by Wendy Vella
RESCUED BY A VISCOUNT
Miss Claire Belmont’s life is thrown into turmoil when she finds out her brother left something behind in France before he died. Going against her family’s wishes, she is determined to uncover the secret of what it is, and is forced to turn to the one man she vowed to avoid at all costs for help. Claire has always feared that if anyone can disrupt her well-ordered life and see the vulnerable woman behind the polite facade, it will be Viscount Kelkirk and now they are thrown together, she realizes her fears were justified.
By Wendy Vella
“If you like Mary Balogh, Julia Quinn or Sabrina Jeffries I think you’ll enjoy Wendy’s fluid writing & witty style.”
- Sue Grimshaw, Randomhouse Group
Rescued By A Viscount is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Rescued By A Viscount published by Wendy Vella Copyright © 2014 Wendy Vella
ISBN KINDLE: 978-0-9922643-4-5
Dedication
To Sophie and Nate.
I may not be perfect
but when I look at my children
I know I got something perfectly right.
So proud of you both.
Love you xx
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Thanks
Duchess By Chance: Excerpt
Other Books by Wendy
CHAPTER ONE
Viscount Kelkirk ran down the narrow lane and past the shops, his long legs covering the distance with ease. “Minerva’s Miracle Cures,” he muttered, glancing at the sign above one of the shop fronts. As if crushed eye of newt and several cloves of garlic with a pinch of the ridiculous could cure anything. Put a label on something and call it the elixir of life and desperate and foolish people tended to buy it.
Skirting two boys playing in a puddle, he increased his pace, thinking of the horse he was going to buy if he made it to the rendezvous with Daniel in time. At the end of the shops, he turned right and ran into someone coming the other way. Catching the body as she cried out, he staggered backwards until his back collided with a wall. The air expelled from his lungs in a loud whoosh. Wrapping his arms around the woman as she tripped on his feet, Simon pulled her into his chest until she steadied.
“Please accept my apologies, madam. Are you unhurt?” he said as he fought for breath.
“Forgive me, sir–in my haste, I did not see you coming.”
He knew that voice.
“Claire?”
“Dear god!” She stumbled back a few paces, staring at him, her brown eyes wide and stricken.
“What’s wrong?” Simon said, advancing, which made her scurry further backwards. “Claire, why are you here alone…dressed like that?” he added, looking at her worn black coat and bonnet. Searching around them, he saw no sign of a maid or anyone who should be accompanying her. His eyes narrowed as they returned to her and took in her shabby appearance. Claire Belmont was never anything but elegantly attired. Every item she donned showcased the beauty of her soft cream skin, strawberry blonde curls, and lush body, yet dressed in that, she could have passed for a servant.
“I…uh, have to go.”
She was pale and scared; fear announced itself in every line of her face and the rigid way she held her body. She was looking everywhere but at him, almost as if she was searching for someone.
“Who are you looking for?
Her eyes quickly returned to his, the brown depths wary. “I must leave at once, Lord Kelkirk. Please excuse me.”
“If you think I’ll let you walk about here unescorted in a distressed state, then think again,” Simon reached for her arm as she prepared to leave, but she evaded him and then, to his stunned surprise, she picked up her skirts and ran. “Claire!” She didn’t stop as he roared her name, and in seconds, he was following. She was fast–he’d give her that–but he was bigger and his stride longer, and he was soon gaining on her. She turned briefly to see how close he was, and that gave him the opportunity he needed.
“Claire, stop.” He grabbed her arm, but she swung her reticule, and whatever was inside connected with his jaw, sending him stumbling backwards. She didn’t pause as he cursed, and in seconds, had fled. Simon waited until his ears stopped ringing and then followed. Once out of the lane, he looked up and down the street. There were plenty of carriages and hackneys but no sign of Claire. She could be inside one, but he had no hope of catching them and opening each to look. Slowly retracing his steps to where she’d collided with him, he looked down the narrow lane. Why was she here dressed in old clothes, and what the hell had the haughty Claire Belmont so upset that she would run from him like that?
He had known her for two years, since their best friends had married, but their relationship was not what one would term close. For the most, they rubbed along with each other, however when he was with Lady Claire Belmont, Simon always felt as though someone was jabbing him in the side with a dull edged instrument. It was a nasty, irritating feeling he had never been able to shake even though he’d tried. She wasn’t like other women, who seemed more than happy to like him. Claire challenged him constantly. She said he needed provocation, as most women just gazed at him adoringly. Of course he provoked her back, because there was nothing quite as enticing as seeing Claire Belmont ruffled, her usually immaculate feathers standing on end.
His eyes went to each of the shops. Had she come to visit one of them? Walking slowly towards the first, he looked in the small window filled with bottles and oddities. Deciding it was in her best interest to investigate further, he entered. If Claire was in trouble or ill, then she needed help and he would offer his services; however he wanted to know what he was dealing with first.
An elderly woman appeared, dressed in so many colors that Simon blinked several times just to assure himself his eyes had seen her accurately. He was fairly certain she was wearing every color of the rainbow, starting with the large yellow bow placed on the top of her tight grey curls.
“Good day to you. My name is Lord Kelkirk, and I would like to enquire after a lady who may have entered your establishment just minutes ago. She was dressed entirely in black.” The woman didn’t offer a nod or smile of encouragement, just studied him with her faded eyes. The scent of dried herbs was almost overpowering, and he could feel a sneeze coming as he took a few moments to look around him. Hanging from every available space was an array of dried things. Some were herbs and others appeared to be the appendages of dead animals. All were covered in dust.
“No lady of that description has entered this shop, sir.”
“You’re sure,” Simon questioned. After all, she was elderly and may just need another prod. His uncle was getting on in years and could be vague upon occasion.
“Because a body is old it does not mean it’s dimwitted, sir. If I says no woman of that description has entered this shop today, then she ain’t.”
“Would you tell me if she had?” Simon questioned. The woman cackled just as Simon thought a witch would. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he attempted to hold back a sneeze. Once started, he was unsure he could stop without leaving the shop.
“Well now, that depends on what a person is wil
ling to pay for the information.”
Snorting, Simon handed over several coins, which she promptly tucked into her bodice.
“No woman of that description has come to this shop today,” she said with a wide, toothless smile that left Simon with no doubts he had just been hoodwinked.
“Very cunning, madam.”
“You needs to rise a bit earlier to get anything over Bea Bugs, my lord.”
Simon’s eyes narrowed. “Is that really your name?”
“Course not. Don’t know as my ma had many brains, yet don’t think she’d come up with something like that. Has quite a ring to it, don’t it?”
“An illustrious title, Miss Bugs, for a colorful lady.” Giving her a bow because really, she had bettered him without blinking and he, gullible fool he was for thinking that with age came a dulling of wits, had allowed it to happen. Pushing aside what looked to be a hanging bunch of small, pointed teeth, he then left.
Shaking his head a short while later, he walked from the last shop with as much information as he’d had when he’d entered the first and considerably lighter pockets. No one had known anything about a lady dressed in black. So if she had not come here to visit a shop, then perhaps she, like he, had been passing through the lane en route to meeting someone. But why would the proper Miss Belmont have cause to meet anyone here? It made no sense at all.
Now hopelessly late to meet Daniel and purchase the horse, Simon made his way back to the main street and then towards the club. He wouldn’t mention this little incident to his friend, not until he knew what the hell had just happened. And he would find out. In fact, he would be questioning Claire when next he saw her, which would very possibly be this evening.
His first impulse had been to storm around to her house and demand an explanation, but that would achieve nothing. She would simply refuse to see him, and in turn, her family would be alerted to whatever she was doing. He was fairly certain her brother had no idea she was skulking about dressed like an old crone in a lane that, whilst not the worst in London, was hardly the best.
Was she meeting a lover? Simon had to stop while he thought that over. Claire Belmont with a lover. No, it did not settle well with him, nor did he want it to. Ignoring the sharp, stabbing pain in his chest, he started walking once more.
Was she ill? Had she come here to get something she desperately needed for her health? This thought made the pain intensify. Claire always looked a picture of good health, to his mind. Of course that was because she was always perfectly dressed, her hair never out of place. In fact Claire did everything perfectly, never did anything that would raise the collective eyes of society. She smiled when she should and spoke about the correct topics to the correct people. She was the epitome of all a young lady should be, at least until today. Today she’d behaved irrationally, and he was determined to find out why.
Dear god, what had she just done? Claire Belmont fell back against the worn seats of the hackney. She had just hit Viscount Kelkirk in the face with her reticule, which held a heavy pouch of coins, and that was after fleeing from him like a crazed idiot.
“No, no, no.” Claire felt the pressure of tears behind her eyes but would not give in to them. What should she do now? Pulling the note from her reticule, she reread the words.
Your brother left something behind in France, Miss Belmont, when his regiment passed through. If you want to know what, then meet me in Tuttle Lane at eleven o’clock tomorrow. Bring money and come alone.
Folding it once more, she tucked it back into her reticule. She dared not go back to the lane now because Lord Kelkirk could still be there and he would pounce on her, demanding answers to the questions that would be rolling around in his head. Besides, her family would notice her absence if she stayed away much longer. Claire could only hope that whomever had written that note made contact with her again, because she could not take the risk of returning to Tuttle Lane today.
Rushing off alone this morning had probably not been the action of a rational person, yet Anthony’s death had nearly destroyed Claire, and if there was something of his left in the world, then she wanted it and did not want her elder brother to do anything to deter her from getting it. Yes, it could be a hoax, yet something inside Claire had believed it wasn’t. When she’d read that note, something had gripped her– an urgency that had forced her to take a risk to see what Anthony had left behind in France. Now she would have to wait and hope that soon she would receive more correspondence.
How would she face Lord Kelkirk this evening? It was the Harrison ball and everyone would be there, so he definitely would be unless he fell ill–really ill–this afternoon. That doesn’t make me a bad person, wishing an illness on a man I don’t wish to see.
“Yes it does,” she sighed. It made her a very bad person.
Perhaps she could fall suddenly ill? Tell her mother she had a sore head and needed quiet and bed rest? But then what about tomorrow evening and the one after that? She’d have to face him sometime, and knowing Simon as she did, she knew he would never let what happened today drop until he had all the facts. He was tenacious and would hunt her down until he had answers to all his questions. Simon did not understand social boundaries or the restrictions these placed on a person. If he wanted to ask a question, no matter how delicate, he did. She would need to stay composed in his company when next they met, because only he could provoke her enough to drop her calm façade and turn into a sharp-tongued shrew in seconds.
All she’d had to do today to quash his curiosity was say something like, ‘Lord Kelkirk, what a surprise to see you here. My maid comes here often and today I accompanied her to see what has her so excited.’ She could have then offered a polite titter, perhaps, and asked after his health. Why hadn’t she? If Claire was good at one thing, it was social chatter. She’d done nothing because she’d panicked. The fear of exposure had rendered her speechless, and she had reacted instinctively and without thought. No one had known she was going to Tuttle Lane, and she’d wanted it kept a secret, so she’d fled like a fool. Of course, now he did know she’d been there and with a few well-placed words, could make her life difficult.
Walking from the hackney minutes later towards her family’s townhouse, Claire counted the six steps up as she trod them and then stepped over the small crack on the top one, as she did every time she left or entered the house. The door opened before she reached for it and her brother’s butler, who used to be her father’s butler, stood waiting for her.
“Hello, Plimley.”
He looked at her intently for several seconds before he spoke. “Miss Belmont, are you well?”
“Yes, thank you, Plimley,” Claire said, stepping inside.
Plimley had been Claire’s friend when she did not have many. He had played cards with her, listened as she’d practiced piano and read her books when her brother or mother could not. He’d been a constant in her life and was someone she cared for very much.
“And how was your slumber last night, Miss Belmont?”
Lowering her eyes, Claire mumbled something vague and waved her hand about. Plimley knew her sleeping habits were not good, just like he always knew if something was worrying her. However, she was not about to get into that with him now.
“Are you wanting these taken to your room, Miss Belmont?” the butler added, looking at the faded cloak and bonnet he had just taken from her.
Claire was used to Plimley, having known him since she was ten, however sometimes he still made her blink. He was possibly one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. His hair was thick and blonde even at fifty-five years old; he had the bluest eyes and kindest smile of any person she knew. Her mother’s friends—any woman callers, in fact–swooned over him. Even men stopped and stared at him, yet he remained calm and surprisingly un-conceited always. Even when Lady Carmichael had pretended to trip and fall into his arms, he’d simply righted her and remained unflustered as she’d twittered about his strong arms and firm, muscled torso.
“
Yes, take them to my room, please,” Claire said and she could hear the tremor in her voice. She was tired, having not slept last night with worry. She needed to reach her room and rest, and then she could think about what next she would do about that note.
“Is there a problem, Miss Belmont? Something I may help you with?”
“I’m well, thank you, Plimley,” Claire said, patting his hand.
“Perhaps a nap before this evening’s entertainment would set you to rights?”
Plimley was a watcher. He knew what each member of the Belmont family needed before he or she needed it, and most especially Claire. She’d been fooling herself when she’d thought to deter him from her tired state.
“Yes, you are right, Plimley, but I shall visit with mother and Mathew before I do so.”
“I shall see to preparing a herbal tisane to calm your thoughts, Miss Belmont, and have it placed in your room.”
Claire began to turn away and then faced the butler once more. She squeezed his hand briefly. “Plimley, I have no right to ask this of you, but if I ever marry, will you come with me to whatever household I end up in and be my butler?”
“I would be honored.”
“And Amanda and Liam, of course,” Claire added. Plimley was married to one of her brother’s maids, a pretty, sweet-natured woman who had a practical soul and did not fall about the place swooning when her husband was near. It was the belief among the staff here that if the Plimley child Liam, aged eight, who was already showing signs of resembling his sire, turned out as good-looking as either of his parents, then no woman within five miles of him would be safe.
“I shall be sure to tell her there will be a move in the future for us all.”
