The Impoverished Viscount

by Allison Lane

  The last thing he wanted was to hurt her. He was committed to Harriet so could not help Melissa discover her passionate nature.

  His body protested, but he held firm. He must wean himself from Melissa’s company and try to find Harriet. He would honor the commitments he had already made for escorting his cousins, but accept no new ones.

  Regret gnawed at his heart, but he refused to relent. Even the musical tinkle of her laugh that triggered shudders of disgust at the memory of Harriet’s vulgar bray could not sway him from his course.

  But an evening at the theater with Melissa nearly shattered his control. She was wearing a low-cut green silk gown that accentuated the gold in her hair and eyes. A ribbon under her breasts drew his eyes to their generous swell, evoking sweat on his brow. Even the long, shapely legs visible where her skirts clung could not draw his eyes from her bosom. His fingers tingled with the need to cup and caress them – and more. He was amazed at the blatantly erotic thoughts surging through his mind. Even worse was the embarrassment of having to position himself in the back of the box. Skin-tight pantaloons had definite disadvantages.

  He tried to solve his problem by spending the night with a willing widow, but that only made things worse. It was appalling to discover too late that he had little interest in her practiced ministrations. He barely managed to conclude the evening without disgracing himself. Nor did the experience alleviate his desire for Melissa.

  He paced his tiny room, irritated at the lack of space. Would he ever find Harriet?

  This new phrasing of the old question caught him off guard. The chances of locating her were very slim. Months of effort had led precisely nowhere, making him wonder if she was a ghost. How could anyone disappear so completely? But if Harriet was unavailable, then so was the fortune.

  Abandoning his room, he strode in the direction of Green Park. What would he do if his current poverty was permanent? The idea was daunting. No more London. No more well-cut jackets from Weston. No more quality horses. No more access to society’s bedrooms.

  But that last did not bother him. He no longer wanted access – except to Melissa’s.

  Swansea was in terrible shape. But it was located in the heart of Kent, in one of the most productive areas of the country. Hard work would improve its yields. Charles had studied enough books on estate management to know what had to be done. And he knew almost to the shilling what it would cost. Melissa’s dowry would cover the most urgent problems.

  The prospect was actually intriguing. Rescuing so run-down an inheritance would provide satisfaction. And Melissa could help, for it was the sort of thing she enjoyed. The future suddenly looked bright.

  Decision made, he smiled at the milkmaids tending the cows that lived in the park, splurged on a cup of fresh milk, and headed home to change.

  * * * *

  Melissa glanced warily around the gold drawing room, surprised to find neither Willis nor Lady Castleton present. There was only Charles. He filled the space, reaching into every corner, displacing so much air she could scarcely breathe. She had never known the room to be so warm.

  “I will summon my grandmother,”" she stated.

  “She knows I am here,” he countered. “She has granted me a few minutes alone with you.”

  “Why?” Fear rose in her eyes, stopping him in his tracks.

  “Don’t look like that, Melissa,” he begged. “You must know I would never hurt you.”

  “Do I?”

  “Of course you do. I love you, my dear, and want nothing so much as to make you my wife.”

  She stared as thoughts raged unproductively through her head. Her heart sang with joy at the words, but reason retained control. What kind of game was he playing now? Never had she had more reason to distrust him.

  Do not confuse physical pleasure with love, warned Bea again. Do you feel as strongly about the non-physical relationship?

  Despite the sensations Charles could arouse, she could not tie herself to a selfish and unscrupulous man. His weaknesses mirrored what she was trying to escape. Her father had merely existed for most of his life, too lazy to make anything of his estate and too incompetent to hire able employees. Her brother was both weak and dissipated. Charles had demonstrated plenty of dissipation in his short life; he could so easily turn into another Toby.

  Charles watched the conflicting emotions race across her face, his tension growing as the seconds passed with no response. “I have been too blunt for you, haven’t I, my dear? I should have uttered some flowery speech to allow you time to consider. But I fear that all the fancy words have flown. I can think of nothing to say.”

  A new fear surfaced as his face assumed the same cajoling expression that he had used to coerce Harriet Sharpe into helping him. She had not revealed her identity, relieved that his ignorance made it unnecessary. But if she consented to marriage, he would inevitably find out. How would he react to her deceit? Not that she had deliberately set out to trick him, but she had lied more than once since that first fatal silence, including the claim that Lady Lanyard had revealed his supposed betrothal.

  “My lord,” she stated icily. “How can you possibly wish to wed me when you are already betrothed to another?”

  Charles had forgotten that Melissa thought him tied to Harriet. Cursing himself for accepting the path of least resistance at her first mention of that ignoble scheme, he racked his brain for an explanation that would not reveal his perfidy.

  “That betrothal was never official,” he began slowly, watching her face for any sign of reaction. “My grandmother wanted me to marry before her death, and arranged a match with the daughter of a friend. We barely knew each other before attending a house party at Lanyard Manor last summer. She was still too young to make any public announcement, being barely seventeen at the time. Grandmama accepted the delay and died happy, knowing that I was comfortably set up. But Harriet has since met someone she truly cares about. Since nothing had been officially announced, I agreed to forget the whole thing so she can accept his hand. There was never any attachment beyond friendship, certainly nothing of the love I feel for you.”

  What a glib tongue he has, she seethed. I can never believe a word he says. She hardened her voice. “I doubt you feel love, my lord, for you cannot know me that well. You have created an image out of some perceived similarity between me and your grandmother. But it is not real. Infatuation will quickly fade, and you will be thankful you are not saddled with me. We should never suit, for we are as chalk and cheese. Now if you will excuse me, I must prepare for afternoon calls.” Rising, she exited before he could voice further arguments.

  She barely made it to her room before bursting into tears.

  Chapter Eleven

  Charles agonized through the night. Unable to sleep, he paced his minuscule room. Why had she turned him down? He could swear that she was attracted. Even beyond the physical spark that lit whenever they were together, there was a deeper link that connected them, illustrated by that knowing look they had exchanged at the Brookfield ball. He could not have felt it so strongly unless there was an answering chord in her.

  Harriet. Cursing himself for the fool he had been, he reached for the brandy decanter and poured himself a generous glass. What devil had prompted him to embark on such a half-witted deception? Nothing had gone right since. A moment of drunken misery had sparked an ignoble impulse he would regret for the rest of his life. His grandmother had tied up her fortune so he would never inherit it. Even worse, the woman he loved had spent their entire acquaintance believing him promised to another.

  Of course! Again he had been utterly stupid.

  After years of studying his fellow man and laughing over idiotic actions taken with no thought to the obvious consequences, he had failed to apply the lessons to himself. Talk about rushing his fences! From the beginning, Melissa had considered him no more than a potential friend. He had been so caught up in finding Harriet that he had hardly noticed. Once he’d confirmed his betrothal, Melissa could never
think of him as a suitor. He should have belied the story from the beginning. That option being closed by his own base insanity, he should have at least announced an end to the engagement before commencing a courtship. That was the problem with lies – he kept forgetting the fiction.

  His life had become a nightmarish farce. By the time he’d discovered he could not live without Melissa, he had already admitted to a betrothal with Harriet. He shuddered at the tale he had employed to erase that unwanted connection. It was preposterous, making him look like a weak fool. But he could hardly correct the record now. Admitting to nearly a year of deliberate falsehoods would be even worse.

  So he must apologize for his unseemly haste.

  But had he mistaken her objection? We are as chalk and cheese. Why would she believe they were incompatible? Aside from their undeniable physical attraction, they shared several interests. She was a superb rider with a keen eye for horseflesh. She loved art, though his knowledge was deeper. He could appreciate her desire to help others; it was one of the things he loved about her. She had studied estate management, and probably knew more about it than he did.

  Perhaps that was her objection. She might view his ignorance as proof that he lacked seriousness. After all, she did not know how precarious his financial situation remained.

  He tossed and turned for the remainder of the night, finally deciding to ask her. Convincing her to marry him had become the most important goal in his life, but it was impossible to plan a courtship without knowing what hurdles he faced. He could not afford another mistake. And he certainly could not afford another lie.

  * * * *

  Melissa was surprised when Charles called. She had spent her own sleepless night. A proposal of marriage was the last thing she had expected. His declaration of love continued to echo, though it could not be true. She doubted he even knew what love was, for he was too self-centered to understand selflessness. Infatuation she could believe. And lust. But that was a poor basis for marriage.

  Unfortunately, she could no longer deny her own truth. She loved him, not that it mattered. There was too much that she disliked about him to consider marriage. And not just for her sake. He would never be happy with her. She would force him to take personal charge of his estate and contribute some of his wealth to help others. He would have to give up raking, for she would make his life a living hell if he so much as looked at another woman.

  No man could accept such sweeping changes in his life, and she would accept no less. They would not suit. Unfortunately, Beatrice had never warned her that love did not always conform to reason. If Melissa had known, perhaps she could have prevented this deplorable situation.

  “Would you accompany me to the park?” Charles asked once the greetings were over.

  She frowned. He was acting the perfect gentleman caller, but she distrusted him. Yet she would be safe in his curricle. “Very well, my lord. It is a lovely morning.”

  She had relaxed by the time they reached Hyde Park. He kept the conversation general, as if their last meeting had never occurred. But he signaled his groom to depart at the gates.

  “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded.

  “We need to talk, and I do not want an audience.” He smiled, though his eyes remained serious. “You have nothing to fear. I will not touch you, and there can be little impropriety in driving with your cousin and acting head of the family.”

  “Fustian. A third cousin does not have such privileges,” she scoffed. “And I cannot trust a man of your reputation.”

  “Please, Melissa,” he begged. “Don’t rake me over the coals. I must understand why you turned me down, for my own peace of mind, if nothing else.”

  She scowled, but his usual arrogance was missing.

  Several of Jake’s pet phrases stampeded through her mind. So the beast was going to try charm. Was his infatuation stronger than she had thought, or was this a case of bruised pride? She feared being alone with him, even in the public arena of Hyde Park. She had not yet learned to control that streak of wantonness that lurked just beneath her surface. Making him understand that his suit was hopeless was the only way to curtail this discussion. Brutal truth would be a good start.

  “You are too much like my father and brother,” she stated baldly. “They were weak men, dissipating their lives in frivolity and vice, while caring nothing for their families or estates. Father was lazy. To give him his due, he never indulged in reckless gaming, having enough sense to understand that he could not afford even small losses. But he never raised a finger to improve his position, either by adopting modern agricultural methods that might have increased his income, or by encouraging cottage industries that would have expanded his rents. What little cash he could lay his hands on went for horses, his one extravagance. Woe be unto anyone who tried to deflect stable funds into useless fripperies like food and clothing for his growing children.”

  Charles blanched at the picture she was sketching, but she gave him no opportunity to respond.

  “My brother inherited all Father’s weaknesses and none of his strengths,” she continued flatly. “He has no understanding of his responsibilities, and no interest in learning. His greatest vice is gaming, urged on by his so-called friends. His character is woefully lacking, leading him to follow any suggestion put to him.”

  “How did you become so different?” he asked when she paused.

  Melissa grimaced. “You should know that the females descended from Lady Tanders are a strong lot, dedicated to self-reliance and improving the world. From what I have heard, your grandmother was such a one. So is mine, as was my mother. I will not wed a man with goals unlike my own. Nor will I consider a weakling. My observations show that you inherited nothing but the Rathbone indolence. Your sole accomplishments are those misdeeds that built your deplorable reputation. Your estate sits idle and wasted while you squander your days lazing about town. Name one thing that you have done to help your fellow man, or even maintain your own inheritance.”

  “You wrong me,” he protested. “I have spent the last several months on my estate, evaluating its problems and trying to address them.”

  “Why? Because you finally inherited a fortune? You could have managed many changes without spending a groat, yet you did nothing. You care only for yourself and the pleasure of the moment.”

  “My financial position has not changed.” He frowned, one hand touching hers as if to soften her anger.

  She snatched her hand aside, appalled at how the light caress burned her flesh, despite the double layer of gloves that lay between them. Fear of succumbing to his wiles joined anger at his faults and his refusal to admit them. Her temper shattered, blinding her to the import of her words.

  “That is your largest fault,” she snapped, her recently-acquire velvet voice reverting to strident harshness. “You are a lying, scheming cheat whose word counts for nothing. Never would I ally myself with a deceiver.”

  “What are you talking about?” Fear of what her words might portend masked the vaguely familiar tones.

  “You, sir. Financial position has not changed.” She quoted him bitterly. “You have been on the rocks most of your life, my lord, though you have gone to great lengths to hide it. That, sir, is deceit. But that is the least of your crimes. What about the despicable scheme you hatched with your supposed intended? How could you dishonor a girl so badly as to fake a betrothal – which you continued doing until yesterday? You have sunk as low as a man can get, Lord Rathbone. Contempt is too mild a term to describe what I feel for you.”

  “I can explain, Melissa—”

  “Do you expect me to believe a word you say?” She turned amazed eyes on him, eyes that radiated scorn despite a shine of tears. “I will never wed a man I cannot respect. You, sir, are ruled by your passions, something no woman can respect. There is little reason to believe you would honor your marriage vows since you have spent most of your life seducing others away from theirs. You even tried to seduce poor Harriet’s aunt when she was
under the protection of your grandmother’s roof. But your list of faults always ends with your avarice. You took advantage of a schoolgirl’s innocence to trick her into a condoning a deception for your own benefit. I can never respect a man who would go to such lengths to gain a fortune. Deceit is intolerable.”

  “Melissa—” he protested again.

  “No, my lord. The topic is closed. You will take me home. Forget this insane notion and leave me in peace.”

  She refused to utter another word until he helped her down at Castleton House. Against his own wishes, he complied with her request, biting off the protests and explanations he wanted so badly to make.

  Was she right? he asked himself a hundred times. Why could he not have fallen in love with a lady who accepted society’s evaluation of a man’s worth? Why must he desire one who demanded more than a title and estate?

  He snorted. The questions contained their own answer. He had always found society chits boring.

  He wasn’t the fribble she thought him, though his public image fit that label all too well. There was no way she could know his myriad interests. Society ridiculed intellectual pursuits, so he kept his studies quiet. But he read extensively and was interested in the inventions that were appearing with greater frequency.

  There was a scheme afoot to build a new kind of roadway that would accommodate Trevithick’s steam engine. The Catch-Me-Who-Can had been exhibited some years before. He’d been intrigued by its potential ever since. It could not be operated on existing roads, of course, for it needed a line of iron rails, but the possibilities were enormous for developing a system of transportation that would carry goods faster than canal boats. Yet he had never made such interests public. They smacked of business. Society disdained anyone smelling of the shop.

  Changing Melissa’s opinion would be difficult. Her objections were far worse that he had expected, and they rose from deep-seated fears of her own. The men in her family had not given her a very high opinion of their gender, and his own reputation could hardly counter it. It would have been easier if he had taken his seat in Parliament, but he had never gotten around to it.