For the Love of the Viscount (The Noble Hearts Series Book 1)

by Callie Hutton

  Is that so? Then how come I am sitting at her father’s table?

  They continued their play. “Crafty young lady, my girl.”

  Was there an answer to that? Was that even a question? Not quite sure, Simon grunted and sipped his drink.

  He threw coins into the pile in the center of the table and tried very hard to concentrate on his hand. He’d never played so badly, even to the point where Mr. Aldridge looked over at him with a quizzical expression at his last play.

  “I’ve been thinking about a dinner party.”

  All three men turned to Pomeroy and studied him. He ignored them and continued to play his hand as though he’d never spoken. Aldridge looked at Simon with raised eyebrows. Simon shrugged.

  Play continued.

  “Maybe Thursday, next.”

  Now the other men ignored him. Pomeroy turned to Simon. “Lady Elise loves to ride her horse first thing in the morning. Refuses to take a groom with her.” He shook his head.

  Simon signaled a footman to bring him another brandy. He gulped it down and set the glass aside. He was tempted to ask for a refill, but his playing was bad enough with the distraction of Pomeroy uttering random thoughts. Perhaps the man intended to coerce Simon into losing enough money that he would need for Elise’s “very nice” dowry.

  After two more rounds, Pomeroy threw down his hand and stood. “I believe I will gather my two younger daughters.” He turned to Simon. “My eldest is home with a megrim. Then I am headed for home.” He bowed and said, “Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure.”

  With three sets of curious eyes on him, Pomeroy left the card room, whistling softly as he made his way out the door.

  ***

  Lord Pomeroy sat in his study, staring off into space, thinking about his lovely eldest daughter. The light of his life and currently the bane of his existence. Still determined to get her married, and soon, he went over his plan in his mind. The idea of having her marry before accepting offers for her sisters was brilliant.

  Had he not tied her sisters’ happiness to Elise marrying, she would have lingered in his home for the remainder of his days. Not that he objected to the girl’s presence. She was truly a wonderful household manager, of a most congenial nature, and a fine mother to his younger girls. Even though he’d believed his motivation had been to lessen the daily arrival of bills, truth be known, once he’d seen her and St. George together, he knew Elise deserved the true love he’d had with his deceased wife. He wanted that for all his girls.

  Even the reluctant one.

  For some unknown reason, things were at a standstill. St. George no longer called, and Elise spent too much time in her bedchamber. Telling her that he and Blackwell were close to signing marriage contracts had frightened her at first, but soon after she seemed accepting of her fate, which was not the Elise he knew.

  There had been several empty chairs at the card tables last night when St. George had entered the room, but he specifically took the one Butler had given up. So the young man was not avoiding him. Which led him to believe whatever happened between Elise and her young man was not on St. George’s side.

  “My lord, Lord Blackwell requests an audience.” His butler, Mason, stood at the doorway, stiff and proper as always.

  “Yes. Send him in, my good man.” Maybe Blackwell had some insight as to what was going on.

  Pomeroy rose and greeted Blackwell, waving to the chairs in front of the fireplace. “Mason, please have Cook send in coffee and pastries.”

  Mason bowed and left the room.

  They spoke of banal things until the refreshments had been placed in front of them and each man had fixed his coffee to his liking. Pomeroy took a sip and placed the cup on the saucer. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit, Blackwell?”

  Blackwell leaned back and rested his booted foot on his knee. “I have been aware of a situation for some time now and decided the moment had arrived for me to share it with you.”

  “All right. I admit you have my interest piqued.”

  “This is about Lady Elise.”

  Pomeroy nodded for the man to continue. He looked rather serious, and Pomeroy wondered if there was something he needed to be concerned about. When it came to his girls he was indeed the papa who righted wrongs and solved problems. If St. George had hurt her delicate heart, he would pay.

  “Almost two weeks ago at one of the balls — I don’t remember which one, since after a while they all tend to run together — Lady Elise requested I escort her on a stroll around the garden. She seemed a bit unsettled and said there was something she needed to discuss with me.” Blackwell took another sip of coffee, then pushed the cup away. “Lady Elise told me she could not marry me.”

  Pomeroy grinned. Leave it to his darling little girl to address an issue with direct confrontation. “Indeed? And what did you say?”

  “Obviously, I was taken aback by her direct words. Then I realized since it was Lady Elise, she would never be the wilting flower, wringing-of-hands type. In fact, I had to hide my smile at her directness.”

  “Go on.”

  “This is where it gets rather sticky, and I need you to keep a cool head about you.”

  Pomeroy’s stomach muscles tightened at Blackwell’s words, but he waved his hand for the man to continue. Whatever had Elise gotten herself into now? As much as he loved the girl, he was certain the few silver strands on his head had come courtesy of his eldest.

  “It seems she and St. George have been intimate, and she wanted to let me know that since I would no doubt expect a pure bride, it would not be her.”

  All the blood drained from Pomeroy’s head, then raced back up to set his heart pounding. He felt as though it would explode. He hopped up from his seat, his hands fisted at his side.

  “Whoa, Pomeroy, calm down.”

  He grabbed Blackwell by his cravat. “And you are only telling me this now?” He would find St. George and shoot him dead, then drag his corpse to the altar. His little girl was an innocent and no doubt the lecher had seduced and ruined her.

  Wide-eyed, Blackwell stared at him, his face growing red as Pomeroy continued to squeeze his cravat. Seeing his friend’s distress, Pomeroy growled, then released him, and sat back down. Blackwell adjusted his cravat and took a deep breath. “There is more.”

  His fingers gripped the arms of the chair and he glared at his guest. “Continue.”

  “When I told her you needed to know because St. George had to be brought up to scratch, she calmly informed me the man had ordered her—her words—to marry him and she refused.”

  Pomeroy dropped his head into his hands. Why the devil hadn’t he produced sons? A son he could take to Gentlemen Jackson’s and beat the living hell out of him. Or toss him to the wolves, or any number of things that would rid him of problems. But daughters? One raised voice and they dissolved into tears, and he was left feeling like the biggest ogre in London.

  “One other thing.”

  His head jerked up. “There’s more?” God don’t let the gel be with child.

  “She made me promise I would not tell you why I was withdrawing my offer of marriage. I told her I would not break her confidence unless I thought it was in her best interests if you knew. Since I have reason to believe the two of them are at odds with each other at present, I felt it was time to come to you with this knowledge.”

  Pomeroy slumped in his chair for a few minutes, staring into space.

  “What will you do?” Blackwell asked.

  “Pour myself a bloody large glass of brandy. Then pay a visit to the Viscount St. George.”

  Chapter Nine

  Elise bent over and used her finger to check herself one more time, then groaned. Nothing. Her courses still had not started. It had been three weeks since Simon had made love to her right here in this very room when she had so blithely informed him that, being as well read as she was, there was almost no chance one coupling would produce a child.

  Fool, her.

  What would sh
e do now? Well, for one thing, she would have to find the calm, cool Elise deep inside her who always handled any issue with aplomb and grace. Moaning aloud, she sank to her knees and pounded on the carpet. “What will I do?” she shouted to the walls.

  “Elise?” Juliet stood in her doorway, obviously having just risen from her bed, a puzzled look on her face. “Are you all right?”

  Well, then. So much for being calm and collected. It was a wonder she hadn’t roused the entire household. She gave her sister a smile and pushed the hair out of her face. “Yes, I am fine.”

  “Why are you on your knees?”

  “I dropped a coin and was searching for it under the bed.”

  Juliet looked from where Elise knelt on the carpet to where the bed stood halfway across the room. She closed the door behind her, walked to Elise, and sat cross-legged on the floor next to her. “What is wrong?”

  Elise shifted and drew up her legs and wrapped her arms around them, resting her chin on her knees. “Nothing.”

  Juliet smirked. “Not true,” she said in a sing-song voice that always irritated Elise. “Something is the matter with you. You were thrashing about in your bed last night, and I came to your room. You were mumbling something about ‘Simon.’ Isn’t that St. George’s Christian name?”

  “Yes.” Elise sighed. “That is his name.”

  Juliet shifted until she was in the same position as Elise. “Marigold and I thought things were going quite well with St. George.”

  Elise shrugged.

  “I saw you dancing with Mr. Howard at the Folger ball the other evening. He seems like a nice sort. Not bad to look at. And rich, I understand.”

  “And only interested in his hounds and horses.” Elise stood and moved to the dressing table and sat, then picked up her brush. “Besides, I don’t want a husband.”

  Juliet moved behind her and took the brush from her hand and began to run it through Elise’s long hair. “Do you think Papa will really refuse offers for me and Marigold next Season if you do not marry?”

  “I had a plan that I hoped would dissuade him from that edict.”

  Her sister’s raised eyebrows questioned her.

  “Lord St. George and I struck a bargain. He would pretend to court me to keep other men away, then at the end of the Season he would return to his normal life and I would tell Papa that I am unmarriageable, in which case he would admit his mistake, and all would be well.”

  Juliet stared at her in the mirror. All of a sudden, her face lit up. “You’ve fallen in love with him!”

  Elise spun around, knocking the brush from her sister’s hand. “What? No. No. Of course not.” The tingle that began in her stomach turned into a hot flush that rose to her face until she felt as though she was on fire.

  Love? Surely not.

  Juliet grinned. “Of course you have.”

  In love with Simon? No, never. She shook her head, picked up the brush from the floor and returned it to the dressing table. Leaning forward, she studied herself in the mirror. What did love look like? Feel like? So far all she suffered from were symptoms of an ague. Warm skin, upset stomach, restlessness, a headache, overwhelming fatigue.

  Or breeding.

  Dear God, please don’t make that be the cause. She’d rather be in love. She wanted more than anything to talk to Simon, tell him about her fears. He would be able to calm her, make her see reason. He was good at that.

  Nonsense. If he thought for one second that she was increasing, he would escort her to her father and between the two of them she would be standing in front of the vicar before she had time to change her shoes.

  “If you are in love with St. George, and it seems obvious to me, why are the two of you no longer courting?” Juliet’s jaw dropped. “Oh, Elise! Did he toss you over? It’s that horrid Miss Abbott, isn’t it?”

  “No. He didn’t toss me over.” She chewed her lip. “He wants to marry me.”

  All the air seemed to leave Juliet’s lungs, and she backed up until she sat on the edge of the bed. “Marry you?”

  Elise nodded. “Yes.”

  “Isn’t that good news? I mean, I know you never wanted to marry, but Papa is insisting on it, you are in love with St. George—don’t scowl at me because you know you are—and he wants to marry you.”

  “Two reasons.” Elise stood and paced back and forth, much like she had the night she waited for Simon in this very room. Considering the consequences that might result from said evening, she pushed it from her mind.

  “One.” She raised a finger. “I am terrified of being married. I know it sounds foolish to you since it has been your heart’s desire since you were a little girl, but I have known freedom and independence like few women of the ton enjoy. Except for wealthy widows, of course.” She stopped and regarded her sister. “As a married woman, I would have to gain permission to do the things I do every day without thought.

  “Also, viscountesses are expected to hold dinner parties, soirees, balls, garden parties, and those sorts of events. I have never wanted to be part of that, nor would I be good at it. I like my intellectual gatherings.”

  “Didn’t his lordship attend a couple of your gatherings?”

  Elise nodded.

  “There, you see. He appreciates your interests, especially if he came back a second time.”

  “How do I know he would continue to approve of my gatherings? Perhaps it was all a ruse.” The memory of him taking a genuine interest in the conversations going on around him disputed her words. He had not been pretending; he had seemed truly intrigued by her friends.

  “Elise, dearest, I have been to one of your gatherings. Anyone who comes back for a return visit was not feigning anything.”

  “I believe you have just insulted me.”

  Juliet hopped up and wrapped her arms around her sister. “You know I love you, and approve of anything you do, but your events are just not to my taste.” She smiled. “Forgive me?”

  Elise patted her hand. “Of course. I know what we discuss does not appeal to everyone.”

  “All right, so we’ve covered the supposed change in your lifestyle that marriage would force upon you, and it seems that is not likely. What is your second reason?”

  “Wait, we’re not finished with my independence. I would not care to ask permission to do anything I wish to do. Papa has never questioned me or tried to curb my activities.” Years of being able to do as she pleased without accounting to anyone made for a wonderful life, and not one she wanted to change.

  “Until now,” Juliet said.

  “True. But a husband would be much worse.”

  “How so?” Juliet paused and laughed. “Don’t look at me that way. I am serious. You are also forgetting the good things about marriage.”

  Like being able to enjoy bed activities with Simon.

  She ticked off on her fingers. “You will run your own house.”

  “I do now.”

  Juliet shook her head. “No. It’s Papa’s house. Also, you will have children to love and teach.” She took Elise’s hand. “You would be a wonderful mother. You have always been one to me and Marigold.”

  “True.” Her stomach twisted at her sister’s words since they may have already started on that project.

  “What is your second reason?”

  “Although I say he wants to marry me, he never actually proposed. He ordered me to marry him.”

  Juliet’s eyes grew wide. “Why would he do that?”

  Oh, dear. That was a slip. The last thing she wanted to tell her innocent younger sister was that he’d ordered her to marry him while they sat naked together in the very bed where they both sat now.

  “It’s complicated.” She waved her hand.

  “I have all the time in the world. Since I hope to be courting for the purpose of marriage next year, I would like to know everything you’ve experienced so far.”

  That was the one thing she did not want Juliet to say. Heat rose up her body, her heart pounded, her nipples tigh
tened, and her face flushed. She gave her sister a nervous smile.

  “What?” Juliet said. Then she covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, no, you didn’t!”

  ***

  “Lord Pomeroy has called, sir.” Simon’s butler, Tanner, handed Simon his guest’s calling card. He looked at it with a sinking feeling in his stomach. He had wondered how long Blackwell would hold off informing Pomeroy what Elise had told him. Well, his lordship wouldn’t be coming here this morning to demand something Simon hadn’t already attempted. Except it was hard to face the man whose unmarried daughter one had bedded.

  “Send him in.” Might as well get it over with. Perhaps Pomeroy would have some ideas on how to get Elise to consent to marriage because they were at a standstill right now.

  The last couple of weeks, he’d seen her at various events, but always kept his distance. He wasn’t quite sure who he was punishing—her for not accepting his proposal and insisting on an affair, or him for wanting to surrender just so he could hold her in his arms again.

  No matter how hard he’d tried, there were always times during the events when their eyes met, and the sadness in Elise’s eyes had the power to bring him to his knees. Apparently his erstwhile lover was as miserable as he was. Except it was her who had rejected him. He’d wanted to do the right thing, but her stubborn nature had refused his offer.

  She had danced a few dances with some of the gentlemen, and he smiled the few times she stumbled during the cotillion. It was killing him to see her with other men, but he knew with her being so against marriage, he had no worries there. She still tried to hide behind potted plants and made numerous trips to the ladies’ retiring room, apparently falling back on her original plan.

  He’d felt like a bloody huntsman, stalking his prey.

  “Good morning, St. George.” Pomeroy’s booming voice echoed through the room, bringing Simon’s thoughts front and center.

  Simon stood and shook hands with the man. His lordship did not have a weapon pointed at his chest, and for all intents and purposes he appeared jovial, and merely as one gentleman calling on another.