To Wed A Viscount (21 page)

Faith recognized the note of steel in her friend's voice. Suggesting that Merry was involved in a scandalous activity was still the surest way Faith knew to raise Lady Meredith's hackles.

“How will you manage without a husband to care for and guide you?” Elizabeth asked, as she rolled this utterly new and intriguing idea around her tongue. “Who will pay your bills? Your father?”

“I have an independent inheritance,” Meredith said confidently. “It was a gift from my great-aunt, and I bless her memory each day for giving me this wonderful opportunity. Over the years I have taught myself the proper way to manage and invest those funds, so I need no assistance from any man. Though I am not opposed to taking sound advice from them.”

Harriet sighed. “Only rich women have the interesting opportunities. I'm afraid it must be the marriage mart for you, Elizabeth. Or starvation.”

“Is it really as cold-blooded as all that?” Elizabeth asked.

“Is what cold-blooded?” Griffin asked as he entered the room in time to hear the last question.

Faith's hand flew to her throat. She had not expected him to make an appearance until dinner. The viscount's clothes were slightly rumpled, but free of dust and dirt. He must have taken only a brief time to clean up after his ride.

She almost rose to her feet, feeling an intense urge to walk toward him, reach up, and put her arms around his neck. But she lacked the confidence to do so, especially since they had never embraced in front of others. It would seem rather odd if they did so now.

For a moment Faith could have sworn she had seen a blaze of warmth and delight in her husband's expression when he first entered the room. But it flickered so quickly she knew it must have been her wistful imagination.

Young Georgie stood by Griffin's side, clutching his father's hand. The boy's rosy cheeks and freshly scrubbed face attested to a quick though less than thorough cleanup. There was a clump of mud on the child's boot and a smudge of dirt on the knee of his riding jodhpurs. He smiled sunnily at Faith and her heart instantly melted.

“What is cold-blooded?” the viscount repeated.

“The marriage mart,” Harriet replied dryly.

“Is that like a fair?” Georgie piped in with keen interest. “I should like to go if it is, please. I do like seeing all the animals, especially the pigs.”

The adults all laughed. “There are certainly a fair amount of swine at the marriage mart,” Meredith said, her mouth curved in a wry half smile. “However, I doubt you would find them very interesting.”

The child obviously didn't understand what had been said, but he forgot all about fairs and markets and pigs when he saw the impressive display of pastries. Faith had specifically instructed the cook to include Georgie's favorite cream-filled ones, intending to sneak a few upstairs to the nursery when tea with the adults was finished.

Now she would have the pleasure of watching him eat as many as he wished. As long as Harriet didn't catch her feeding them to the boy.

Faith rang for a fresh pot of tea and more cups, insisting that Georgie join them. She was fully prepared to argue this unorthodox invitation with Harriet, but the other woman made no objection.

The viscount took the seat closest to Faith while Georgie sat beside his father. To her dismay, Faith found it was difficult to control the quivering feeling of intimate warmth that overcame her at his nearness.

Wordlessly, she passed Griffin a cup brimming with tea. Sugar, no milk, just as he preferred. As he accepted the offering, the viscount's arm brushed her breast. Faith's nipple tightened at his touch, and her mind blushed with glorious memories from last night.

“May I have tea also?” Georgie interrupted. “Instead of milk.”

“Certainly, dear.” Faith answered, proud of the steadiness of her voice.

Faith poured only half a cup, leaving room for lots of sugar and cream. She also made certain not to fill the cup completely. An early afternoon tea shared with Georgie in the nursery had taught Faith that a little boy's hands were not the steadiest when holding a full cup of liquid.

Griffin must have also had some personal experience with Georgie's unsteady hands, for he reached out to help the child.

Again his fingers brushed against her breast. The nipple tightened further, and Faith bit her bottom lip to stifle her cry. Hastily, she pushed back in her chair and quickly crossed her arms, wondering if anyone else had noticed Griffin's actions and her reactions. A glance at the three women confirmed they had not seen anything.

Then she glanced at Griffin. He stretched out his legs, and gave her a slow, knowing grin filled with masculine sensuality Faith gulped.

There was a gleam of wicked amusement in his eye as he asked, “Are there any more sandwiches? I find I have a great hunger this afternoon.”

Unable to answer, Faith simply held out a plate. Griffin leaned closer and spoke so that only the two of them could hear. “I suppose cucumber will have to suffice. But I know it will not truly satisfy me.”

“It will not?” Faith felt the blush rising in her cheeks and fought to contain it. “Shall I summon Harper and have him instruct Cook to prepare something more substantial, my lord?”

“Cook does not have what I need. What I crave.”

“Indeed?” The blush was rising higher in her cheeks, but Faith didn't care. The startling sensuality in her husband's eyes held her mesmerized.

“Can I have some sandwiches, too?” Georgie piped up. “Please.”

The child's interruption succeeded in shattering the mood. Faith felt a wave of disappointment, but realized now was hardly the appropriate moment to engage in sexual teasing with her husband.

The adults spoke again of last night's ball, though the conversation was much tamer with Georgie in the room. After a time, Faith noticed the little boy's head began to droop, but she hesitated suggesting he retire for a nap. Lately, that particular suggestion had brought forth a rather spirited, rebellious response.

“I think Grace is waiting for you up in the nursery, Georgie,” Harriet said pointedly. “Shall I ring for her to come and get you?”

Georgie's head immediately jerked up. “I'm not tired,” he insisted.

Griffin placed his cup on the tea table and moved toward his son. The little boy gave a token resistance, then reached up his arms. Griffin stooped to pick him up. He whispered something into the little boy's ear and Georgie burst into giggles.

It made Faith's heart leap with gladness to see such closeness between father and son. It also gave her hope. Clearly Griffin possessed the capacity to love. He adored his son and was fond of his sisters. Even the prickly Harriet.

Faith picked up her cup and took a thoughtful sip. Her course seemed very clear. All she needed to do now was discover how to get the viscount to fall in love with her.

 

 

The evening meal was a quiet, congenial affair, with only the four women and Griffin. Merry made a passing joke about Griffin's harem, and he gifted her with a potent masculine grin.

Faith noted, as she tipped her wineglass to her lips for a long swallow, that in the week Meredith had been visiting, Griffin had thoroughly charmed her. It made Faith wonder that in the right circumstances, with the right man, Meredith might abandon her fierce opposition to marriage.

They retreated to the drawing room after the meal. Elizabeth entertained them on the pianoforte while Harriet sang. Faith was surprised to discover the rich, alto voice of her prickly sister-in-law. She had never heard Harriet sing, and it was a pleasant, welcome surprise.

After the sexual tension of afternoon tea, Faith had been bracing for another assault on her senses, almost hoping that Griffin would somehow find a way to catch her alone for a few minutes. She had even spent a quarter of an hour slowly walking the garden path outside his study window, hoping to capture his attention.

Her obvious efforts had gone unrewarded. Griffin had either been unaware or uninterested in her activities. She worried briefly that her declaration of love late last night had cooled his ardor. He had been polite and attentive to all of the women during dinner, yet despite all his charm Faith thought he seemed a bit preoccupied.

She was most disappointed to no longer be receiving those sensual, heated, inappropriate glances and wondered if she had unknowingly done something to anger him.

In due time the evening came to a congenial end and everyone retreated to their respective beds. Normally Faith did not enjoy the fussing of her maid, but tonight it felt good to have someone help her remove her gown, brush her hair until her entire body felt relaxed, and make sure the fire burning in the hearth kept the chill from the room.

“Good night, my lady,” the maid whispered softly as she shut the door.

Faith tried to reply, but instead gave an unladylike yawn. She snuggled under the warm covers and was slowly drifting off to sleep when the bedchamber door opened.

“Whatever the problem, I'll deal with it in the morning,” Faith called out in a dreamlike state, thinking the maid had returned to ask her a question.

“I prefer that you deal with it now,” came the deep male voice. “Though I confess to hoping that I am not considered a problem.”

“Griffin?”

“Are there so many other men that enter your bedchamber at this hour of the night that you need to question if it is your husband?”

Faith bolted up into a seated position. The candles had been extinguished, but the fire from the hearth provided adequate light. Griffin wore a dark blue dressing robe that fell open as he walked closer to the bed. She could clearly see many interesting parts of his naked body with each step he took.

His eyes were burning with an intense desire he seemed almost proud to display.

“Alas, no man ever enters my chamber, sir. You are the first.”

“A man likes knowing he is the first. And the last.”

Faith inhaled sharply. What was he saying? Was this Griffin's way of telling her that he had finally truly forgiven her for the deception of their marriage?

She looked into his eyes, desperately searching for the answer. “You are the
only
man in my life. And shall remain so, until death parts us from this world.”

Faith saw the flash of surprise in his face that was quickly followed by a look of pleasure.

“The memory of you coming to my bed last night has warmed me, tortured me, for the entire day. So I thought to return the favor by coming to your bed.” He lowered his voice to a husky caress. “Am I welcomed?”

Her body came alive at his question, the yearning almost unbearable. Wordlessly, Faith threw back the coverlet and shifted to the edge of the bed. Creating a place, a proper place for her husband.

When he came near, she slid her arms around his neck and pulled him down beside her. They were both breathing quickly, both very much aware of each other. They came together easily, with none of the frantic urgency of last night, but with all of the heat and moisture and primal excitement.

Feeling Griffin's weight atop her brought a true sense of completion to her soul. Faith held him close as he thrust deep inside her body, the fullness no longer a strange feeling.

With a new sense of freedom, Faith joyfully put her heart and soul into their mating, lifting her body toward his as he pushed and stretched her to the limits of sensation.

A shattering, rolling release suddenly overtook her. She groaned, moving her body restlessly from side to side as it spun out of control.

“Let go.” His tongue dipped to touch hers.

Faith nearly screamed as she felt the passion starting to consume her. Yet something was missing.

“You,” she whispered hoarsely. “I want you to come with me.” Determined, she squeezed her inner muscles around the heat of the fullness that was deep inside her. Once. Twice.

“Faith.”

His voice was a strained whisper, a bid for control that was quickly lost. Faith bucked beneath him, heard him shout, felt him shudder, felt the warmth of his seed spill inside her.

Slowly, their breathing returned to normal. The weight above her shifted and moved. Faith felt Griffin gently disengage himself and settle beside her. Magnanimously, she gave him the larger of the feather pillows, then snuggled contentedly against his solid chest. Within minutes, a thoroughly delightful, sated sleep claimed her.

“It has been a fine harvest, my lady,” Joshua Chambers, steward of Mayfair Manor said with obvious pride. He removed the gold wire-rim spectacles he wore when reading and placed them on the desk. “If the wool merchant in Bristol pays us market price for the fleece that was shorn this past spring, our profits will exceed all expectations.”

“Truly?” Faith reached for the ledger eagerly and scanned the rows of neatly penned entries. “I worried mightily that I was depleting Mayfair Manor's resources this summer to supplement the flagging funds of Hawthorne Castle. I'm glad to know Mayfair can hold its own.”

The steward's chest puffed out with pride. “Mayfair can outshine Hawthorne any day in both production and profit.”

“I'm sure that it can.” Faith squinted at the ledger page. “However, 'tis my hope that one day
both
estates can boast of similar profitable circumstances. Then we shall truly feel successful.”

“In time I suppose that is possible.” Mr. Chambers's pudgy jowls sagged and some of the eagerness left his face. “I know it is not my place to criticize, but Hawthorne has been mismanaged for years. The old viscount had no less than four different stewards in ten years and not one of them was a man who took great effort or pride in his position.

“Fertile fields were left unplowed while other land was seriously overplanted, depleting the soil of all its natural richness. Healthy livestock was mixed in with ailing animals, and the dairy has long been inefficiently run. That will all take time to set to rights.”

“I am very aware of the various problems,” Faith said quietly. “As is my husband. They shall be addressed, and solved.” She stood to signal the end of the meeting and tugged on her riding gloves. “In the meantime, I must once again commend you for an outstanding job. Your efforts have not gone unnoticed, Mr. Chambers, nor shall they go unrewarded.”

The delight returned to the steward's face. “ 'Tis my privilege to serve you, my lady. I ask for no additional thanks or rewards.”

“That only makes you all the more deserving,” Faith replied truthfully. She pulled a small, fat leather pouch bulging with coins from the pocket of her cloak and pressed it into the steward's hand.

“ 'Tis too much!” Mr. Chambers protested when he saw the size and felt the weight of the purse.

“You have earned every coin,” Faith insisted, pleased that she was able to afford this well-deserved bonus.

Mr. Chambers had done an excellent job, and she was grateful for all his hard work. The profits from Mayfair had enabled her to provide much-needed funds for Griffin to use in restoring Hawthorne Castle. At least in that aspect of their marriage she had not played the viscount false.

Faith's father had taught her it was important to reward a man's efforts and loyalty. She took that advice firmly to heart, knowing she would need Mr. Chambers's skill and devotion if Mayfair Manor was to continue being a profitable venture, especially since she was unable to participate in the daily decision making.

In the courtyard an eager stable hand helped her mount her horse, and Faith realized how odd it felt coming to the manor as a visitor. This had been her home all of her life and she still felt a strong emotional attachment to the place and to all the people who worked there. But it was now a part of her past, not the focus of her future.

The crisp wind of the late autumn day made for an invigorating ride, but Faith took her time on the journey back, enjoying the scenery. She passed several well-tended farms, with pens filled with fat, healthy livestock and fields recently harvested of the rich crops of wheat and rye.

She saw several picturesque stone cottages with thatched roofs fronted by small flower gardens boasting a few late blooms on their vines. Wisps of smoke from the chimneys curling into the bright blue sky had Faith imagining the females of the house gathered around the warmth of the kitchen preparing the noontime meal.

It was difficult not to notice the difference in the condition of the tenant farms when she ventured from the land of Mayfair Manor to the viscount's estate. Here the dwellings were marred by worn-looking roofs, rusting gate hinges, fences tilted askew, and missing posts.

But it wasn't only the property that was run-down. Faith had heard grumblings, too, of the discontentedness of many of the tenants. Over the years they had endured inflated rents and reduced wages and felt cheated by their noble landlord.

Many had been on the verge of open rebellion when Griffin arrived home to claim his inheritance. They waited now with a jaundiced eye to see if the new master would be like the old, reserving judgment until they were forced to voice their discord.

Faith knew this concerned Griffin greatly. He remarked more than once that he was a sailor, not a farmer. But he had put forth considerable effort to improve the conditions of his tenant farmers, reducing rents for those in greatest need, supplying tools and seeds to those who had shown real ambition.

It was a start, albeit a small one. Faith could not fail to notice that even the greetings she received from the farmers of Griffin's estate were markedly different than those of Mayfair Manor. Heads ducking, eyes shifting away, voices muttering uneasily when they spoke. It was clear they had not yet decided about her, either.

Still, Faith would not be discouraged. She smiled with warmth and encouragement at everyone she met, proud that she was able to address each person by name. She hoped soon these good people would enjoy the same comfort and security as those who toiled at the manor, and she vowed to do all she could to make that come to pass.

Her mind was so occupied with the plight of Griffin's tenants that Faith failed to notice the thick, heavy tree roots in her path until her sturdy mare stumbled over them, catching its hoof in a deep rut.

Faith slid hastily from her saddle. Leaning close, she began to rub the mare's legs, crooning soft words of comfort as she examined the injury.

She must have touched a particularly tender spot, for the animal suddenly reared. Faith clung tightly to the reins, speaking again in low tones to calm the frightened beast.

“Oh, now I've done it. You poor thing.” Faith patted the mare soothingly. “I hope you are not in great pain.”

With a worried sigh she led the horse slowly down the path. Turning to watch the animal's progress, Faith could immediately see the mare favoring the injured leg.

Faith sighed again. She was at least three miles from the manor, in a secluded area. She was not expected back home until later in the afternoon. It would take hours before someone realized she had not returned home and send out a party to search for her.

Knowing there was no choice, Faith tugged gently on the reins, intending to slowly lead the animal home, all the while hoping that she had caused no permanent damage to the gentle mare. Thankfully, by the time she reached the clearing, a full hour later, the horse was no longer limping. Faith's own legs were tired and she was hot and sweaty, but she would not risk riding the horse.

She crested the hill of Georgie's favorite lake. The tranquil spot looked restful and inviting. Faith decided she would relax for a few minutes by the water's edge. Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye she spied a figure racing down the slope toward the water.

“Hello. Hello,” Georgie called. He lifted his arms above his head and waved them excitedly in the air.

Faith smiled and waved back. The child ran straight to her, and Faith bent down to catch him, savoring the feel of his exuberant hug. He smelled like sunshine and freshness and little boy.

“What a delightful surprise to find you here. But surely you haven't come all this way on your own, Georgie?”

“Father is with me.”

Faith raised her head and caught sight of the viscount casually strolling toward them. He was dressed in a tan coat and buff breeches. Tall, black Hessian boots encased the sculpted muscles of his powerful legs. He looked relaxed and amused and utterly divine.

Faith's mouth tightened. Physical awareness of him started her heart thudding at an erratic pace. The impact of his masculine beauty struck hard at her senses. She knew it would never happen, yet she wondered longingly what it would feel like if he greeted her with the same exuberant embrace his son had.

“Why were you walking your horse?” Griffin asked as he drew nearer. “Is something wrong?”

“The mare stumbled over some thick tree roots and I feared she had badly injured herself. It seemed safer not to add the extra burden of my weight.”

“You haven't been eating all that many of Cook's fine pastries,” Griffin said, his teeth flashing in a grin. “Or have you been sneaking down to the kitchens late at night when the rest of the household is asleep?”

“I am in my bed each night, husband,” Faith said with exaggerated innocence. “As you well know.”

“It has been my delight to know,” he added in a husky whisper. “For I greatly enjoy sharing that bed with you.”

His widening grin brought a blush to Faith's cheeks and she quickly forgave him for not greeting her with an affectionate hug. “You are a fair distance from the house,” she remarked. “Are you on an errand or out for a walk?”

Griffin's smile deepened. “Georgie and I are out on an adventure. We have abandoned our work for an afternoon of fishing.” The viscount tapped the wooden poles he carried on his shoulder. He removed the shorter one and held it out to his son. “All you need to do is to fill your bucket with a few wiggly worms and then you will be ready to get started.”

The boy reached down and scooped up the bucket he had dropped before embracing Faith. “Shall I dig some extra worms for you to use, Papa?” Georgie asked, his eyes bright.

The viscount appeared to consider the question before answering. “A good fisherman should always get his own bait, but I think in this case it would be permissible for you to do it for me.”

“Hooray!” Georgie nodded his head vigorously. “Then you can take the fish from my line when I catch them.”

The child leaped away in delight. Leaning closer, Griffin whispered in Faith's ear, “Georgie will never admit it, but he hates touching the fish when they are dangling helplessly from the line. I think he feels bad that they have been captured. He always tells me they are too small to eat and I should toss them back in the lake.”

“He is such a sensitive little boy,” Faith said softly. “Too kindhearted to bear seeing the poor creatures perish, even on his dinner plate. We shall have a difficult time of it when he realizes bacon comes from pigs. It's his favorite food.”

“That certainly won't be a pleasant conversation,” Griffin agreed.

The couple shifted their attention to Faith's horse. Griffin handed off the other pole to her, then bent down and carefully examined the mare's leg. Sunlight glistened in his hair, highlighting its natural shine. The sight brought on an unexplained rush of emotion, and Faith wished she possessed the confidence to lower her hand and run her fingers tenderly through his dark locks.

“Do you think she is badly injured?” Faith asked when Griffin finished his examination.

The viscount shook his head and took back his fishing pole. “It doesn't seem too serious, but I'm glad you decided not to ride her. I'll make sure Higgins takes a look at that leg the moment we return. He has a real way with animals and I trust his judgment.”

Faith nodded in agreement, relieved that Griffin had found no further injuries. The viscount took up the reins and began to carefully lead the horse down the shallow hill. Faith joined him.

She put her hand on his arm when they approached the lake. “I think my poor mare needs a cool drink,” Faith said. “Thanks to the dust in the road, my throat feels particularly parched, so she must be feeling the same.”

The viscount brought the horse to the edge of the water and the mare immediately started lapping noisily. When the animal had drunk her fill, he led the mare to a shady area and knotted the reins around a sturdy tree trunk.

Then he turned to his wife and produced two small flasks from his coat pocket. “You are in luck today, my lady. I have brought along some refreshments. Cider for Georgie and something that packs a bit more of a punch for me.” The viscount held up his bounty. “Which do you prefer?”

“Cider will be fine,” Faith said. She tugged off her riding gloves and accepted the viscount's offering.

Griffin passed her the flask with an apologetic grin. “I'm afraid you'll have to swill it. Georgie insisted that would be easiest and pulled a prickly face when Cook suggested we pack a proper picnic with jugs of refreshment, plates, cups, and napkins.”

“I understand. Picnics with linen napkins are for young ladies. And glasses are far too civilized for two rugged fishermen,” Faith said, removing her bonnet. She shoved a damp strand of hair out of her eye, tipped the flask to her lips, and took a long swallow.

Griffin's eyes were smiling when she returned the flask. “What is wrong?” Faith ran the back of her hand across her mouth, then glanced hastily down at her bodice and skirt. “Is cider dribbling down my chin? Have I spilled some on my habit?”

“No, Faith. I was merely observing your actions.” Griffin moved closer. His masculine scent enveloped her, and the urge to embrace him heightened. “You drink with such gusto. It is quite an extraordinary sight.”

“Ah, unladylike gusto.” She preened shamelessly before him. “Do you find it offensive, sir?”

“Just the opposite. I find it invigorating. I like passion in my women.”

Faith's heart skipped.
Is that what I am? His woman?
She looked into his hot, silvery eyes and felt herself starting to melt. Perhaps she was finally succeeding in closing the distance between them.