Capturing the Viscount (Rakes and Roses Book 1)

by Win Hollows

  “You,” he spat. “You will explain this to me immediately. Come.” And with that, he strode past Rem out of the room, Rem following docilely behind him.

  Lord Parrington’s study was larger than expected, with books lining every shelf that wasn’t occupied by strange contraptions that Rem suspected Laura had had a part in acquiring. Maps and anatomical diagrams took up the remaining wall space, making it clear that this man had a love of knowledge and learning. It was clear from where Laura had inherited her unconventional thirst for progressive inventions. Light from the tall window on the far side of the room illuminated a stately oak desk and burgundy stuffed chairs situated in front of it. If it weren’t for the circumstances, Rem would have complimented the man on his taste, but as it was, he remained silent. Fingertips tingling, Rem swallowed, his mouth suddenly devoid of moisture.

  “Sit,” Lord Parrington commanded.

  Rem obeyed, thinking a deferential attitude was probably appropriate in this instance. Lord Parrington rounded the desk to sit in the heavy chair behind it and stared at Remington in silence, every inch the picture of an enraged aristocrat. Rem met the man’s eyes with what he hoped was a determined expression.

  “My wife and I put our trust in you,” he began. “You come from a respected family. My wife assured me that your mother had raised you well enough that a young lady would be safe in your care. And yet, you bring my daughter back to me injured, looking like she’s been to Hell and back. The extent of her injuries might seal your fate regardless of any civility onto which I am holding. You are the reason we have been calling Scotland Yard, waiting up all night for her to come home, thinking the worst. I have never, in all my years, known such fear as when I was imagining what could have befallen my precious daughter. In addition, she’s obviously ruined in society’s eyes, a state which matters not to me in the least, but which will undoubtedly have grave ramifications for her, as you well know.” Parrington’s jaw twitched. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t call you out right now and have done with shooting your miserable carcass, law be hanged.”

  As far as intimidating speeches went, Rem was impressed. He understood the man’s position. If anyone had brought his daughter home in such a state, he would probably have dispensed with the formalities and strangled him with his bare hands. Rem knew his next words would very likely determine the course of both Laura’s and his own fate.

  He cleared his throat. “First of all, Sir, I apologize for the events of the past twenty-four hours. It was never my intention to put Miss Parrington in harm’s way, nor was it my intention to keep her out past acceptable social hours.” He paused, gauging the expression of Lord Parrington, which was, as expected, inscrutable in the wake of his platitudes. “However,” he said, his features hardening. “It has always been my intention to marry your daughter, regardless of what has led us to this point. I won’t prevaricate or insult Miss Parrington’s honor by pretending to offer for her hand under duress. To be completely honest, it doesn’t matter to me what you or anyone else has to say about it; All that matters is that, one way or another, I intend to have Laura as my wife. With her consent, of course,“ he added with a small smile.

  Lord Parrington didn’t react, except for a corner of his mouth twitching until he replied in dry tones, “So it’s Laura now, is it?”

  Rem breathed an internal sigh of relief. “Yes, Sir. I have come to regard Laura quite highly and am fortunate she has given me permission to call her by her given name..” Rem congratulated himself. He had made the presumptuous use of her name whispered in her ear on multiple occasions sound almost innocent.

  Lord Parrington sighed and rubbed his temples in circular motions with the tips of his fingers. After carefully laying his hands back down on the arms of his chair, he stated, “Mr, Rothstone, if you had replied in any other manner than you did, I do believe I would have had to shoot you.” He said this a bit too cheerfully for Rem’s taste. “Although the circumstances are not ideal… I am inclined to believe you regarding your intentions towards my daughter.” He straightened in his chair and flattened his hands on the desk before him. “But make no mistake. If you are not married to Laura by this time next week…” He let his voice trail off softly and then smiled without warmth. “Well, let’s just say, there isn’t a man in England who would want to be in your shoes, my boy.”

  Rem allowed himself a grim smirk. “If I’m not married to her by then, Sir, I’ll shoot my own ‘miserable carcass.’”

  Lord Parrington grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

  She’d said no.

  Laura had made herself quite clear as Rem had laid his heart bare before her. By the time he had concluded his discussion with Lord Parrington, Laura had been lounging with her feet up in the downstairs drawing room waiting for the doctor to arrive when Rem had entered. Rem saw that she had changed into clean clothes, a familiar white shawl wrapped over the soft knit cream day dress. She wasn’t looking too happy to begin with, but by the time Rem was done outlining the situation and the necessity for an expedient wedding, Laura’s nostrils were flaring and her eyes looked suspiciously glazed with moisture. Arms crossed across her torso, she had listened without a word and then told him in no uncertain terms that she wouldn’t marry him if he were the last man on earth.

  What had he done wrong? Rem had been ecstatic that the terrible circumstances of last night were leading to what he had wanted all along, and surely Laura saw that there was no other choice? Surely she wasn’t so repelled at the idea marrying him that she would ruin her place in society just to spite him? He had thought things were going well between them. Why would this natural progression (albeit speeded up a bit) upset her so?

  He hadn’t known how to react after she declared her position. He had blinked, frowned, and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Laura watched him without mercy, her lips pressed firmly together. He thought of a thousand things to say, but somehow, none of them seemed the right thing. Finally, he simply bowed and turned on his heel, exiting Parrington House swiftly, as if his entire future hadn’t just been ripped from his chest.

  This called for brandy. Lots and lots of brandy.

  How dare he!

  Laura fumed, her taut nerves needing an outlet of movement and not finding one, confined to the sofa as she was. The doctor, who had come soon after Remington had left, had tightly wrapped her ribs, checked her feet, and told her to stay in a reclined position for the next few days. The tears she had been holding in while Rem was in the room escaped, running down her cheeks in unheeded tracks. Reginald, sensing her turmoil, padded over to where she lay and promptly made a bed of her lap. Hasty marriage indeed. He’d lain out the choice before her as if it were a minor business deal- and a foregone conclusion that she would happily say yes.

  Reginald yowled as Laura’s stroking became a bit aggressive. “Oh, I’m sorry, kitten,” she soothed, and he immediately went back to purring with slitted eyes.

  Truthfully, she had become more amenable to the idea of a proposal from Remington over the course of the past twenty-four hours. Even throughout the ordeal at Honeymoore, Laura was aware that she was seeing the truth of who Rem was- who he would always be- a man who cared about the things that made Laura happy, and someone who would do anything to protect what he felt was his.

  But when he had spoken to Laura this morning, it was as if he was concluding the execution of a political or military campaign. And the more Laura thought about it, the more she was coming to realize that was exactly what it was for him- a campaign- and one that he had been winning until his demeanor this morning.

  She understood that her emotions concerning Rem weren’t precisely logical, but what it came down to was one essential question: Was his desire to marry her born out of genuine feelings for her or his desire to win over an opponent? Although Laura didn’t have much experience with the opposite sex, she was coming to understand that some men needed to assert their dominance and affirm their manhood by conquering- by manipula
ting, intimidating, seducing people into getting what they wanted and then rejoicing over their victories. She had sensed this attitude in more than one of the men she had met since she had been in London.

  Was Rem one of those men? Should she just accept that perhaps all men possessed this trait in some measure? And even if it was so, was her reaction to it reasonable? Did all women eventually come to the conclusion that they must live with it if they wanted to be married?

  And yet, everything in Laura had instantly rebelled against the way he had broached the subject of marriage to her. Mayhap she had overreacted. Maybe she was being emotional over something that was now out of her control. She couldn’t very well fault him for understanding their current social dilemma. But even for all that, as things stood, there was no way in Hades she would agree to marry that weasel.

  Groveling. This would require lots and lots of groveling.

  Chapter 11

  Laura was going to kill Georgiana.

  When Laura had received a note from her friend that morning requesting that Laura join her for a ride in Hyde Park, Laura had assumed it would be just the two of them, but Gia had elected to invite a pair of gentlemen to meet them at the entrance of the famed Rotten Row.

  “Why? Why, why, why?” Laura hissed as they approached the waiting men, both atop prancing thoroughbreds who looked eager to get moving in the late morning sunshine. As she surveyed their escorts, she noted that one of them was Mr. Fennimore, the gentlemen she had spoken to at the opera. Of course, thoughts of the opera inevitably led to thoughts of Remington Rothstone kissing her with searing heat, but she forcefully pushed those thoughts into the depths from whence they came. She actually rather liked Mr. Fennimore. As she trod closer, his smiling visage soothed her frustration. Here was a man with whom she didn’t have to be on guard every second.

  “Oh, come now,” Georgiana wheedled. “You can’t be a recluse forever. I made that mistake after…” she paused, then cleared her throat. “ -once, and it did me no favors in the eyes of society. If you don’t become a welcome face again, people will think there is something to the rumors.”

  Laura knew she was right, but still ground her teeth at the idea that she somehow needed to prove herself to people she didn’t even know or particularly care about. As soon as her feet had started to heal, her mother and Gia had both plagued her to attend some sort of event at which she didn’t have to use her feet very much, as much for her own benefit as to quell the rampant rumors surrounding Laura’s escapade at Honeymoore Manor. Since this was the second such time she had eschewed society for a mysterious reason, Astoria Parrington had been nervous at the effects it would have on her prospects. Finally, Laura had agreed to go on a ride, as she had been missing her frequent riding habits anyway. Her half-boots were tied loosely around her sore feet, and she knew she couldn’t do more than docilely clop through Hyde Park on her trusted bay mare.

  The doctor had given her strict orders to remain un-corseted and in bed for the past week, which had certainly helped her ribs and feet. However, it was becoming stifling to remain so any longer. She was wearing only a loose stomacher today, which still put an uncomfortable pressure on her torso, but she was glad to be able to be out from under the fretful glances and constant cosseting of her mother and father.

  Resigned to the course before her, Laura stretched her lips into a smile that felt rubbery and cracked while closing the distance between them and the gentlemen. Laura didn’t know how she would be received by polite society after her absence, but these men, at least, seemed pleased to see her and her companion.

  “Miss Parrington, you are looking fetching today. We have missed your face in town these past weeks,” Fennimore greeted her with a smile and a tip of his satiny top hat. His gray eyes asked questions while still managing to be kind.

  Laura felt her smile melting into a genuine one as her horse drew alongside his. “Thank you for saying so, Lord Fennimore. I have quite been bored out of my mind while convalescing,” she revealed, hoping he wouldn’t press for further details.

  “My sympathies, Miss Parrington,” Fennimore’s companion chimed in. He was a round-faced fellow with a shock of red hair and freckles spanning his pale face. He sat his horse a bit awkwardly, and his horse skittered as if his rider’s legs were squeezing a bit too hard. “Grayson here tells me I need to get out more or I’ll become bored as well, but I’m afraid he overestimated my equestrian skills when he invited me today.” He shrugged in self-deprecation.

  Georgiana laughed. “Oh, Harry, you’ll be fine. No one said being well was fun!” She shouldered up next to him playfully. Before Laura’s quizzical gaze could be formed into a question, Gia explained, “Harry is my second cousin. He has just recently been informed by his physician that he is recovered enough to leave the house.”

  Laura smiled in commiseration as the party began to move down the lane. “Oh, have you been sick as well, Mr…?”

  “Lord Chalsey. But Harry’s perfectly fine, Ma’am.”

  “She can’t call you Harry, Harry,” Gia commented. “So much to learn…” She looked skyward as if praying for patience.

  “Oh, well, I suppose not,” he said with a flush coming over his cheeks. “I have been plagued by a lung condition since childhood, Miss Parrington. Unfortunately, as a result, my time in society has been somewhat limited.”

  “Nonexistent, you mean,” Gia supplied. “Poor Harry has had to stay indoors for the majority of his life and has never been to London before this trip because of the foul air. So I’m determined to show him around,” she said with warmth.

  “Well, Lord Chalsey, I feel silly complaining of my recent infirm when your history is so clearly more deserving of sympathy,” Laura said, and she meant it. She couldn’t imagine spending any more time indoors than she had for the past two weeks, let alone one’s entire life.

  “I must admit that it feels both exhilarating and terrifying to be out and about as is expected,” Chalsey said without artifice.

  Laura smiled, feeling a particular kinship with this man. She, too, had felt the same way during her first fortnight here in London. She frowned. What had happened since then that she now felt only a wry cynicism at the thought of the social whirl that was the London season?

  It wasn’t just one thing, she answered herself as the group continued down the well-manicured path, but many small things throughout the course of the last few weeks that had caused her innocent wonder to recede. The fawning attention of those she could sense were falsely enamored by outward appearances, the snide whispers of those women who wanted to find fault with her popularity, the general obliviousness of society to what truly mattered- a person’s heart and interests and passions- Those things had quickly eaten away at the excitement she once felt when preparing to attend social gatherings.

  And yet…. Here she was in the company of a group of people who didn’t exhibit any of those dismaying qualities which seemed to plague per patience. She looked at the faces of the others on horseback beside her, their faces amused as Gia related an incident involving a ripped hem and an overturned punch bowl, her penchant for self-deprecation in full force. Laura’s mouth turned up at the corners. Now these people, she was actually enjoying.

  The foursome clopped, or, in the case of Gia’s Arabian mare, pranced, down the lane, coming upon a copse of trees that they all agreed would make a lovely place to set up their picnic stuffs. Laura relished reminiscing about life in the country with Lord Chalsey, who also missed the open fields and endless green forests that seemed so far away from the dingy busyness of the city. It brought an ache to her chest that she hadn’t known was possible, thinking of returning to the peaceful existence that had been her life before coming here.

  The gentlemen carried the saddlebags of food over to where Laura and Gia had spread a soft wool blanket down onto the grass.

  “Are you alright? You look…almost sad. Forlorn, perhaps,” Mr. Fennimore said quietly to Laura as they sat down, his keen eyes observi
ng her face closely.

  Laura met his gaze and smiled. “Oh, I’m perfectly fine, but thank you,” she reassured him, spreading her skirts into a comfortable array over her legs. Gia and Harry were speaking animatedly about a mutual relative and were not paying attention to their conversation.

  He reached out and put a warm, broad hand over hers. “Are you in pain? Please tell me.”

  She laughed. “Not that kind of pain, no.” His nearness unsettled her, the concern in his feathered gray eyes making the lump in the back of her throat larger.

  “Good.” He left his hand where it was. “Then what is troubling you, Laura? I mean, Miss Parrington,” he corrected himself sheepishly.

  “It really is nothing,” she said, her leafy green eyes flitting to his and back down to her skirts where she picked at a poplin of embroidery. “I’m simply a country bumpkin who has little business living in the city.”

  Mr. Fennimore looked as though he was trying to hold back a smile. “That’s patently untrue, darling.” His fingers rubbed the back of her hand gently.

  Laura had been called endearments by many men lately, both casually and ardently, so the occurrence shouldn’t have registered as significant. But it did. She looked at his angular, handsome face and wondered if she had overlooked this man and missed his measure because of another who had so overwhelmed her consciousness lately. His eyes were not a deep brown, and his brows were sloping rather than slashes above them. The thick head of hair that crowned his head was a tawny brown instead of rich, deep mahogany, and his frame was slim, yet still broad across the shoulders. However, none of that she could hold against him. He simply wasn’t Remington Rothstone. And that might be alright, she decided. “What makes you say that?” she asked, hoping his answer would reveal…she didn’t know what, but something she needed to hear.