In Love with the Viscount (American Heiress Trilogy Book 3)

by Julianne MacLean

  Adele shifted slightly, making a cozy place for him between her thighs. She truly had no idea, not the faintest, of the peril she was placing herself in.

  Damien knew, however. He also knew with a crushing sense of frustration that it was time to stop. “Don’t do that, Adele,” he said. “Push me away. Now.”

  She tensed at the terse, commanding voice he used with her, and a second later she obeyed. Her hands moved to his chest, and she pushed.

  He rolled off her onto his back. “I’ll stay with you so that you can get some sleep,” he said, his voice low, “but don’t touch me again. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  He turned his back to her.

  He was angry. Not with her. She’d been through an ordeal and all she wanted was to be held.

  He was angry at the situation, and at himself for letting this go too far.

  He was also angry with Harold for sitting idly back with his head in the clouds, while Damien saved the day as he always did. Harold should have saved it himself this time or accompanied Damien. He knew how beautiful Adele was. He should not have expected Damien to be made of stone.

  Damien shut his eyes and vowed to keep his back to his cousin’s fiancée for the rest of the night. After tomorrow, if Adele wanted to be held, it would be Harold’s duty to fulfill. Damien would have his own problems to deal with. He would have to forget about Adele Wilson and find a way to live with the regret he would feel over his weakness and lack of honor tonight—just like the adulterous mother he didn’t care to remember.

  Adele woke gradually from the glorious oblivion of a long, deep slumber. Conscious thoughts began to form. It was morning. She had slept. But what a headache she had.

  She opened her eyes, blinked up at the ceiling and remembered suddenly that she had kissed Damien during the night, and he had lain on top of her in the bed. The memory roused her senses and she felt a heated fluttering in her belly, but the thrill was quickly crushed by a guilty awareness of what she had let herself do and what she had wanted. Thank heavens Damien had put a stop to things when he had.

  Regardless, she would never be the same again. She now possessed a more thorough understanding of the true basis of attraction between a man and a woman. She felt as if her eyes had been opened to a whole new world—a world of handsome men and their so-called charms. It was all about lips and hands and the sweet promise of physical pleasure. Clara had tried to explain all that to her on the ship, but Adele had not been willing to listen.

  Now she understood. She also understood Damien’s famous allure, and the reason he was able to have any woman of his choosing. There was something seductive in his eyes, in his body, and quite frankly, in everything about him. Last night, without lifting a finger, he had drawn her to him like a magnet, and she had been pulled in, much to her dismay. It was shocking to think that she had lost all sense of what was proper and hadn’t found the strength to ward off temptation.

  What would her parents think if they knew what she’d done? Could she blame it on the wine? No, it wasn’t just that. It was Damien.

  She glanced to her left and there he was. He sat in the rocking chair across the room, watching her with a dark, haunted expression in his eyes.

  Her heart began to pound with apprehension. They were going home that very day. She would see Harold, her mother, her sister. Last night suddenly seemed like a delirious dream, now laden with regret—a dream they could not erase.

  “I take full responsibility for what happened last night,” Damien said, sitting forward in the rocking chair. “You are an innocent, I am not. I knew what I was doing, and from my perspective, I took advantage of you. You should, therefore, harbor no guilt.”

  She sat up. “No, that’s not what happened. You did not take advantage of me. You were the one who put a stop to it. Remember? Therefore, you should harbor no guilt either.” She paused as she tried to make sense of the events. “I was frightened and exhausted. That’s all. You took care of me last night because I asked you to. I wanted you to.”

  He nodded reluctantly, rose from the chair and turned to the window.

  “Should we tell Harold?” she asked.

  He swung around immediately. “No. Definitely not. As far as I’m concerned, this never happened.”

  “But you and he are close,” Adele said. “Can you live with a secret between you? Because I’m not sure that I can, not if I am to become his wife.”

  Damien frowned at her. “You would hurt him just to ease your own guilt?”

  She swallowed uncomfortably. “No… I suppose I didn’t think of it that way.”

  “Well, that’s the way it is. Believe me. I’ve told you before that I am protective of my cousin, and I do not wish to see him hurt because of a temporary error in my judgment. We both had too much to drink, and I for one am willing to bear the guilt to spare him pain. Besides, this is not real life. Once we are back at Osulton Manor, things will be different, and I am certain beyond the shadow of a doubt that we will both deeply regret our indiscretion here and wish it never happened.”

  She nodded. “Yes. Of course. You’re absolutely right. It was a terrible mistake.”

  “It would be best for everyone,” he continued, “if you and I never spoke of this again, not even privately to each other. Especially privately. Such a rapport between us would not only be inappropriate, it would be....” He paused. “It would be dangerous. I’m a dangerous man, Adele. You think you are safe with me, but you’re not. I’m not like Harold. He should not have sent me to bring you home. I should not have been the one.”

  She stared at him, speechless. “No, he was right to send you. I am alive, aren’t I?”

  Damien walked to the door, shaking his head. “I will return to my room now and arrange for breakfast to be sent up to you. Then I will see you downstairs in an hour.” He paused in the doorway. “I will deliver you to your mother today, then you will be reunited with Harold a few hours later. I will not mention this again, Adele. I give you my word. As I said before, it never happened.”

  He walked out and shut the door behind him.

  Adele was left behind to gather her composure and try to make sense of her feelings.

  Part Two

  The Reckoning

  Chapter 8

  The Osulton coach, with an impressive liveried driver at the reins, rolled swiftly and smoothly across the lush, green English countryside behind a thunderous team of galloping grays. Inside, Adele sat quietly with her mother, Beatrice, her sister Clara, and baby Anne, while a second coach followed with their maids, luggage, and Anne’s nurse.

  Adele had met her mother earlier that afternoon in the reception room of a small village inn somewhere. She had no idea where. As soon as Damien ascertained that she was reunited with her mother, he had taken his leave without waiting to be introduced and rode off into parts unknown.

  In some ways, Adele had been relieved to see him go, but in others, she was mystified by the frustrating well of uncertainty that descended.

  She should not be mourning their parting, she told herself for the umpteenth time as the coach passed through the village just north of Osulton Manor. She was promised to Harold, and besides, Damien was not the sort of man she would ever wish to marry. Yes, he had been her hero during their journey together, but in real life, he was in love with a scandalous actress and was known to be irresponsible with money. She had to keep her head on straight and accept what he said as true: They would deeply regret their indiscretion and wish it had never happened. She would approach the manor with the sensible view that she was at last returning to the real world. The adventure, thank heavens, was over.

  Upon peering out the window, however, she discovered that one’s expectations could often be lost in the wind. As the carriage passed through the massive stone gateway, which resembled the Arch of Constantine in Rome, Adele found herself facing anothe
r surprise. This place—this massive country estate—was not at all what she had imagined. She’d thought she would be living in a cozy stone cottage in the English countryside, cloaked in ivy, in the Tudor style perhaps, because Harold had described his home as a “quaint little country dwelling.”

  Quaint and little? Perhaps Harold needed a new dictionary.

  Osulton Manor was no quaint country house. It was a great, white palace, baroque in style, with large flanking octagonal turrets and a spectacular center skyline of smaller cupolas and domes. It stood high on a hill, surrounded by wrought iron fences and ancient English oaks that watched over the property like great lords themselves.

  It was a palace fit for kings and queens, and Adele would be mistress of it all. She felt an unexpected tightening in her chest, as if this entire continent pressed down upon her. A strict manner of behavior beyond her years and experience would be expected of her. How in the world would she learn all that she needed to learn to run a household on a scale such as this?

  She pulled her gaze from the window and stared blankly down at the floor of the coach. Harold had not prepared her for this. He had made it sound like nothing. “You’re very amiable,” he had said. “That’s all it takes, really.”

  She sincerely doubted it.

  There was also the matter of her virginity. She had not forgotten about that. Every so often, the uncertainty hit her like a snowball in the face. She hoped it would not be an issue.

  They drove past a rectangular pond that reflected the house and trees, then rolled to a stop in front of a central rotunda that served as the formal entrance. Adele noticed the large glass structure around the side of the house and reasoned it was a conservatory. She imagined what it might look like inside, filled with leafy green plants and colorful flowers. She felt her spirits lift slightly and told herself there would be other things to look forward to as well. Damien had mentioned the fine stables and the forest.

  “Here we are, girls,” her mother said, as if all the proud ancestral ghosts of Osulton were listening from above. “Sit up straight, now. Here they come.”

  “You’re making her nervous, Mother,” Clara whispered, trying not to wake baby Anne.

  “I’m fine,” Adele replied, which, of course, she was not.

  People stood outside on the steps, waiting for them. A footman wearing navy knee breeches, ivory stockings, and shiny buckled shoes opened the door and lowered the step, then reached in to take Clara’s hand. Their mother was handed out next, and then Adele.

  Adele peered out from under the wide brim of her green, plumed hat, and searched over the strange faces on the steps, all of them staring at her. Evaluating her.

  Then she saw Harold. Ah, familiar Harold.

  She was back. Centered. Her fears and tensions drained away at last. She met his gaze and smiled. He smiled with his usual exuberance, in return.

  That’s what she had admired most about him the first time she’d met him. He always looked so pleased to see her. He possessed the friendly excitability of a child, and he made her feel at ease.

  He stepped away from the rest and descended the stairs to greet her and her mother and sister. “Lady Rawdon, welcome. And Mrs. Wilson, it is indeed a pleasure to see you again.” He turned toward Adele and spoke more slowly, with more care. “And of course, Miss Wilson. Adele, I should say.” With a flourish, he raised an arm to display his home. “Welcome to Osulton Manor.”

  “Thank you, Harold. I’m so happy to be here at last.”

  “Yes, of course you are! Come and meet my family.”

  She followed him up the stairs to where the others were waiting.

  “Lady Rawdon,” he said to Clara, “may I present my mother, Eustacia Scott.”

  The countess—a plump woman with curly red hair like her son—stepped forward.

  “Please call me Clara.” The two shook hands.

  “It is a pleasure indeed,” Eustacia replied. “And this must be baby Anne! What a darling!” She admired Clara’s daughter.

  “And Mother,” he continued, “may I present Beatrice Wilson, and her daughter, my betrothed, Adele Wilson.”

  Adele paid careful attention to this English manner of introductions, for it was something she would be required to understand fully. Rank meant everything, which explained why Clara had been addressed first, before their mother.

  Eustacia shook her mother’s hand. “Welcome to our home, Mrs. Wilson.” She clasped Adele’s hand last. “And my dear, we are so very pleased to welcome you into our family.”

  Adele couldn’t have predicted the relief she would feel upon meeting her future mother-in-law. Her sisters had both been forced to contend with women who despised Americans and did not approve of their sons’ marriages. In time, Sophia had won the respect and love of her mother-in-law, the dowager duchess, but Clara had never been able to do so. Adele, it seemed, would not have to face that challenge.

  “Thank you, Lady Osulton. I’m pleased to meet you, too.”

  “You are going to be my daughter-in-law, so you must call me Eustacia!” she said, with the same jolly enthusiasm that characterized her son. “Now come and meet Harold’s sister. This is Lady Violet.”

  Violet was as dark as night, resembling a certain other member of the family. Adele shook hands with the young woman.

  “Now let us go inside and get you settled,” Eustacia said.

  Adele walked into the house with the others but stopped in the center of the round entrance hall. All along the walls of the great rotunda stood classical busts and statues of Greek and Roman gods and emperors. Over her head was a frescoed dome depicting a man atop a black horse, holding a spear over his head.

  Adele gazed in awe at the bright colors and the graceful, sweeping lines. There was such movement in the artistry. She could almost hear the thunderous clatter of hooves and the victorious battle cry of the warrior.

  Harold moved to stand beside her. “It’s the first Earl of Osulton,” he said, “victorious in battle. He was awarded his title and this house in 1715 by King George I. Just think, America wasn’t even a country then.”

  Adele smiled at her fiancé. “I’ll look forward to seeing the rest of the house, Harold. Perhaps when you show me around you can tell me more about its history.”

  “You will learn every detail, as you should. But there is plenty of time for that. Now, we must see you all to your rooms to give you time to dress for dinner. We have invited a few other guests to celebrate your arrival. Some of the local squires. The Earl of Whitby is also here—who is a friend, I believe, to your brother-in-law the Duke of Wentworth,” he said, referring to Sophia’s husband. “My cousin Damien, Viscount Alcester, will be dining with us as well.”

  Adele stiffened at the mere mention of Damien’s name. She had known that in order to avoid a scandal, they were all to behave as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired. Adele was to meet Damien as if she were meeting him for the first time.

  But she had not expected it to be that very night. She’d thought she would have more time to come to terms with what she had done and bury the memory of it.

  Harold gestured toward the grand staircase, framed at the bottom by two massive, fluted columns. “I am sure you will approve of your accommodations, ladies. They are—may I be so bold as to say?—fit for queens. You shall have everything at your disposal as you prepare for a most exhilarating evening.”

  Adele made her way soberly to the stairs. If Damien was to be at the table that night, exhilaration was something she would prefer to avoid.

  Chapter 9

  It was late afternoon when Damien finally emerged from his rooms. He had bathed and felt clean at last after far too many days spent sleeping in his clothes. He went immediately to see his grandmother.

  As soon as he pushed through the door, she clapped her hands together and wheeled herself away from the table wher
e she had been reading the newspaper. “At last! Give me a kiss, you devil.”

  Damien clasped her frail, trembling hands in his, and bent forward to kiss her on the cheek. He straightened, then tipped his head at her. “A new perfume, Grandmama?”

  “Why, yes....” She fiddled alluringly with a tendril of snowy white hair that had fallen out of her chignon. “What do you think?”

  “It’s wonderful on you, but you’ve always had exquisite taste. I hope you realize you’ll have to fight off the gentlemen this evening.”

  She slapped his hand. “Oh, you naughty flirt. Come and tell me about London. Are you still tangled up with that actress?”

  His grandmother—who knew nothing of the kidnapping and thought he’d been in London all this time—wheeled herself back to the table.

  Damien seated himself across from her and stretched out in a lazy sprawl. “Yes, and by God, she has talent.”

  His grandmother smirked. “You are a wicked scoundrel, Damien. Just like your grandfather. Until he met me, of course.”

  He smiled affectionately at her.

  “So, tell me, what do you know about this heiress Harold has brought over from America? I told him not to go, you know. I told him he’d be purchased like a stud at market.”

  “And he was. For a very good price, I might add.”

  She clicked her tongue at him. “Have you met her?”

  Damien hesitated. “Yes.”

  “I heard the girl’s father wants to fund one of Harold’s experiments. Is it true?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Go into business together!”

  Damien smiled and raised his eyebrows.

  She leaned forward and rested an elbow on the table. “What about you? Isn’t it time you took a wife, too? Essence House has been empty for too long. I understand Harold’s American fiancée is related by marriage to the Duke of Wentworth. He has a sister, does he not? Lady Lily, I believe? A pretty little cupcake?”