For instance, a Catholic family once owned the estate and built a secret worship room in the house.”

Secret room? Brilliant!
“Can we see it?” Vi said eagerly.

“It’s just a plain old gallery now. But back then the owners had the chamber’s dome concealed under a fake roof, and there’s still a Priest Hole in there.”

“What’s a Priest Hole?” Vi wanted to know.

“A place where the Catholic priest would hide if the soldiers came knocking. In fact, there might be other hidden passageways in the house, although we’ve only found the Priest Hole—”

Loud voices sounded in the corridor, followed by a loud crash.

“Oh dear,” Gabby said in flustered tones. “I’d better go check on that. I’ll be right back.”

When their friend hurried off, Violet said to Polly, “We must see this Priest Hole first thing!”

“Shouldn’t we settle into our bedchambers first?”

“What’s so interesting about a bedchamber? You’ve seen one bedchamber, you’ve seen them all. We’re talking about a
secret hiding place
here.”

“Well… all right. If you put it that way. Um, may I ask you something, Violet?”

“Hmm?” Vi said absently. She was craning her neck, trying to get a better view of the amphitheatre. Had Madame Monique arrived yet? she wondered.

“What’s going on between you and Lord Carlisle?”

Vi started, her gaze colliding with Polly’s. The latter’s eyes were wide, glimmering with a disconcerting mix of curiosity and knowledge. The last thing Vi wanted was for her sister to intuit the state of affairs between her and the viscount.

“Nothing’s going on,” she said uneasily. “Why do you ask?”

“I saw the two of you outside. You looked like you were arguing.”

“Carlisle and I, um, had a small misunderstanding.”

“Over what?”

Think, Violet.
“He… he doesn’t like the fact that Wick and I are friends.”

Which was true. As a rule, Vi didn’t like to lie… mostly because she wasn’t any good at it. She would forget the fib she told, get caught in the details, and wind up giving herself away.

Polly’s light brown curls tipped to one side. “Why doesn’t Carlisle approve of your friendship with his brother?”

“Because he’s Viscount Killjoy, that’s why. A stuffed shirt.”

“But you don’t really know him, do you?” Polly said dubiously.

“I know what he said about
me
.” Crossing her arms, Vi said with a surge of defiance, “What is more, Wick told me that Carlisle lost the family fortune and is forcing Wick to marry an heiress in order to bail the estate out of trouble.”

“How
dreadful
.”

Vi’s nod was emphatic. “Carlisle despises me because he thinks my friendship with Wick will jeopardize his plans. Because I won’t stand there and let him bully Wick around.”

Polly’s brows knitted. “I don’t think the viscount despises you.”

“He hates me as much as I hate… hold on. What makes you think he doesn’t despise me?” Vi’s pulse skittered. “Did you, um, sense something?”

Polly plucked at a pleat in her skirts. “He seemed angry and frustrated to me, but hate wasn’t part of the mix.” She slid Vi a glance from beneath her lashes. “For him or for you.”

Vi ignored the flutter in her belly. “That’s odd. Because I’m quite certain I
do
hate him.”

“You know better than I, of course,” her sister mumbled.

“Well, I’m not going to let him ruin my friendship with Wick. Or this party.”

No one—
especially
not a stick-in-the-mud like Carlisle—was going to control her. To tell her what and what not to do. To make her feel badly about herself.

Gabby returned, her expression harried. “I’m so sorry, but there’s a brouhaha I must attend to. One of the maids will have to take you to your chambers.”

“Not to worry.” Vi hitched a thumb toward the hallway. “What’s going on out there?”

Lowering her voice, Gabby said, “One of the guests, Mrs. Sumner, discovered that another guest, Lady Ainsworthy, has a better view from her chamber. Mrs. Sumner is insistent that she have a room equal to the latter’s.” Gabby bit her lip. “It’s not easy sorting out who should go where as we’ve a very mixed guest list. And don’t get me started on the seating charts for supper: the rules of precedence are impossible to figure out.”

“Why don’t you ask Marianne for help? She’s first-rate at that sort of thing,” Vi said.

“A splendid suggestion. I’ll ask her. See you both later?” Gabby rushed off again.

“Poor thing. Hosting a party seems like an awful lot of work—imagine trying to please so many people.” Polly shivered. “I’d never be able to do it.”

“You could if you wanted to. But speaking of parties, let’s not waste a second more.” Vi grabbed her sister’s hand and tugged her toward the door.

“Wh-where are we going?” Polly stammered.

Vi grinned back at her. “To have
fun
, of course!”

Chapter Five

“This is an interesting party, isn’t it?” Marcus, the Marquess of Blackwood, commented.

“That’s one way to describe it,” Richard said.

Standing with his friend by the marble mantelpiece, Richard watched the guests drift into the salon after an elaborate twelve course supper. They milled awkwardly within the room’s silk-covered walls, a motley bunch and reflection of Billings’ position as a man with a foothold in two worlds. The noblemen present represented the social stratosphere to which he aspired. The other guests—powerful and shady characters—were those who’d boosted Billings to his present position as the premier banker to London’s Underworld.

Billings’ reputation for flexible morality coupled with utmost discretion had earned him a dedicated clientele amongst the underbelly of society. Tonight, owners of prosperous gaming hells, gin factories, and other questionable businesses strutted like peacocks amongst the old establishment, most of whom hadn’t a feather to fly with.

Blackwood was an exception, being both titled and wealthy. A former military man, he’d inherited a marquessdom and ran his estates with a capable hand. He was one of Richard’s closest friends, the two of them sharing an avid interest in sporting and outdoor activities. As neither man cared for stifling social events, Richard guessed the other was here to please Lady Blackwood, who happened to be friends with the hostess and the Kents.

The thought of Violet Kent made Richard’s temperature rise several degrees. At supper, the damned chit had been seated at a table several feet away from him, her companions including Wick and his cronies. At the host’s table, Richard had endured a double displeasure. He’d had to watch Miss Kent flirt and laugh with the rakehells—all of whom appeared to be captivated by her—
and
he’d been subjected to Miss Billings’ company.

To his consternation, his hostess was the epitome of all he found annoying in the opposite sex. Her inane chatter had bombarded his head like heavy artillery. If he’d had to hear one more word about the latest fashions, he’d have shot his own brains out. She’d also had the irritating female habit of pushing food around her plate, wasting what looked like an excellent repast. Not that he would know if the food was good or not: whenever he’d been about to eat, she’d ask him a silly question that obliged him to put down his fork and summon up an equally silly reply. He thought longingly of the turtle soup and beef cutlets that had come and gone untasted.