Her Notorious Viscount

by Jenna Petersen

  “I am leaving now,” she said. “I think I’ve learned quite enough for one day, and I don’t know that you will be able to absorb any further education in your current”—she glanced down pointedly at the erection that now made itself known—“state.”

  Nicholas stared at her. “You are leaving?” he repeated stupidly.

  She nodded once. “I will return tomorrow, though. And I expect you will have some information for me regarding your own search for my brother by then. Good evening, my lord.”

  Nicholas flinched as she left the room and slammed the door behind her. He stared at the place she had stood. In his thirty years on this earth, he had been with many women. His reaction to them and theirs to him had varied, of course, but none of them had ever kissed him and pulled away first. None of them had ever looked at him like his touch was akin to acid.

  None of them had ever been so unmoved by his prowess as Jane Fenton. And he had never been so driven to prove to a woman that he could make her tremble.

  In the carriage winding its way through the London streets, Jane leaned back against the leather seats. Her entire body was trembling. Not from fear, not even from the anger that she had turned to for protection once she regained her senses.

  No, her body now shook from something else. Something she did not want any more than she could control it. She trembled from the force of her desire. The desire she had felt when she walked into the room and saw Nicholas waiting for her, a tiger still pacing his cage.

  The desire she had been unable to ignore when he circled her, whispering words she should have censured him for, but instead had made her stomach flutter wildly.

  And the desire that had washed over her in an overwhelming wave when he kissed her. Tasted her. Made her realize, for the first time, just how powerful a man could be. How much control he could wield with one heated touch.

  It was a solemn reminder that Nicholas might be the student, but that didn’t mean he was naïve. If she intended to continue with this “training,” she would have to be very careful of him. Careful of his body…and careful of his dark and dangerous soul, as well.

  The underground was not one specific place, though those of the ton often spoke of it as if it was. Of course most of them had never left the safety of Bond Street to investigate their ideas on the place they decried. Those who did were generally like Jane’s brother, lost in their own pains and obsessions. The underground was an end for them.

  But to Nicholas, it had been a beginning. And now, as he walked with Rage down Jermyn Cross at a broad, wide clip, it was like coming home. The dirty street was dangerous, yes, but it had a frantic energy about it, as well. This was a place where a fortune could be made or lost; where the next person one met could become a lifelong friend or turn out to be a murderer; a place where spirits and women ran free in equal measure, and neither were weak or watered down.

  Clubs lined each side of the narrow, dirty expanse, but they were not the fancy ones like White’s or Boodle’s that catered to men of his class. There were no cigar rooms in these places, no liveried footmen to bring fresh port. Nicholas almost chuckled when he thought of what would happen if such a person entered these pits.

  No, one had to be sharp here. And a man like Nicholas, who had enough of a reputation that the lightskirts hawking their wares in front of an open pub door called out to him by name and offered him free tumbles as they walked by, had to be especially alert. There were dozens of men who would love the prestige of taking down the most celebrated underground fighter. And most of them would not fight fair.

  Which meant it was the perfect place to go to forget his troubling encounter with Jane Fenton earlier in the night. Kissing her had been a huge mistake. A great pleasure, but a mistake nonetheless.

  But then Nicholas had never been one to learn from his mistakes, and he wanted to repeat this one again and again.

  “Hey, stay alert.” Rage’s whisper was harsh at his side.

  Nicholas shook off his thoughts and looked around. A group of four men had just stepped from one of the gambling hells. Although they were all staggering, they also had guns strapped to their hips, and they were watching Rage and Nicholas closely as they passed by.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Rage snapped once the men had weaved their way into another hell instead of pursuing them. “You didn’t even glance their way until I mentioned it. You know you can’t daydream here, friend. Wait until we get to Ruby’s where you’ve got folks watching your back.”

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. “It was a slip.”

  “One I’ve never seen you make,” his friend pressed. “So do you want to tell me why? And why are we here? I thought you were in for the night once Miss Fenton left.”

  Nicholas sighed. There was no use lying to Rage. His friend had the uncanny ability to see right through him every time. “The answer to both your questions is Miss Fenton.”

  “Let’s go inside and you can tell me all about it.” Rage motioned to the gaming hell where he had stopped.

  Nicholas smiled as he looked up at the battered wooden sign swinging in the early summer’s night breeze. Ruby’s.

  They entered the hall and were immediately greeted by the smell of nervous sweat, cheap cigar smoke, and spilled whiskey. For a long time those scents had been repugnant to Nicholas, but over the years they had come to symbolize a kind of comfort. Here, he belonged.

  Except now he didn’t.

  Rage wove his way through the teeming crowd of desperate men and sly women until they reached a bar in the back. As people cast glances at them, a reverent hush moved through the bar. Nicholas shrugged it off. He had become accustomed to such attention after years of fighting. Both he and Rage were popular pugilists, and the men in this bar had won and lost small fortunes by betting on their battles.

  Many of the women had been part of the celebrations or consolations after them.

  A weathered barkeep stepped up and gave what was as close to a smile as one was going to get on such a scarred face. “Rage, Stone, haven’t seen you two for a bit. What’s your poison?”

  “Whiskey for both. And is Ruby here tonight?” Rage asked as he motioned his head toward the back where most of the higher stakes gaming went on.

  “Ruby’s here,” the barkeep said as he set two grimy glasses on the tabletop. “Be up soon enough when word gets around that you two are here.”

  Then he turned away, making no further effort to make conversation. In the hells, it was best not to hear or see anything when you weren’t invited, and everyone knew it.

  “So, Jane Fenton,” Rage said as he took a sip of his drink. “How did she chase you into the hells? Were her lessons so dastardly?”

  Nicholas groaned. “The lessons were hardly anything to speak of. She asked me to move for her—”

  Rage interrupted with a devilish grin. “And I’m sure you were most happy to oblige her.”

  He shrugged. “She seemed immune to my subtle attempts at charm. And then to my blatant ones. I’ve never seen anything like it, actually. And then I, er, kissed her.”

  Rage set his drink down with raised eyebrows. “And this set you on your heels…how? You’ve certainly kissed women before her, and I’ll wager you’ll kiss plenty more after. No kiss has ever sent you running from your own home.”

  “But Jane isn’t like the other women I’ve kissed,” he explained, trying to clarify the problem for himself as much as his friend. “She isn’t some whore or an opera singer or a married woman slumming in the hells with a fighter. She is a lady, whether she is still treated like one or not. And if I’m to become a gentleman again, I cannot just go around kissing ladies like her without consequences.”

  Rage shivered. They both knew the consequence Nicholas referred to. Marriage. It wasn’t something often forced upon those who lived in the world around them. But in the ton, one could be shackled to a woman faster than one could say devil’s daughter.

  And while Nicholas knew that his new life would eventually
lead to marriage, he wasn’t about to be run into it by a careless kiss. He would choose the woman he took for a bride carefully. A woman of influence would be best, one who could continue to improve his reputation.

  “The last thing I need is for it to be said that I seduced some poor fallen lady,” he groaned. “My reputation is wretched enough as it is.”

  Rage shrugged. “Is she the type to spread such stories, perhaps in order to better her situation?”

  Nicholas paused. He hadn’t even considered that idea. But as he thought of Jane, he couldn’t imagine her doing such a thing. After all, she had been offered an escape from her current position by her cousin’s offer of marriage. If she had refused that, it didn’t seem likely that she would use their strange situation against him to force a union.

  “I couldn’t see her doing that. She is the one who insists on secrecy and propriety,” he said, though he couldn’t help but think of her brief responsiveness before she turned the fiery spark of her anger on him.

  And what a spark it had been. He smiled just thinking of it. It might be worth kissing her again, just to make her rail and flush like that.

  “My boys!”

  Both men looked up as a woman entered the main room from the back gaming hall. With a grin, Nicholas pushed to his feet to greet her.

  Ruby Hathaway had long passed the bloom of her youth, but there was still something about her. A middle-aged queen who ruled her gaming hall with an iron fist. She had been married to the man who first put Nicholas in the ring, and though he was gone, Ruby still looked at the fighters her husband had trained as her own children.

  “Didn’t think we’d see you back, Stone, after your poor brother cocked up his toes,” Ruby said as she pressed a kiss to first his cheek, then Rage’s. “I am so sorry.”

  Nicholas accepted her sympathy with a tight smile, knowing she meant only the best, despite her crude, blunt terms. “Thank you, Ruby.”

  She squeezed his arm gently, then released it, and her pity was gone. “So, how is life in the grand halls? Are those goosecaps giving you hell?”

  “As much as they can manage without lowering their noses,” Nicholas admitted.

  For a few moments, they talked, reminiscing and catching up on the goings-on in the gaming hell that they had missed. Then Rage shot him a look from the corner of his eye, and Nicholas nodded.

  “Ruby, I wondered if you can put out a word for me amongst the rabble and the opium men. I’m looking for someone who they might know.”

  She tilted her head to the side and examined Nicholas carefully. “You never ran with their lot, Stone. Never touched the stuff, if I recall, and better for ya.”

  He nodded slowly. A few glimpses of the men who had become obsessed with the drug, and Nicholas had never felt any desire to test his luck. Even when he was injured, he refused the medicine for fear of developing a craving for it.

  “True, but a…friend is missing her brother and I promised to investigate.” He withdrew the little silver frame from his pocket and showed Ruby the miniature of Jane’s brother. “The man’s name would have been Marcus Fenton, though he might have gone by something else amongst this society.”

  Ruby took the little frame carefully and looked at both Marcus’s portrait and the one of Jane’s mother. “Don’t seem familiar, though if he took to the opiate, he might not have looked much like that by the time he was through. Pretty lady, though. She don’t look like no whore to me. You’ve made friends with a rich lot already, then.”

  Nicholas took the frame back and carefully closed it as he shrugged. “You know me, Ruby. I’m the kind of man that women befriend.”

  She laughed, her voice husky from years of smoke and drink. “That you are, boy. Well, might as well tup the rich ones as well as the poor, eh? I’ll put out a word about your foppish opium hound. Come back in a few days and we’ll see if I’ve come up with any answers. Now I best be back to my business.”

  She waved to them both before she returned to the back room where the deepest cards were played. Rage looked at Nicholas when she was gone.

  “She might have something for us in time, but I think we both know she won’t. What will you tell Jane next time you see her, to keep her from realizing there is no hope?”

  Nicholas took the last sip of his drink, unable to think of a good answer. Again, his rarely demonstrated conscience tweaked him. Jane had such high hopes in his miraculous ability to find her lost brother.

  “Stone!”

  He looked to the left at the voice that had mercifully kept him from answering his friend. Through the crowd, two young men, probably too young to be in such a place, were approaching, their eyes bright with excitement.

  “You’re Stone, the boxer, ain’t you?” one boy asked, while the other boy kept nudging him for encouragement.

  Nicholas sighed. “That I am, boys. And this here is Rage Riley.”

  The two exchanged awed glances before the braver boy said, “Will ya be fightin’ tonight, Stone?”

  Nicholas looked at the door behind the bar wistfully. Behind this room was another larger room where bare-fisted brawling went on late into the night. How satisfying it would be to go a few rounds with one of these drunks. To pound out his frustration and dissatisfaction with something physical, rather than thinking incessantly.

  “I don’t think so, boys,” he finally said, turning away from the room. “Not tonight at any rate.”

  They both made a sound of distress as they faded back into the crowd. Nicholas stared at his empty glass, feeling Rage’s stare on him, but unwilling to answer his friend’s unspoken questions and comments.

  The fact was that this place used to feel like home to him. But he no longer belonged here. Just as he didn’t belong in Jane’s world. He was a man with no country, in a way.

  And he had yet to figure out what to do about it.

  Chapter 7

  Jane stood staring at the back servants’ entrance to Nicholas’s home. She had been standing there almost a full five minutes and yet felt no closer to knocking and facing him again.

  She was a coward. Never before had she felt that. She had faced the deaths of two parents, the disappearance of a beloved brother, and the betrayal of a favorite cousin without allowing fear to mob her. She had gone into the house of a woman she did not know beyond mere passing and become a servant without trembling. She had faced the loathing and mockery of her former peers without a flinch.

  Yet one uncouth man…

  No, it wasn’t the man she feared. It was the kiss. The feelings inspired by the kiss. The deep longing in her soul that she hadn’t even known existed.

  The most ridiculous part of it all was that last night had not been the first time she was kissed. To be precise about it, it had been the third. The first was when she was ten, and it had been with her hated cousin Patrick. Of course, he hadn’t been hated then and had also been all of thirteen. It was a child’s peck, not something she’d thought of until she began pondering her history of kisses in the wee hours of the morning when sleep would not come.

  Her second kiss had been more proper. It had occurred the year before her father died, on the balcony at a ball. This time her partner had been the youngest son of Lord Harrington, what was his name…Rupert or something close to that?

  They had been dancing, and he had taken her out onto the balcony for a little air. She had felt like something was coming, and sure enough, he had kissed her. She recalled it as a nice experience. A brief brush of strong, firm lips on hers before they both pulled away with a blush.

  But Rupert Harrington had nothing like the crushing, consuming power of Nicholas Stoneworth. The kiss on the balcony hadn’t tested her resolve or made her stomach flutter or her legs shake. It hadn’t kept her awake all night or distracted her the next day. And it hadn’t had such consequences as she faced now, either.

  What if Nicholas believed he could kiss her any time he liked? Or take even further liberties with her? She shivered and tried to co
nvince herself that it was out of fear and disgust. But it wasn’t. Excitement would have been more accurate. The idea that he would kiss her again, perhaps do more than just that, gave her a thrill.

  And the thrill was troubling, too. How could she be consumed with thoughts of kisses when she was so close to finding Marcus? It was wrong to let her mind wander from her task. Wrong to think of Nicholas Stoneworth as a man and not a means to her brother.

  She leaned forward and rested her head against the cool door. Perhaps she should leave. She could run away into the night and never see Nicholas Stoneworth again. She could pretend she’d never made this bargain or even met the man at all.

  Slowly, she turned and faced the street. In a moment, she could hail a hack and be gone.

  Before she could make that final decision, the door behind her opened. Spinning, she turned, expecting to find the heavyset cook or stern Gladwell judging her.

  Instead, Nicholas Stoneworth framed the door. The light from the warm kitchen outlined him like a dark, fallen angel. He was wearing trousers that hung casually around his hips and his shirt was stripped open, so there was a shocking expanse of bare, tempting skin for her eyes to feast upon.

  She had never seen a man’s fully bare chest before, just hints of Nicholas’s in the past. Muscle. There was muscle everywhere. Curved and toned from work, from fighting, from God only knew what activities. Light chest hair curled against his skin and a line of it trailed down his stomach, making a path that disappeared into his waistband.

  He made a deep, throaty sound before he said, “Leaving?”

  Jane started. She had been staring quite blatantly at his half-naked body and now snapped her gaze to his. He was staring at her evenly, his impossibly bright blue eyes reflecting amusement and something else. Something hot and heady that she fought to ignore as she scrambled for some kind of decorum.

  “I-I—” she stammered, then paused for a deep breath. “No. I wasn’t going to leave.”

  She couldn’t. After all, this man was her last hope.