Falling for the Mysterious Viscount: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  Lavinia sighed. In some ways she wished that her sister still was the object of the baron’s affection. It would make her life so much easier.

  She glanced at Sophie. She was looking lovely, as always, dressed in a bright gown of cornflower blue, with a necklace of sapphires around her neck. She was peering through the crowd, as well. Suddenly, her eyes lit up.

  Lavinia followed her line of vision. Sophie was staring directly at Walter St Clair, who was also gazing straight back at her.

  “Miss Beaumont,” he said, walking up to them.

  “Mr St Clair,” Sophie replied, in a slightly breathless voice.

  “You are looking lovely this evening, as always,” he said, gazing at her avidly. “Could I interest you in champagne on the balcony? It is slightly cooler out there, with a beautiful view of the gardens, if you are so inclined.”

  Sophie nodded. “Indeed, that would be lovely. I always enjoy sitting in the garden, at home.” She hesitated. “I even have a special rose bush that I tend. It is a hobby of mine that I have always indulged …”

  “Really?” He looked thrilled. “I enjoy gardening myself, from time to time, at my country home. And sitting out, looking at nature has always been a great love …”

  Lavinia smiled as they drifted away, chatting intently about their shared love of gardens. It seemed that they had a lot in common.

  Her eyes scanned the crowd, for Samuel. But it was too thick, and she couldn’t see properly. And the next minute, Lord Livingston was at her elbow.

  “You are looking lovely this evening, my dear,” he said warmly. “What would you care to do first – dance, or circulate?”

  Lavinia felt a flash of irritation, quickly suppressed. He was speaking to her as if she was his possession, now; that he had a right to monopolise her company, as well as her dance card.

  Helplessly, she gazed at him. This was all her own doing; she had encouraged him. And now, she was reaping the consequences of her actions. Was she in too deep? Was the expectation so high that an engagement was imminent? Did everyone at this ball have the same expectation, that she would one day become Lady Livingston?

  Panic overwhelmed her, for a moment. She took a deep, ragged breath, her heart sinking rapidly.

  Maybe she was in too deep.

  But there was nothing to do but follow it through, to the bitter end.

  “I think that I would like to dance,” she said slowly. “Please, lead the way, My Lord.”

  ***

  Her heart wasn’t really in it, of course. She felt like her feet were merely going through the motions. The baron noticed, frowning a little.

  “Would you prefer to sit this one out?” he whispered, as they passed each other, dancing the quadrille.

  She shook her head. “Of course not, My Lord!”

  Determinedly, she tried to focus on the dance.

  He wasn’t here.

  Disappointment lurched to life in her stomach. She had not seen him, in over two weeks, since that ball. But Walter St Clair was still very much on the circuit. Had he gone back to his country estate, believing that all hope was gone?

  How could she bear it?

  The dance finally, blessedly, ended. They clapped politely. The baron led her off the dance floor, steering her towards the refreshment table, when a figure suddenly stepped in front of her, causing her to reel back in shock.

  It was Samuel.

  Her heart started to thud alarmingly. He looked so tall – taller than she remembered. How could that be? She had only just seen him two weeks ago.

  And he was handsome. So very handsome. Those green eyes were staring at her intently. Beseechingly. They were almost reaching out to her.

  “Lord Pemberton,” she gasped.

  “Miss Beaumont,” he said in a curt voice. “Please, could I have a private word with you? I promise I will not take up too much of your time.”

  Her mouth dropped open. He had put her on the spot, well and truly. And she could not deny that being so close to him again was doing wild things to her. She felt a furious blush creep up, overtaking her neck and face, deepening to crimson.

  Desperately, she glanced at Lord Livingston. What must he be thinking about this? He looked stunned, gazing at the red-haired man as if a goblin had suddenly reared up in front of them.

  Before she even knew what she was doing, she nodded. Samuel’s face lit up, and the next thing she knew, she was being whisked away through the crowd to a private alcove that he had obviously earmarked for the purpose.

  It was hidden away, deep into the wall, even though it wasn’t physically distant from the room. Once in there, he dropped her arm, gazing at her with a stupefied expression, as if he couldn’t quite believe that he had managed to get her here.

  “Lavinia,” he whispered, his green eyes alight. “It is so very wonderful to see you again. To be this close to you and breathe in your beauty …”

  She swayed a bit on her feet, as hypnotised by his voice as she always had been. With difficulty, she pulled herself up. She must not allow herself to become mesmerised by him again. Yes, the physical connection was as strong as ever between them, but her heart, and her mind, were still bruised and battered.

  “What do you want?” she asked in a quiet voice. “Why have you pulled me aside? I said all that I needed to say to you the last time that we spoke.”

  “I know that you are still angry with me,” he said slowly. “And you have every right to be. But I cannot just leave it at that.” He hesitated, gazing at her imploringly. “I cannot leave it when I know that our love is real. Please, Lavinia, do not throw that love away …”

  Tears sprang into her eyes. Quickly, she looked down at the floor, willing herself not to cry.

  He took a deep breath. “I am so sorry for lying to you. I am sorrier than I can say.” He hung his head. “I never meant to cause you pain, but I know that is not an excuse. Please, can you forgive me, for the sake of the deep love that I hold for you? Please, can you give me another chance?”

  She felt herself begin to tremble all over, with emotion. It was so very hard to remain immune to him when he was standing right in front of her, beseeching her.

  It wasn’t just a physical connection, a fever of the flesh. She loved him. She had always loved him, and she had never stopped loving him. That love flared to life now like a flame shooting high in the sky. It was incredible, how strong that love was, and how deeply she felt it.

  She had thought that because Lord Livingston could hold a conversation, that she could do her duty. But he was just a friend, and always would be. She held no passion for him, nor could she talk to him the way that she had always talked with Samuel. As if they were two sides of the same coin.

  The love had never gone away. She had just managed to damp it down, to tuck it away, in a far corner of her heart.

  Her bottom lip trembled. She was dangerously close to tears. Could she forgive him? Could she let go of the anger at what he had done?

  “My Lord!”

  They both jumped at the feminine voice. A woman was standing beside them, gazing at them both curiously. With a sinking heart, Lavinia realised that it was Miss Emily Munro, the lady who had first revealed Samuel’s deception.

  She looked exquisite, of course. Her golden hair was cascading in ringlets over one shoulder, and her silk and muslin primrose gown was beautifully made, embroidered with tiny flowers. Her necklace of diamonds and turquoise glittered in the flickering light of a candelabra. She looked like a princess, and she knew it.

  She smiled, exposing small, even white teeth. “My Lord, a country jig is playing, and I know how you love to dance to them …”

  Lavinia stared at him, her heart sinking further. She should have known, of course. It was as obvious as the pert, snub nose on Miss Emily Munro’s perfect smug face.

  He was here with her. Or he had agreed to meet her here, at the very least. There was just such a familiarity about the way that she had greeted him. Had they seen more of each
other since that terrible day? It rather seemed that they had, judging by the way Emily Munro turned to him, now, looking almost peevish.

  Lavinia’s eyes filled with helpless tears again. This was unbearable. It was simply unbearable.

  He had humiliated her once, and now he was doing it to her, again.

  “Perhaps you should return to entertaining Miss Munro,” she said quickly, her eyes flashing.

  His face blanched. “Lavinia …”

  “If you will excuse me,” she said, pushing past them through the crowd. She didn’t stop to see if he was following her. Blindly, she ran, her heart thumping so loudly it sounded like a drum in her ears.

  She had to find Sophie, at once. She had to find her sister and leave this ball before she fell to pieces entirely.

  She craned her neck, searching for her. It took her two circuits of the room before she discovered her, sitting on a seat on a balcony, with Walter St Clair by her side.

  She gasped. It looked so intimate, even though they weren’t touching, and they were surrounded by people. Sophie was looking downwards, a slight smile on her face, while Walter St Clair was regaling her with a story. They both looked surprised when they finally realised that she was there, watching them.

  “Lavinia?” Sophie’s voice wavered with concern. “Are you quite well, dearest?”

  “No,” she replied, her voice cracking slightly with emotion. “No, I am not well at all! Can we please leave, now?”

  Sophie stood up abruptly. “Of course we can, Liv.” She turned back to Walter St Clair, a slightly regretful look on her face. “I am sorry, but she is distressed. If you will excuse me?”

  “Of course,” he said, looking bewildered.

  The next minute, Sophie was steering her determinedly through the crowd towards the front door. It only took another five minutes to find their carriage.

  And then they were off, spiriting through the dark streets of London.

  Lavinia put her head on her sister’s shoulder and wept.

  ***

  Sophie climbed into her sister’s bed, that night, after they had undressed for the evening, cradling her in her arms. Lavinia buried her face against her sister’s chest, weeping until she felt she had no more tears left in her.

  “Let it all out,” whispered Sophie. “It will feel better …”

  Eventually, she lifted her head, pushing her hair off her face. She felt completely and utterly drained.

  “What happened?” asked her sister.

  Lavinia sighed. “I am a bigger fool than I even knew, Sophie.” She hesitated. “The Viscount was there, at the ball this evening. And he spirited me away from Lord Livingston, insisting that he must talk with me.”

  Sophie looked a little shamefaced. “Mr St Clair had informed me that his friend was in attendance, but I did not think to warn you …”

  Lavinia smiled wanly. “You do not need to feel guilty on my account, Sophie. You were talking to Mr St Clair, and that is perfectly fine.” She hesitated. “It is myself I am disappointed in. I almost believed him …”

  “What did he say?”

  Lavinia sighed again. “He informed me of his undying love and begged my forgiveness. It was so hard, Sophie. I almost gave into him, until … Miss Emily Munro appeared, insisting that he dance a quadrille with her.”

  “Miss Munro? The lady that let it slip about him?”

  “The very one.” Her voice caught in her throat. “They have obviously been seeing each other since the picnic judging by the familiar way she spoke to him.” She took a deep breath. “He almost fooled me again, Sophie! I am so mad and disappointed at myself, I could scream!”

  Sophie frowned. “Are you very sure that is the case? Because Mr St Clair insists that he has been pining for you …”

  “I know what I saw, Sophie.” Her bottom lip trembled. “Miss Munro was like the cat that ate the canary. I did not stay any longer, to talk to that … cad, anymore!”

  Sophie’s eyes were wide. “Lavinia, it might not be as it seemed to you …”

  “What do you mean?” Lavinia was shaking. “I know what I saw! She talked to him as if they were … lovers, or something!”

  She started weeping again, piteously, burying her face in her hands.

  She simply could not believe she had been so stupid, for a second time around. What had she been thinking, letting him spirit her away like that? She should have ignored him completely, like she had the last time she saw him, or spoken to him contemptuously, ordering him to leave her alone. Anything, but what she had done.

  She took a deep, shuddering breath. Why did she find it so hard to resist him? What was this magnetism that she could barely explain? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he was doing this to her again. She had to get him out of her mind, and her heart, forever.

  She had been second guessing herself, thinking that she was wrong to have committed to a new way of thinking. Thinking that she should not encourage Lord Livingston, that it was all too much, and that she could not handle it. That it was wrong, somehow, to marry a man she did not love, even if he was a decent, honourable one.

  And now, she had slid back down the same slippery path that she had just risen from. All it had taken was being in the same room with him and talking to him again. It could not continue. It must not continue.

  “I have made a decision,” she said, turning to Sophie.

  “What is it, dear heart?”

  She took another deep breath. “I do not know if Lord Livingston will ask me to marry him. But I am telling you now, that if he does, I intend to accept him.”

  Chapter 24

  Lavinia picked up her morning tea, sipping the scalding, sweet liquid gratefully. It felt replenishing, like it was restoring her vitality.

  She gazed over at Sophie. Her sister looked pensive, as she scraped marmalade onto her toast. Occasionally, she felt her gaze on her, almost assessing.

  “Is Lord Livingston picking you up today, Lavinia?” asked Lady Beaumont. “I am heading over to Bond Street to order some new bonnets after breakfast, so if you need the carriage, it shall not be back until the afternoon, I am afraid.”

  “That is quite alright, Mama,” she answered quickly. “I think that I shall have a quiet day, today. I do not feel like going anywhere.”

  “And what about you, Sophia?” Lady Beaumont turned to her elder daughter.

  “I plan to practise the piano,” said Sophie. “And perhaps go for a stroll through Hyde Park if Lavinia is willing to accompany me.”

  “Perhaps,” replied Lavinia, vaguely.

  She took another sip of her tea. She didn’t feel herself today, at all; she had barely slept last night, after the ball, and she had awoken with a dull headache. She had not lied to her mother – all that she desired was rest.

  She glanced at Sophie again. She half regretted her impetuous declaration that she intended to marry Lord Livingston. She had said it in the heat of the moment. Now, she wasn’t so sure that she wanted to marry anyone.

  Perhaps I shall run away and join a nunnery, she thought, distractedly. It would be a peaceful life, cloistered behind those walls, reading. And you would never have to worry about gentlemen accosting you.