Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Books by Susan M. Baganz
Dedication
Author’s Note
Virtue
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
Epilogue
Sneek Peek at Lord Phillip's Folly
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Thank you
You Can Help!
God Can Help!
Free Book Offer
The Virtuous Viscount
Susan M. Baganz
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
The Virtuous Viscount
COPYRIGHT 2017 by Susan M. Baganz
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Pelican Ventures, LLC except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
eBook editions are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. eBooks may not be re-sold, copied or given to other people. If you would like to share an eBook edition, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated are taken from the King James translation, public domain.
Cover Art by Nicola Martinez
Prism is a division of Pelican Ventures, LLC
www.pelicanbookgroup.com PO Box 1738 *Aztec, NM * 87410
White Rose Publishing Circle and Rosebud logo is a trademark of Pelican Ventures, LLC
Publishing History
Prism Edition, 2017
Electronic Edition ISBN 978-1-5223-9766-3
Electronic Edition ISBN 978-1-5223-9764-9
Published in the United States of America
BOOKS BY SUSAN M. BAGANZ
Black Diamond Regency Romantic Suspense
The Baron’s Blunder (Prequel) novella
The Virtuous Viscount (Book 1)
Lord Phillip’s Folly (Book 2)
Sir Michael’s Mayhem (coming soon)
Lord Harrow’s Heart (coming soon)
The Captain’s Conquest (coming soon)
Orchard Hill Contemporary Romances
Pesto & Potholes
Salsa & Speed Bumps
Feta & Freeways
Root Beer & Roadblocks
Bratwurst & Bridges…
and others coming soon!
Historical Christmas Novella
Fragile Blessings
Gabriel’s Gift
Short Story Compilation
Little Bits O’ Love
Dedication
To Carol Hisel—
Your name is written in the Lamb’s Book of Life and this novel, which reunited us, is now in print. I’m beyond grateful to you and honored to be part of your journey. And no—this is not a ‘bodice-ripper.’
Author’s Note
During the tempestuous years between 1800-1820 or the more specific “Regency” years of 1811 to 1820, it was common for the upper classes, especially the men, to drink various forms of alcohol as part of their daily life. A glass of port wine was often savored by the men after the evening meal. French brandy was considered superior and highly coveted even though England was at war with France. In these stories, my characters do at times drink, and sometimes even to excess with serious consequences for their overindulgence. This is not in any way a recommendation on the part of the author or Pelican Book Group to advocate the drinking of alcohol or to abuse any substance. Laudanum is actually an opiate that was often prescribed medicinally (although many did become addicted to the drug). The use of these in the story are merely an attempt to use this period in history and its notorious excesses as a backdrop where appropriate.
Lord, bring me a man
who is strong, faithful, and true.
~Miss Josephine Storm
Virtue:
Greek ἀρέτη aretē ar-et’-ay properly manliness (valor), that is, excellence (intrinsic or attributed): praise, virtue. ~Strong’s Exhaustive Concordance
And beside this, giving all diligence,
add to your faith virtue; and to virtue knowledge;
~Peter 1
PROLOGUE
Derbyshire
The Black Diamond stared at the pitiful Sir Archibald Bastian. He doubted the fool could deliver to him the virgin he demanded. The potential disappointment was worth the current pleasure of watching him squirm. If he failed, Diamond would own Bastian’s estate, located conveniently on an inlet with access to the ocean. Perfect for his purposes.
“I made an offer of marriage. Her father insists on giving her time,” Bastian whimpered. The man perspired and mangled the hat in his hand as he stood there, fidgeting.
“She is a virgin?” Diamond pounded his fist on the mahogany desk in front of him.
“Yes. Most certainly, my lord.”
“Then let this be done before the season is over. You will wed her and return her to me untouched.”
“Un-untouched?”
“Do you have a hearing problem, Bastian? That is my demand, and if you expect to have your gambling debts paid, you will deliver.”
The bumbling knight swallowed hard. “Yes, my lord. It shall be as you say.”
“Leave me.” The Black Diamond snapped his fingers. The door on the opposite end of the room swung open.
Bastian nodded his head and backed away, bowing as he did so. The Black Diamond grinned. Sometimes his minions were far too easy to intimidate. Foolish Englishmen. They were all doomed anyway. Once he had his sacrifice, the war would turn. Soon, quite soon, the Black Diamond would equal Napoleon Bonaparte for power and wealth.
Ah, but the virgin. She was the key. He would crush his English rose and enjoy every minute. After all, it was what his own dark lord required of him. He was only following orders.
1
Spring
Oxfordshire
The gray gelding reared as a flash of lightning struck the tree by the road. Lord Marcus Remington held on tight and brought his mount under control.
Weariness seeped into the marrow of his bones, much as the rain did his exposed trousers. Fatigue weighed on him. He was weary of the hunt—the balls and soirees and the pressure to dress ‘top of the trees.’ He longed for the one place he was most at ease. Rose Hill. Home. His three friends, following behind, were equally miserable in the spring storm. Should they have waited out the deluge at the pub in Didcot? It hadn’t seemed worth it when his estate was so close. They had agreed to ride on.
As he turned the bend, the Viscount’s heart sank at the vision illuminated by another flash of light. Through sheets of rain, Marcus spied a carriage teetering on its side. The top half of it hung over a ditch filled with running water from the storm. The horses were free of the carriage. They struggled against their traces as a young man tried to calm them. Their frantic neighs added to the ca
cophony of wind, thunder, and rain. Two figures huddled under a nearby tree. He sighed as he slowed his horse.
“What ho!” Marcus shouted. He pulled up to await an older man, most likely the groom, who limped forward. Marcus dismounted. “Is everyone out of the carriage?”
The man pointed off the road toward the trees. “I got me mistress and her daughter out before the second wheel broke. One more lady is inside.”
“Is she well?” Marcus implored as three other horses drew up close by and their riders descended. Blood pounded in his ears as he kept his eye on the carriage in its precarious position.
The man grimaced, and his hands rose in the air as he took in the four gentlemen in their many caped greatcoats. He backed away. “Ye not be here to rob us?”
Marcus shook his head, and raindrops danced off the brim of his hat. “Most certainly not. Lord Remington at your service. Excuse me.” He turned aside. “Phillip? Will you ride to Rose Hill and bring back a carriage? We have one passenger to rescue. She may be injured, so have Fenton send for the doctor, and inform Mrs. Hughes to expect more guests.”
“Right away.” The tall, blond aristocrat spun on his heel, remounted, and rode off into the stormy darkness.
Marcus headed toward the carriage as he called out to his friends. “Theo. Attend to the ladies, please.” Lord Theodore Harrow would charm the women and ease their anxieties. Marcus turned aside to a man of slighter build and lowered his voice. “Michael, a woman is trapped inside.”
“Then a rescue is in order.” The shorter, coffee-haired gentleman gave a cheeky grin to his friend even as rain dripped off his hat.
Marcus shook his head and struggled to master the corner of his lips that wanted to curl in response. Leave it to Sir Michael Tidley to see an adventure in what promised to be a challenging effort. He sobered. “Let’s not waste any time. I do not like the way the carriage is balanced.”
The two gentlemen drew closer to the equipage.
Marcus noticed the groom had gone back to removing the luggage from the boot. The horses had calmed. “I’ll go in.” Marcus pulled himself up to the side of the carriage. Once on top, he struggled to jerk the door open. It stuck. The carriage rocked over the culvert as Marcus balanced on the sky-borne side.
Michael grabbed hold of the underside of the carriage to add stability.
Marcus pulled at the door several times before it gave way and almost threw him off his elevated perch. He waited for the carriage to cease rocking. He knelt and peered into the darkness, barely able to see inside. The rain pelted him harder. Could this night get any worse, Lord?
A bolt of lightning illuminated the interior long enough to detect where the figure of the passenger rested. He ascertained an area he might stand without landing on her. After lowering himself in, he shut the door to keep out the deluge. His gloved hands moved around in the dark, searching. Oil had spilled from the lantern attached to its hook by the uppermost door. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.
Outside, Michael called to tie the horses to the carriage to keep it from tipping into the ditch.
“There you are.” Sprawled out next to his feet, which were against the far wall of the carriage, lay a young woman. He knelt down beside her in the cramped quarters. Shadows from the skittering of lightning came in the windows. He removed his gloves and shoved them in the pocket of his greatcoat.
“Miss?” He moved lower to spy a crushed chip bonnet that at one time was probably quite pretty. “Miss? Can you hear me?” He untied the ribbons under the woman’s chin, removed the hat, and tossed it aside. Dark waves of hair tumbled down, and he brushed them away to get a look at her face as his eyes adjusted to the dark. She did not respond to his touch or voice. He imagined she was pretty and sweet, like his younger sister, and his heart ached for this woman’s suffering. He shook his head. This was neither the time nor the place for flights of fancy. His fingers touched something warm and sticky in her hair. Blood.
Please, don’t let her be dead. He found her pulse weak but steady and released a breath he hadn’t known he held. He glanced around and noticed the rear window of the carriage was the only space large enough to fit her through. Lifting her up to the door at the top would be nigh on impossible in her current state.
Marcus stood up and opened the door to find rain pelting him in the face. This was not how he anticipated spending his birthday. “Michael!” he growled.
“Here. How is she?” The shorter man’s face popped into view.
“Unconscious, but alive. She received a blow to the head. I am going to try to break out the back window. We can pass her out that way.”
“I’ll be there.”
Marcus sank down and closed the door. He reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the moisture off his face. Lord, help me. Marcus felt around for a carriage blanket and placed it over the young woman. A metal box that had probably caused her injury was near her head. The locked box most likely contained valuables, but there was nothing else to hand. He smashed it against the glass. A slight crack emerged in the thick pane. There wasn’t enough space to get momentum. He tried again without success. He set it back where he found it.
Replacing his gloves, he grabbed the handle by the uppermost door and swung his feet toward the fractured glass. A resounding crack was his reward. He dismissed the sharp pain as he pulled himself out of the broken window. Come on, Marcus, push! He made another attempt.
This time, both legs pierced through, and glass sliced his trousers at the knees as he drew them back. He picked at the shards in his trousers. The third time, he shattered most of the glass. He dropped down to the unconscious woman and grabbed the metal box to finish off the sharp edges around the window frame.
Michael peered in. “Your valet will not be happy with you, Remy.”
Marcus rolled his eyes. “Max will recover. I can always get a new pair of boots.” Marcus removed the glass-covered blanket and set it aside before he squatted down to lift the woman. Time crawled as he gathered her in his arms. Her head rolled back as he moved her to the window. He glanced down as a flash of lightning illuminated her face. Marcus’s breathing labored, and he swallowed hard. Steady on.
“I’m ready,” Michael called, breaking the moment.
Marcus glanced up to see his friend there, waiting with one eyebrow raised.
Marcus struggled to wrap her in her cloak. The woman in his arms gasped. “Miss? Miss?” Marcus resisted the urge to shake her, fearing he would cause her pain. Her eyes fluttered open, and she gazed up at him. He couldn’t ascertain their color. She gave a weak smile before her eyelids closed. He passed her through the window to the waiting knight. Once she was safe in Sir Tidley’s arms, Marcus placed the safe-box outside the carriage. Due to his larger size, he could not exit the same way she had. He opened the door and pulled himself up into the stormy night.
Michael had brought the injured woman over toward the people standing under the tree to keep dry.
Lord Theodore Harrow stripped his greatcoat and spread the garment so they wouldn’t place the young lady on the wet ground.
The rain abated for a moment, and Marcus strode over and handed the box to the older woman under the tree. “This is yours, I believe.”
The matron with graying hair and imperial bearing, wearing a wet fur hat and fur-trimmed cloak, grabbed the box from his hands. She resembled a drowned dog. In spite of that, she managed to give Marcus a glare reminding him of a short-lived governess he once had. He shoved the unkind thoughts aside as the woman spoke, her voice strident.
“I am Lady Widmore, and this is my daughter, Lady Heticia Widmore.”
“Lady Widmore, Lady Heticia, Lord Remington at your service. This is Lord Harrow and Sir Tidley. Our friend has ridden to my estate nearby to get help.”
Lady Widmore nodded her head. “That was well done of you. This has been a most vexing evening. My carriage is ruined. It’s bad enough that I have to replace two wheels, but n
ow the glass too?” Her nose rose a fraction as her eyes snapped as much as a ruler to the knuckles.
The three men glanced at her nonplussed.
Lady Heticia simpered and batted her eyes at Marcus. “I’m cold and wet. How much longer before the carriage arrives?”
Marcus gave her a quick glance before he turned away. “Lord Westcombe will be here soon enough.” He moved to kneel next to the unconscious form on the forest floor. “What is her name?”
“Miss Storm,” Lady Widmore replied with a snort.
Marcus commenced checking the young woman’s arms and legs to assess any broken bones. He watched her face as the clouds began to move past and the moon started to shine bright. Blood oozed from a gash on the side of her head. He loosened his cravat. “Michael, can you help me hold up her head while I bind her wound?”
Michael was next to their patient before the question was complete and lifted her head.
Marcus smoothed away the dark tendrils of hair stuck to the blood. He proceeded to wrap the linen around and tie it off. He brought the hood of the cloak up to cover Miss Storm’s bandaged head.
“Max will have another charge against you, Remy.” Michael gave a cheeky grin.
“There’s a reason I left my valet in London, Michael. So I would not have to be hounded about boots, cravats, and my lack of dash.” The flat tone delivered a warning to his friend. Marcus looked down again at the young woman.
Dark hair outlined her heart-shaped face, half covered with the white bandage across her forehead surrounded by the rich burgundy of her traveling cloak. Long, dark eyelashes splayed against pale cheeks. “Sleeping Beauty.”
“I don’t think a kiss will do the trick, though,” Michael whispered.
Lord Remington startled. Had he spoken aloud? His cheeks grew warm. He was grateful to hear the rumble of a carriage coming from the west. “Phillip has arrived.”
Marcus rose and strode to the road only to gape at the old, small gig his fastidious friend drove. Lord Phillip Westcombe pulled past and managed to turn the horse and buggy around before he came to a stop next to them.
The Virtuous Viscount Page 1
