Seven Wicked Nights (29 page)

Helen laughed. “How right she is! Thank you, Your Grace.” She bobbed a curtsey and hurried from the room, leaving her parents staring after her in open-mouthed astonishment.

Gareth faced them. “Sir George, we must discuss the marriage contract.”

“Er—yes. I suppose we must.” Sir George licked his lips. “My daughter tells me you no longer wish to marry her. That is breach, sir.”

Gareth arched one brow. “Do you intend to sue me?”

The baronet seemed to be scrambling for thoughts. “I must consider my options, sir. There was a very large settlement, you might recall—”

“Ah yes, the money that was to save you from penury, at least for a time. I have a strong suspicion it wouldn’t have lasted very long. You’re not a thrifty man, Sir George.”

To Cleo’s amazement her father turned pale. “A gentleman has expenses,” he protested. “But—but if you refuse to marry my daughter, I insist on satisfaction….”

“Oh, I intend to marry your daughter.” Gareth turned to look at Cleo, his dark eyes gleaming. “As soon as possible.”

For a moment her parents stared at him, uncomprehending. Then Millicent gasped and looked at Cleo. “You?” she whispered blankly. “Cleo, dearest—”

“You want
Cleo?
” Sir George seemed to realize how appalled he sounded, and rushed on. “That is—it’s such a shock, Your Grace. She’s nothing at all like Helen—”

“I know,” Gareth said, still watching Cleo with such heat in his gaze, she found herself blushing—and smiling so happily, her cheeks hurt. “And she suits me perfectly.”

“Oh.” The baronet seemed at a loss. “Well, then, I suppose I could give my consent….”

“Your consent?” Gareth turned back to him. “I haven’t come to ask for your consent. Cleo is an independent woman of legal age. Her consent is all I need.” He winked at her. “Will you still have me, darling?”

“You know I will,” she told him, her pulse speeding up as she remembered having him already, up against his study door.

There was another moment of shocked silence. “Cleo,” said Millicent, her voice trembling. “Cleo, darling, you’ll be a duchess.”

Cleo tore her eyes off Gareth and faced her mother. “I never asked for that, but since I love a duke, I suppose I shall have to endure it.”

Millicent blinked, then tittered nervously. “Don’t be silly, dear! You’re very fortunate….”

“I am,” she replied, giving up any pretense of not staring at Gareth with her heart in her eyes. “Even though he’s a duke.”

Her parents froze. Gareth laughed. “A duke in love.” He glanced at the older couple. “I do apologize for any fright you might have felt when Helen went missing. I believe she was worried that her choice wouldn’t be accepted calmly and reasonably, for some reason.” Sir George frowned, Gareth’s dry tone obviously striking home, but Millicent was too anxious to please.

“Helen’s always been such a good girl! I don’t know what got into her, Your Grace.”

“Blair is an excellent man, and he’s as deeply in love with her as she is with him,” Gareth went on. “I wish them every happiness.”

“And you…. And Cleo….” Millicent made a helpless motion, still looking dazed. “You really want to marry Cleo?”

“Desperately.” He put out his hand, and Cleo let him draw her into his arm. And to think, just a few hours ago she’d thought today would be the worst of her life….

Her father cleared his throat. “But the settlements….”

“You may have the money,” said Gareth, gazing down at Cleo with a smile. “You may even keep the land. She’s all I want.”

There was a long moment of silence. “My,” said Millicent blankly. “Oh my.” She mustered a smile for Cleo. “You’ll be mistress of Kingstag Castle, dear.”

Cleo closed her eyes. That was the last thing she wanted to hear about. Good Lord, could her mother think of anything else?

“Indeed she will be, but I think her shop will have prepared her quite well for it.” Gareth grinned. “Directing housemaids and gardeners can’t be much different from directing clerks, can it, darling?”

A thought struck her. “What shall I do with the shop?” she asked him. “I can’t very well run it from here.”

He shrugged. “Whatever you like. Sell it, or keep it and hire a manager. I do hope you’ll show it to me, though. My sisters will never let me hear the end of it if I don’t take them to visit the finest, largest draper’s shop in Melchester.” Ignoring the way her parents were now gaping at them both, he brushed a loose wisp of hair back from her face. “Now, change out of this ghastly dress.”

She struggled to keep back a laugh, wondering if her parents had noticed the damage Gareth had inflicted upon the garment.

“But Your Grace,” said Millicent hesitantly. She was wringing her handkerchief and looked quite dazed. Sir George, on the other hand, looked as though he’d be sick at any moment. “What about the wedding?”

Gareth shrugged. “My mother has already set out for the church. She’ll explain as much as necessary. I suggest you and Sir George compose yourself into gracious, even joyous, approval before she and the other guests return to the house.” He gave her a very ducal stare. “If there is any scandal attached to this morning’s events, I will hold you directly responsible. My mother couldn’t have been happier when I told her how much I love Cleo, and how dearly James loves Helen.”

“Oh,” said Millicent again, in a very small voice. “Yes—yes, of course, Your Grace.”

“Excellent.” Still holding Cleo’s hand, he turned and walked out of the room. In the corridor, the door barely closed behind them, he took her face in his hands and kissed her. “Thank God that’s over,” he murmured between kisses. “We can get on with more enjoyable things.”

She laughed, winding her arms around his neck even though they were in full view of anyone coming along the corridor. Although, now that she thought about it, most of the guests would be already at the church for a wedding that wouldn’t happen. They very nearly had Kingstag Castle to themselves. “Such as?”

His eyes gleamed. “This.” He kissed her again. “And escape. I’ve never been more desperate to get out of this house and spend a day at idle pleasure.”

Her breath caught. “Oh? Then perhaps … perhaps you might finally show me the grotto. I hear it’s not to be missed … and quite private.”

Gareth’s mouth crooked in his endearing half-smile. “Anything—and everything—you want, my darling. Today and forever after.”

About Caroline

Caroline Linden earned a math degree from Harvard University and wrote computer code before discovering that writing fiction was far more fun. Her books have won the NEC-RWA Reader’s Choice Beanpot Award, the Daphne du Maurier Award, and RWA’s RITA Award. If you’d like to be notified when her next book is available, visit her
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This novella was originally published in
At the Duke’s Wedding
, a collection of stories set at the Duke of Wessex’s wedding and starring Jack Willoughy, the Earl of Bruton, Lord Everett, and of course Sophronia and Hippolyta.

Other Books by Caroline

The Scandals Series

Love and Other Scandals

It Takes a Scandal

Love in the Time of Scandal
— May 2015
 

The Truth About the Duke Series

I Love the Earl

One Night in London

Blame It on Bath

The Way to a Duke’s Heart
 

The anthology featuring
When I Met my Duchess

At the Duke’s Wedding
 

The Bow St. Spies Series

A View to a Kiss

For Your Arms Only

You Only Love Once
 

The Reece Family Series

What a Gentleman Wants

What a Rogue Desires

A Rake’s Guide to Seduction
 

Other Novels

What a Woman Needs
 

Short Stories

Like None Other

Written in my Heart

A Note to Readers

This novella was my very first published work, and I’m delighted to make it available again for any readers who might have missed it.

The story was originally published in May 2009 under the title
The Legend of the Werestag
. I know, I know. It’s the weirdest title ever! At the time, I was a new author and hoped to catch attention through the sheer strangeness of it. But this is not, and never has been, a paranormal romance—just a light-hearted, sexy Regency romance with a few twists on gothic novels. The new title,
How to Catch a Wild Viscount
, better captures that spirit.

Even years and years after writing their story, I have such fondness in my heart for Luke and Cecily. I hope you enjoy their romance. As always, thanks for reading.

Tessa

Chapter One

Autumn, 1815

W
HEN THEY’D ENTERED
S
WINFORD
W
OODS
, laughing and making merry, passing around a flask of spirits “for warmth”, Denny had offered a forfeit to the first hunter to spot the beast. His last bottle of apple brandy from the pressing two years past.

Well, it would appear Cecily had won. It seemed doubtful, however, that she would survive to claim her prize.

Peering through the darkness, she studied her quarry. Dark, beady eyes regarded her around an elongated nose. The curved, lethal tip of a horn glittered in the moonlight. The creature’s rank, gamy odor assaulted her, even from several paces away.

The animal impatiently pawed the leaf-strewn forest floor, fixing her all the while with an offended glare. Good heavens, it was enormous. It must outweigh her by ten stone, at least.

She didn’t know what to do. Should she run? Climb a tree? Feign death and hope it lost interest and went away? She’d become separated from the others some ways back—stupid, stupid. Would they even hear her, if she called?

“Denny?” she ventured. The animal cocked its head, and Cecily cleared her throat to try again. “Portia? Mr. Brooke?”

The beast shuffled toward her, great slabs of muscle flexing beneath its hoary coat.

“Not you,” she told it, taking a quick step back. “Shoo. Go home.”

It bristled and snarled, revealing a narrow row of jagged teeth. Moonlight pooled like liquid around its massive jaw. Good Lord, the thing was
drooling
.

Truly panicked now, she drew a deep breath and called as loud as she could. “
Denny!
Help!
”

No answer.

Oh, Lord. She was going to be slaughtered, right here in the forest. Miss Cecily Hale, a lady of perfectly good breeding and respectable fortune, not to mention oft-complimented eyes, would die unmarried and childless because she’d wasted her youth pining for a man who didn’t love her. She would perish here in Swinford Woods, alone and heartbroken, having received only two kisses in the entirety of her three-and-twenty years. The second of which she could still taste on her lips, if she pressed them together tightly enough.

It tasted bitter.

Luke, you unforgivable cad. This is all your fault
.
If only you hadn’t—

A savage grunt snapped her back into the present. Cecily looked on in horror as the vile creature lowered its head, stamped the ground—

And began to charge.

God, she truly was going to die. Whose brilliant idea had it been, to go hunting a legendary beast in a cursed forest, by the light of a few meager torches and a three-quarters moon?

Oh, yes. Hers.