The Viscount and the Virgin (5 page)

‘A fate worse than death,' Monty agreed, only half joking. ‘My brothers have seen off three of the poor creatures since I sold out, and the Lord alone knows how many they dispatched before that!'

‘Midge would be wonderful with boys like your brothers, I should think. Probably thoroughly enjoy taking 'em birds—nesting. That's half the problem. Grew up following us around like a little shadow… well, you know that's how she got her nickname. Nick said she was like a cloud of midges you just couldn't shift no matter how many times you swatted them away!' He chuckled. ‘Plucky little thing, she was. Gerry said she must have rubber bones. Why, when I think of the trees she fell out of, and the horses she fell off and the streams she fell into…and never cried! That was why, when she burst into tears all over me yesterday…well, it shook me up, I can tell you.'

Monty poured himself a brandy, and took the chair opposite Rick's.

‘Well, I am not going to let her become a governess. Going to find her a husband myself! That is why I came to you.'

‘Indeed?' said Monty coldly.

‘Well, her aunt's not going to succeed, not by throw
ing her in the way of society types who want a wife to be a decoration to hang off their arm.'

‘I take it you are warning me that Midge is not very decorative.'

Rick looked affronted. ‘She is pretty enough. In her own way. It is just that she doesn't go in for all that fluttery feminine nonsense. You know, batting her eye lashes and sighing up at you and so forth. She would never do anything that smacks of in sincerity. Straight as a die, she is.'

‘Let me get this straight,' said Monty. ‘She has no dowry to speak of, she is past the first flush of her youth, and is happier climbing trees than dancing quadrilles. Is that it?'

Rick grinned. ‘That just about sums her up!' Then his expression grew serious. ‘Monty, you have been in town for a while now. You know who is about. And you said you were bored. Well, this will give you some thing worth while to do. Dammit, Monty, you know what a warm, sweet, loving girl she is. We need to find her someone who will appreciate her for what she is.'

Monty gave him a peculiar look.

‘Are you suggesting that I should fill the role?'

‘You!' Rick's jaw dropped. ‘Absolutely not! Not now you've sold out. A bit above our touch now you've stepped into your brother's shoes. Your family will want you to marry somebody with money and connections, won't they? And I'm sure you will be holding out for a diamond of the first water. All Midge has to offer any man is a warm heart. No, no, the kind of fellow that would suit Midge would be a serving officer. You would never hear her complaining about the hard ships of following the drum. She would just fling herself into the
role of taking care of her house hold on the march, and relish every challenge.'

Some thing about the set of Monty's shoulders altered. ‘Forgive me. For a moment I thought you were trying to set me up with your sister.'

Rick burst out laughing.

Monty grinned sheepishly. ‘I know. It is just that recently, I have begun to feel…' he shivered ‘…hunted. You have no idea the lengths some females will go to in order to hook a viscount on their line. The most mousy, unkempt of creatures fling them selves in my path…'

Rick looked very pointedly at Monty's silk knee breeches, then at the rings that sparkled from almost every finger. ‘If you will dress so extravagantly, what can you expect?'

‘Oh—' his expression soured ‘—for people to show their true colours, of course.'

Monty had still been seething from the inter view he had endured with his father, when he had first arrived in town. He had spent months trying to prove that he was well able to take up his position as his father's heir. But nothing he did or said had made any difference. Nor would his father listen to a word of criticism against the steward, who was bleeding the tenants dry to line his own pockets. So far as he could see, it would take only one more bad harvest to have the lot of them rising up in protest at their lot.

‘You have spent too long abroad.' The earl had sneered when he had voiced his concerns. ‘This is En gland, not revolutionary France. Your brother knew these people, and he never noticed anything amiss.'

His older brother had been cut from the same cloth as his father, though, that was the trouble. Piers had been
indulged and pampered from the day of his birth. He felt the whole world existed only to provide his pleasures, so saw nothing wrong with letting his tenants endure hardship, so long as the rents that funded his luxurious life style came in on time.

‘You would do better to go up to town to get yourself a wife. It is heirs I need from you, not interference in the management of my estates!'

He had never felt so worth less in his life.

And it might have been perverse of him, but his reception in town had made him feel ten times worse. People knew he had a title and wealth, and that was all they cared about. Dandies aped every ridiculous kick of fashion he instigated. The more jewellery he wore, the more the women's eyes lit up. The more obnoxiously he behaved, the more they fawned round him, until it was hard to know who he despised more: them or himself. It was only with an effort that he managed to shake off the feelings of disgust with himself—and the world in general—and say to Rick, ‘Will you dine with me before coming on to Lady Carteret's rout? A tedious affair, but for several reasons, I am obliged to go. Once I have shown my face, we can go on to Limmer's.'

‘Why not?' Rick replied, draining his glass and setting it down on the table. ‘I have no other engagements tonight. And I have heard you keep an excellent cook.'

‘It is one of the few benefits of civilian life,' agreed Monty, ‘that I can now have as much to eat as I want, as often as I want.'

‘Then let us get started, Monty,' said Rick. ‘Or am I being presumptuous? Do I need to
My Lord
you these days?'

Monty shuddered eloquently. ‘You cannot believe how glad I am to have somebody in town who knows me as Monty. Whenever anybody calls me by my title, I get the urge to turn round to see if my brother has walked into the room. And I find myself going to greater and greater lengths to demonstrate that I am nothing like the former Viscount Mildenhall.'

‘So that explains why you are playing the dandy these days.' Rick grinned, eyeing his friend's brocaded waistcoat. ‘Can't tell you how relieved I am. Was beginning to think I didn't know you any more!'

‘Some times, lately,' he admitted, thinking of how very tempted he had been by that chit who had thrown her drink over him, ‘I hardly know myself.'

If it had been on just that one occasion, he could have put it down to a momentary aberration. But since that night, he always knew when she was at any function he attended. The nape of his neck would prickle, and he would turn and find those knowing eyes fixed on him, and instead of feeling the contempt for her that her behaviour deserved, he would want to stalk across the room, free all that luxuriant hair from the pins that were scarcely restraining it, yank her into his arms and yield to the temptation of those seductively parted lips. He was beginning to think she, or some woman like her, could offer him a temporary respite from his torment. If he could just bury himself in that tempting little morsel for an hour or two… But then what?

By making such a girl his mistress, he would only prove his father right. Only a worth less rogue would ruin a girl from his own class.

Even if she was asking for it.

‘N
ow, Imogen, I need hardly tell you that it is quite a feather in your cap to receive an invitation to Lady Carteret's. Nor how important it is that you do absolutely nothing to raise eyebrows tonight.'

‘No, Aunt,' replied Imogen meekly.

She was quite sure she would have no problem at all tonight affecting the slightly bored expression that was de rigueur for young ladies. She
would
be bored! Nobody talked about anything but dresses, and who was the latest arrival in town and how much money they had.

How on earth her aunt expected her to find out enough about a man to decide she wanted to marry him, when nobody spoke about anything that mattered, she had no idea!

As soon as they entered the house, Imogen under stood why she had been invited. Lady Carteret was obviously one of those women who would enjoy boasting that her event had become a sad crush, even though the Season
had not yet properly begun. The rooms were already crowded and hot, but since it was only just February, nobody dreamed of opening any windows. All she could do was ply her fan as energetically as she dared.

‘Midge!' cried a beloved voice, making her glance up from her perusal of her so-far-empty dance card. ‘I thought it was you! My, don't you look splendid!'

Imogen ignored the reference to her appearance, which was entirely due to her aunt's generosity and good taste. Tonight's white gown, the debutante's uniform, had been lifted above the ordinary by the addition of a silver gauze over dress. The material was so delicate that Imogen was scared to sit down, never mind fling her arms round her brother, which was what she really wanted to do.

‘Oh, Rick! How glad I am to see you.' She smiled. ‘You won't mind dancing with me, just the once, will you?'

‘I should love to,' he replied gallantly, ‘And I am quite sure Monty will do the same. He is here to night, you know. That is how I come to be mixing in such exalted company. Hanging on his coat-tails!'

‘Really?' Imogen's heart lifted still further at the prospect of finally coming face-to-face with her brother's friend.

‘Really,' Rick assured her. He scanned the crowded room rapidly, a frown darkening his features. ‘Can't think where he has got to, though. Was stood just over there a minute or so ago. Tell you what, Midge, you wait here, while I go and find him.'

‘Even better, Rick, why don't I go and wait out on the terrace and you can bring him to me there. I need some fresh air.'

‘Yes, dashed stuffy in here,' he agreed, running his finger round the inside of his rigid stock. ‘Tell you what, I will fetch you a glass of champagne, while I am at it. In fact, that is probably where Monty's gone—to get a drink. He was complaining about the crush and the heat himself.'

Imogen smiled at the sight of Rick shouldering his way through the throng. It was amazing how heartening it was to have a gentleman eager to fetch her a drink. And to know there was another one, to whom she would shortly be introduced, who was already kindly disposed towards her.

Having enquired of a footman how she could make her way outside, she ambled along the corridor that led to the back of the house, picturing to herself what Monty would look like. He would be neatly and soberly dressed, she was sure. Even though he was now quite well off, according to Rick, she could not see a man who had been a serving soldier ever leaning towards dandyism. She pushed open the door that led outside, deciding he would definitely be slightly portly by now. After the deprivations of campaigning, he would probably make the most of having as much food as he wanted. She would not mind that at all. He would be…cuddly, she decided, trailing her way dreamily across the flag stones to rest her hands on the balustrade. He might have a limp, given the number of times he had been wounded. Not, of course that Rick had ever told her the specific nature of any of those wounds. But he would definitely have scars upon his person. He might be a little self-conscious about them. But she would tell him they did not make him any less attractive to her. She would tell him they were his badges of courage…

A slight movement from the garden below alerted her to the fact she was not alone outside.

‘Why, if it isn't the girl who ambushed me with a champagne glass,' a hated voice drawled, as Viscount Mildenhall emerged from the shadows and made his way up the steps to her side. ‘How very per sis tent you are.'

‘Per sis tent? Oh!' She gasped as it dawned on her that the viscount had assumed she had come outside in pursuit of him. ‘How dare you!'

‘I dare because women like you will stop at nothing!' He came right up to her, his eyes flashing green fire. ‘Set up one more scene like this, just one—'

‘I have not set up any scene, you arrogant pig! Are you so vain you think the whole world revolves around you?'

‘So, what
is
your excuse for coming out here, not two seconds after I left the ballroom?' He laughed mockingly. ‘Discovered that you show to advantage in moonlight, have you? But it is too late to attempt to charm me with those starry eyes and that dreamy air. You may think you look like some kind of romantic vision in silver tissue, Miss Hebden. But I have seen you watching me with a calculating gleam in your eyes—'

The only thing she had been calculating was how to right the wrong impression he had gained of her. But since her drive with Rick, she had decided she no longer cared what the arrogant fop thought of her.

‘I wanted,' she replied, drawing herself up to her full height, ‘to get some fresh air. If I looked starry-eyed, it was because I was thinking of another gentleman. Had I known
you
were out here, it would have been the last place I would have come. All you have to do, if you do
not wish to remain in my presence, is to return to the ballroom.'

He took one pace in the direction of the doors, then stopped and whirled back to her with a face like thunder.

‘And I suppose you will come in right behind me, with your gown disarrayed, telling tales that I have taken advantage of you. Hoping to force my hand…' The only way Miss Hebden was going to get a husband was by utilising such unscrupulous means. It infuriated him to think she had made him her target. That she had somehow sensed, in spite of the pains he had taken to conceal it, that she might have some chance of success. Because, even though he despised her methods, he could not deny that she was never very far from his thoughts. And that those thoughts were, in variably, highly salacious.

Imogen had taken all she could stand. The accusation, coupled with the expression of contempt on his face was like a bellows, fanning her simmering anti pa thy into searing flame. She lashed out at him, her open palm cracking across his cheek with a noise like a whiplash.

It silenced him, but only for a second. ‘You vicious little…' His hand went to his reddening cheek. ‘You will pay for that.'

Before she could make a move to stop him, Viscount Mildenhall pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Her cry of protest was swallowed under the in sis tent pressure of his mouth. His arms clamped her own to her sides, so that although she struggled with all her might, she was quite unable to break his hold.

At first she was far too angry to feel scared. Then after only a few seconds, she discovered that there was
some thing wickedly fascinating about being kissed, thoroughly kissed, by an utterly determined man. She stopped struggling as some essential, deeply buried aspect of her femininity came leaping to life in acknowledgement of his masculinity. Her lips softened and parted. With a low growl, Viscount Mildenhall plunged his tongue into her mouth, taking the experience onto a whole new level.

Her mind reeled. Her heart pounded. Her stomach did an excited little flip.

And Viscount Mildenhall, sensing her capitulation, brought one hand round to the front of her gown and cupped her breast.

His audacity shocked her.

‘What are you—' She gasped, her eyes widening in dismay. ‘You cannot—'

‘It is what women who pursue men get,' he sneered. ‘Exactly what they deserve. Since the night you made a play for me at Mrs Leeming's, I have made it my business to find out about you. Did you know that men are making wagers about how long it will be before you follow—' he delved inside her bodice ‘—in your mother's foot steps?'

Then he fastened his lips to her neck.

Imogen felt as though she was split ting in two.

She hated the scathing way he had spoken of her mother. She knew the casual way he was fondling her breast, as though she was a light skirt, was grossly insulting.

Yet the sensuality of that caress was sending rivers of desire coursing through her veins. Her body wanted to arch into his, entwine itself around him.

‘Please, please,' she heard herself moaning. ‘Kiss me again.'

The viscount raised his head and smiled at her. With such contempt it roused what remained of her pride.

When he lowered his mouth to take the kiss she had begged for, she bit him.

‘What the—!' He reared back, and Imogen, who had been taught well by Rick, struck him in the face, first with her right fist, and then her left.

There had not been room for her to take a really good back swing. It was shock, she expected, that sent him reeling back wards. And a stroke of luck that his shoulder slammed into an ornamental urn—that turned out to be full of sandy loam. Which cascaded all over him as it rocked on its plinth.

She made good her escape while he was still struggling to prevent it from toppling onto the flags below the terrace.

She had only just got inside when she careered full tilt into Rick, who had a glass of champagne in each hand. He did not spill a single drop when she crashed into him, she noted somewhat hysterically as she clung to him. He merely raised his arms in the air, absorbing the impact of her body with a slight grunt.

She felt him turn and put the drinks down, then put his arms round her as he asked, ‘What the devil has happened?' He put her from himself, then looked down at her with concern. His eyes snagged on the front of her gown, and narrowed. ‘Has some man tried to take advantage of you?'

For the first time, Imogen noticed that the flimsy material was torn. It must have happened when she wrestled herself out of the viscount's hold.

His face darkened. ‘I shall kill him,' he growled, making for the outside door.

‘No, Rick! Don't say such a thing!' She grabbed his arm and hauled him round. ‘If you get into a fight over this, everyone will say I am just like my mother, luring good men to their doom! Don't you see?'

His eyes flicked from her to the door and back again.

‘Dammit, Midge,' he growled, ‘it's my job to bring the fellow to book.'

‘No,' she countered. ‘It is your job to protect me. And you won't do that by making a fuss about… about…' she swallowed down her outraged pride ‘…a mere trifle. All you will do is stir up even more gossip.'

She glanced over her shoulder then, fearful that the viscount would come storming into the house after her. He would be bound to act in such a way that nothing she could say would stop Rick from murdering him!

‘It won't be just my chances for a good marriage I will lose. I won't even be able to get employment in a respectable house hold. Oh, please, Rick, can you not just take me home and pretend this never happened?'

He reached out and, with one gloved finger, touched a spot on her cheek.

‘I say, is that blood?' he hissed through gritted teeth. ‘If the fellow has really hurt you, Midge, no matter what you think, I will have to call him out!'

‘Blood?' She blinked, bewildered for a second. ‘Oh, I should think that is probably his. I bit him.'

‘You…bit him?' Rick looked startled.

‘Yes, and then I hit him, both hands, just as you taught me. One—two!' She mimed the punches for his edification.

He looked a little mollified. ‘Don't suppose you laid him out, by any chance?'

‘No,' she admitted ruefully. ‘Though I have put a mark or two on his face, and ruined his coat.' She remembered the look on his face when soil had rained down on him, and couldn't help smiling. She had hit his most sensitive spot. His vanity. No wonder he had not come indoors yet. He would not want anyone to see him covered in dirt!

She came out of her daze to find Rick rearranging her shawl so that it concealed her torn bodice.

‘Come on then,' he said, putting one arm comfortingly about her shoulders. ‘I shall take you home.'

It was only then that she realized she was going to have to give an excuse for leaving so suddenly.

‘My aunt!' she cried, stopping dead in her tracks. ‘I cannot go back into the ballroom looking like this!'

‘Don't you worry,' Rick said, ushering her inexorably along the corridor that led towards the front hall.

‘I shall tell her you have a headache or some thing. Females are always falling ill at events like this, aren't they?' Rick pressed Imogen into a chair, and strode across to a footman who was eyeing them indolently. ‘Hi, you, fellow! Take a message to Lady Callandar, will you? Tell her I've had to take Miss Hebden home. Sudden in disposition.' He lowered his voice. ‘And tell Viscount Mildenhall I will catch up with him later, at Limmer's. Had to escort my sister home.'

‘Lady Callandar that Miss Hebden is in disposed,' repeated the footman, pocketing the coin Rick pressed into his palm. ‘And Viscount Mildenhall that you will be at Limmer's, after taking your sister home.'

Satisfied he had the message correct, Rick hurried back to Imogen's side.

She barely registered him shepherding her out of the front door and into a waiting cab.

Oh, how right her mother had been to warn her to beware of exchanging furtive kisses with rakes by moon light! She hated the viscount. She really did. And yet, when he had swept her into his arms, the emotion that had been up per most had not been revulsion at all. But excitement.