* * *
Lizzie looked up to see James rush into the amber room with a look of anxiety on his handsome face. He had worn it since learning she had abandoned the viscount. Not a hair had been seen of that monstrous liar and debaucher. One whole week at Felmont’s Folly was not enough time for him to find her!
The sight of Bertram Felmont sipping daintily from a china cup stopped James from doing more than hover at her elbow.
It was a fascinating sight.
As a child, Lizzie had invited the oldest Felmont with the longest nose she had ever seen, to take tea with her dolls just for the sight of him trying to get one of her tiny cups near his mouth.
His Felmont art of conversation had been completely wasted on her, as the sight of the tip of his nose moving in time to his words had so intrigued her that she’d never listened to a word he said. It was a trick she resorted to whenever necessary.
The long nose quivered with distaste at the interruption, then continued its perambulations. “If only love were not the fatal affliction of Felmonts, my dear. I fear Consideration has let drop a hint he is on his way here to, shall we say, console you?”
A warning about his obnoxious son never came amiss. “Perhaps I shall have to shoot him after all.” Her words left Bertram Felmont aghast.
During the moment it took him to recover, Lizzie looked up at James. “Yes?”
“Lady Felmont.” James nodded with an odd crick of his neck towards the window.
Lizzie turned to look. Fells Mount loomed in the distance shaded by scudding clouds. Excitement, resolution rose in her breast. James warned her that the viscount was near. “Are you ready?” she asked.
If it had not been for the presence of Bertram Felmont, James might have tried again to make her change her mind.
“Yes, my lady.” He sounded less than enthusiastic about the task. She had promised to protect him from the viscount’s vengeance, to no avail. The warning words cunning bastard had dropped from her staid helper’s lips, as had twisted sneak and peer of plotting.
The one thing James had steadfastly refused to believe was the viscount’s sin. Even though she had seen him sinning, seen the black hair streaming over the pillow, almost tripped over the high-heeled shoes on the floor by the door and seen the clutching hands at his waist.
Not that James had called Lizzie a liar but he kept insisting it was all a mistake. Could the viscount really have mistaken that doxy for his wife? Could he have found her in their bed and not noticed the difference? Could he have been so deafened and blinded by lust that he just imagined that black-haired whore was his wife?
Lizzie doubted it very much. Wouldn’t he have noticed the difference afterwards? Shouldn’t he have raced after his wife to explain? He must have noticed her attack on his buttock.
Or had he simply grown bored with his whore and finally noticed his wife was absent? He had noticed something, for Quentin Seraphim Dacey Felmont had been seen on Fells Mount.
“Here? Close by? Are you sure?” Lizzie enquired of her nervous helper.
“On the road to the Priory, my lady, before he goes to the service at Saint George’s church.”
Drat the man! Not even planning to arrive at the Folly first. Did he intend to confess all to his foster mother and beg her forgiveness? Lizzie scrunched her toes in her shoes. “Tell Gladys to get ready and have my carriage brought round.”
Bertram Felmont gave a delicate cough. “Cousin Elizabeth, if you need my assistance in dealing with the viscount, you have only to ask. Do not, I beg you, flee from your home.”
Lizzie laughed in anticipation. She had the chains ready in a bedroom. All she needed to do was capture her wayward husband and lock him up for eternity.
Lizzie Tempest Ruins A Viscount (Felmont Brides Series Book 1) Page 44
