A Viking For The Viscountess

by Michelle Willingham

  If William had ever been that.

  Her father’s life as a fisherman had always been humble. He’d treated her mother like an angel, and they had never seemed unhappy in the years they’d had together. It was only after her mother died that Papa had sent her to visit Lady Traveston for a lady’s education and for her first Season. Then, she’d learned the truth about Mama’s upbringing.

  “After I married William, you never wrote to me, nor did you ever visit,” Juliana said to her grandmother. “I thought marrying a viscount would please you.”

  “You chose a charlatan and a rake,” Lady Traveston answered. “I knew he would ruin you, and so he did.”

  She spoke as if Juliana had chosen the wrong fork instead of the wrong man. “In any account, you are quite lucky that Lady Spencer is willing to overlook your indiscretion. We will find you a husband—and this time, really, you should allow me to choose him. After that, all will be put to rights.”

  Juliana could hardly keep from gaping. Her grandmother expected her to stand back and let her choose a second husband, as if he were a horse?

  At her silence, Lady Traveston prompted, “Well? Have you nothing to say? I do believe thanks are in order, seeing as how I’m rescuing you from that hovel.”

  After you left me there for the past six months, Juliana wanted to remind her. Instead, she admitted, “I don’t know what to say.”

  “I think it’s time that you faced the truth,” Lady Traveston said. “Admit that you made a mistake and learn from it. Choose another man.”

  When she only shook her head, her grandmother tried again. “Your life is not over,” she said gently. “You may be ruined, but there are men out there who will give you a second chance. A foreigner, perhaps. I suppose you won’t wed anyone higher than a baronet or a knight, but there are quite a few who would be glad of a lovely wife. You aren’t that bad-looking, you know.”

  Juliana started to shake her head, but Lady Traveston raised a hand. “Enough of this. It has been six months since you left Hawthorne House. You must let go of the past and move forward. We were fortunate that I could even get you this invitation.”

  Something in her grandmother’s tone was strange, and Juliana suddenly questioned why Lady Traveston had waited all this time to come for her. Something had prompted her to travel to Norfolk, after so many years of ignoring her. A fearful premonition gripped her. “Grandmama, what has happened? Why did you really bring me here?”

  “To find a husband, of course. Now, truly, you should—”

  “Why, Grandmama? Why now?”

  The matron studied her, and her overbearing demeanor suddenly softened. “Because I don’t want that blackguard to get away with ruining you. You deserve a better life than the one you had.”

  Her stomach began to turn itself inside out as she grasped what Lady Traveston was saying. “He what? Do you mean to say that William has returned?”

  Her grandmother stiffened but nodded. “He has. And apparently he is seeking a wife. I rather thought he should be held accountable for what he did.” She let out a quiet sigh. “And I knew you would not believe me unless you saw him with your own eyes.” Her grandmother reached out for her hand, but it brought her no comfort at all. “You will want to speak with him about what he did to you.”

  A dark anger rose up in the pit of her stomach. Speak with him about what he did? She wanted to drive her fist into his jaw.

  Seeking a wife.

  How could he have done this? And worse, how could she have been so stupid as to believe him when they’d eloped? She had wasted years of her life waiting for him to return. She had remained steadfast over the years, taking care of their son, believing that one day, all would be well. And now she realized that her indiscretion with Arik Thorgrim was nothing compared to what William Arthur had done. Doubtless he’d taken other mistresses since he’d left her. Never had he taken their marriage seriously—for it had never been a marriage at all.

  All traces of her guilt were absolved now. She had not committed adultery, for William had never married her. He’d only taken her innocence and abandoned her.

  “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she demanded of her grandmother. “I—I kept searching for our marriage record, and I believed him.” The rage within her rose even higher.

  “I suspected the truth, but it was only recently that it was confirmed,” Lady Traveston admitted. “My men found the false clergyman who ‘married’ you, and when I heard that the viscount had returned, I set off to tell you.”

  Instead of being glad to hear it, the truth hurt even more. “My son and I suffered through a hard winter in my father’s cottage, after we were tossed out of Hawthorne House. You never bothered to see us then.”

  Her grandmother only waved a hand. “You could have traveled to London and stayed with me, if you’d wanted to. I did write you a letter. But you were too proud to humble yourself, weren’t you?”

  Juliana said nothing to that, for it was true. She could have taken Harry to Lady Traveston, but she’d not wanted to ask for help.

  “Besides that, you were in love and as stubborn as your mother was,” her grandmother continued. “I tried to warn you, but you believed every tale Hawthorne spun.”

  She had. At the time, she’d fallen neatly into his trap, traveling toward Scotland before they’d wed. Shame cast its pall over her, making her wish she’d never laid eyes upon William. Because of his vile tricks, her son would be ridiculed by his peers as a bastard.

  “Even if I…did remarry, I’m afraid for Harry,” she admitted. “His schoolmates will tease him because of me.”

  “They might. But if he becomes rich enough, it won’t matter in the end. Money will solve nearly any problem.”

  That might be true, but it would not save a tarnished name.

  “Think upon it,” her grandmother advised. “If you wed a respectable man, he can provide for both of you. In time, it will be forgotten.”

  Juliana sat upon the bed, her confidence bruised and shaken. “I will think about it.”

  But weighing heavier upon her mind was Grelod’s earlier prediction, and she wondered if she was with child. If that came to pass, it would irreparably damage her in the eyes of every man. She would have no choice but to isolate herself and Harry.

  “Oh, I nearly forgot,” her grandmother said. A glint came into her eye that suggested she hadn’t at all forgotten anything. “This arrived for you, along with a note from His Grace, the Duke of Somerford. It seems that he and his son have decided to return to London. I thought you might like to know, seeing how you and Lord Thorgraham are friends.”

  Lady Traveston passed over a folded note, along with a paper-wrapped package. It was long and narrow, and Juliana unwrapped it carefully. Her grandmother was staring at her as if a strong gaze would encourage her to hurry up.

  The gift was covered in blue velvet, and when she unfolded it, she saw Arik’s dagger. The blade gleamed in the light, while the wooden hilt held carvings of runes she didn’t recognize.

  “Now what on earth is that for?” her grandmother wondered aloud. “What does the note say?”

  Juliana read the contents and bit back a laugh. She handed it over to Lady Traveston, and the scrawled words read: He’s not a girl.

  Her grandmother frowned. “I don’t understand. Who isn’t a girl? And why did Lord Thorgraham send you a knife? What sort of man is he?”

  “It’s a joke, Grandmama. And the knife is a gift for Harry.”

  “Now what would Harry want with that? He’ll only go about stabbing things he shouldn’t. Mark my words, if you let that child near a blade, he’ll go and skewer himself.”

  Juliana wrapped up the dagger, but the moment she did, her heart stumbled. Arik was here, in London. He’d come back, in spite of everything.

  For her.

  “I could strangle a man with this,” Arik remarked to the duke, holding up the cravat. He could not understand why any man would want to wrap his neck up like a burial
shroud.

  “True,” Somerford remarked. “But if you wish to court Lady Hawthorne, you’ve no choice but to wear it.”

  The duke stared at him for a moment, his gaze holding regret. It was clear that troubling thoughts plagued him, though he said nothing.

  “What is it?” Arik asked, fumbling with the knots.

  “It bothers me that you look so much like my son. It feels as if he’s been returned to me, but in a different way.”

  “I could say the same,” he admitted, abandoning the cravat and allowing the duke to tie it. “You look a great deal like my father did when he was alive.”

  The duke stood back, rubbing his chin. “So what are we to do, then? Lie to society and afterward, you’ll go on your way?”

  Arik crossed his arms and met the man’s open gaze. “I have given you my brother’s treasure. It should be enough to compensate you for this deception. When I am gone, I will take nothing from you.”

  The old man eyed him for a long moment. There was weariness in his gaze, along with a thread of hope. “I would give it all up for another chance to see my son. Are you certain I won’t see him again?”

  “Not in the way you want to see him,” Arik said. But from the sadness in the old man’s gaze, he wanted to offer something else. “But…sometimes I think that a part of his spirit lives on in me.”

  “Like the book and the tea,” the duke said. There was a flare in his eyes, a hope so fierce that Arik had not the heart to take it from him.

  “Yes. He was sorry for not saying good-bye to you,” Arik finished. That was all he could remember, but he hoped it would give the duke peace to know it.

  The man’s eyes gleamed, but he gave a single nod. “Thank you for that.”

  Arik reached out and touched the man’s shoulder, not really knowing why he did it. But he added, “If I could go back and tell my own father good-bye, this I would do. But he will never know that I regretted my anger with him. I have lost my family and everyone I ever loved.”

  The only person who had given him a respite from the loneliness was Juliana and her boy. He wanted to see her again, to know that she had arrived in London safely. But more than that, he wanted her to smile again, to find joy in her son.

  The duke gave orders for a carriage to be brought around for them. Then he continued, “When you see Lady Hawthorne tonight, allow me to make the introductions. And whenever you meet someone I introduce you to, simply repeat the name back and bow.”

  Arik agreed with that advice. Repeating names was far easier than attempting to speak with strangers in a language that was not truly his own.

  The duke paused a moment and added, “There is a rumor around town that Lord Hawthorne has returned from the Continent.”

  Interesting tidings indeed. His mood darkened at the idea of Juliana’s husband trying to claim her once more—especially after William of Arthur had harmed her in the past. If he dared to touch her, Arik would tear him apart.

  “Will he be there tonight?” Though he knew he was not supposed to bring weapons to this gathering, he was itching for a fight.

  “I do not know. But if it is your intention to come to her aid, you should ask Lady Hawthorne what she wants. She may not welcome your interference.”

  Arik crossed his arms. “I will ensure that no one attempts to harm her.”

  He suspected that others might try to humiliate Juliana, if her marriage had indeed been a false one. But he intended to remain at her side, whether she wanted him there or not.

  Juliana felt the stares of everyone when she entered Lady Spencer’s ball. She didn’t want to be here at all, though Grandmama had demanded it of her. Especially since William had returned.

  Her body was as cold as ice, her hands as frozen as her heart. This was the night she’d feared most of all—the night when she would confront her former husband at last and face down the deception. She’d been so young and foolish, not realizing how he’d taken advantage of her.

  For a moment, she stood close to the wall while her grandmother greeted their hostess. A lovely woman with blond hair was standing stiffly behind her, and not a single fold of her blue gown held a wrinkle. Her gloved hands were folded, and beside her stood an even younger girl who was possibly sixteen.

  “Do you think you’ll find a husband tonight, Margaret?” the girl was asking. Before the woman could answer, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling and prayed in a low voice, “Please God, let someone marry my sister and take her away from the house. I would be forever grateful.”

  Juliana couldn’t help but smile at the girl. Her older sister, however, did not appear amused.

  “Be quiet, Amelia,” she hissed. “Others will hear you.”

  “Oh, I do hope so.” The girl winked at Juliana. “I am Amelia Andrews, and this is my sister Margaret. If you happen to know of a gentleman in need of a wife, please do feel free to introduce him to her. Margaret does prefer a man with all of his teeth, if that is possible.”

  Margaret Andrews sent Juliana a pained look. “Please do ignore my younger sister. She has not yet learned proper behavior, and I was forced to bring her.”

  Juliana only smiled. “I understand.” But as she nodded in farewell to the ladies, Amelia pointed at her own teeth in a not-so-subtle reminder.

  Her grandmother took her by the hand and commanded, “Stand up straight and follow me.” She made all the appropriate introductions, and Juliana remembered Lady Spencer from the last time she’d met her, many years ago. It was not so difficult to fall into the familiar pattern of smiling and remaining demure while saying absolutely nothing.

  When they entered the ballroom, Lady Traveston reminded her, “Do not look so bereft, Juliana. Yours is not the only scandal here.” The older woman nodded toward two gentlemen scowling in the corner. “You’ve heard what happened to Jack Warwick, Lord Gabriel Stanhope, and Rory Fitzwalter, I presume.”

  Juliana shook her head, uncertain why Grandmama would bother to gossip about the three bachelors. It had to be a distraction of some form, something to keep her mind off William. “No, what happened?”

  “There was a baby left on Warwick’s doorstep. Fitzwalter and Lord Stanhope are staying with him, and no one knows who fathered the child. Everyone is wagering whether it was him, Fitzwalter, or Stanhope.” The matron nodded toward Fitzwalter. “Personally, I believe it was him. If any man could tempt a woman into sinning, I’d choose Fitzwalter.”

  The very mention of sin brought about the vision of Arik Thorgrim and his hardened muscles. The man knew how to touch her, his hands caressing her skin in a way that tempted her to surrender. God help her, she couldn’t stop thinking of the night she’d spent in his arms. Especially now.

  But she forced her attention back to her grandmother’s conversation. “Why does it matter who the father is?”

  “Oh, it matters not a whit. But it does make the subject of a good wager.” She led Juliana toward the corner. “Then, of course, there are the foreigners. Though I can’t say why on earth Lady Spencer would invite strangers from so far away. They remind me of gypsies, don’t you agree? So dark and mysterious. That one over there is King Vlad, and the other man is Count Grazki. Perhaps one of them might do as a husband.”

  The two men appeared menacing, though their looks were striking. The king wore an ornate gold-laced military uniform in a dark burgundy shade, almost the color of dried blood. It was decorated with a sapphire order upon a white sash. His piercing blue eyes could be considered handsome, but Juliana suspected that he was a man accustomed to distancing himself from the world.

  “Ah, there he is.” Lady Traveston waved her fan toward the opposite side of the billiards room. “The man you’ve been searching for these past six years.”

  A wave of nausea passed over her, and Juliana gripped her fan so hard her knuckles went white. Grandmama was right. There, in the corner, was William Arthur, the man she had called husband for part of a year. She stared at him, feeling a sudden rise of fury. Her vision blurre
d, and she struggled to maintain a façade of calm.

  “Shall I accompany you?” Lady Traveston offered. Juliana shook her head. William was hers to confront.

  “No, I am fine. But I would like a moment alone to gather my thoughts.”

  Her grandmother appeared reluctant, but found a reason to converse with another matron nearby. Juliana stood by the wall, eying the man whose face mirrored Harry’s. What on earth should she say to him? Hello, it’s been six years. We have a son now.

  No, she rather thought the viscount would give her the cut direct, humiliating her even further. It was better to take him by surprise.

  “You should have brought my dagger,” a deep voice said from behind her.

  She turned and saw Arik Thorgrim standing there. He was dressed like a duke’s son, with a black tailcoat and a snowy white cravat. His breeches were buff-colored, and they fit his body, outlining his heavy thighs. He had tied back his hair in a queue with a dark ribbon. Seeing him in these clothes made her fully aware of how handsome he was, albeit in a wild manner. And she couldn’t help but smile.

  “I never expected to see you again,” she admitted. “Thank you for the dagger you sent. Though I still believe Harry is too young for it.”

  “I learned to use a dagger at the age of four,” Arik said. “Harry is not at all too young.”

  She had her doubts on that point, but did not argue. Yet when she studied the Viking a little closer, she noticed a large bulge near his waistcoat. She leaned in and whispered, “Did you bring a dagger into Lady Spencer’s ballroom?”

  “No. It’s a battle-ax,” he clarified.

  As if that was a better choice? Juliana tightened her lips, trying to hold back her amusement. “And what did you hope to do with your battle-ax?”

  Arik sent her a wicked look. “Challenge the viscount to a battle. I would enjoy spilling his blood to grant you vengeance.”

  She grimaced at that. “I don’t think that will be necessary. But I am glad you are here.”