A Viscount of Mystery

by Bethany M. Sefchick

  Marcus snorted and pinched the bridge of his nose as if in pain. Which he was, in a way. At the moment, Rosemont was a monumental pain in his arse. "That does not mean I have to like it!" Then he remembered where he was and who he was with and reigned in his temper, which, he had been told was absolutely terrifying when completely unleashed. Marcus liked to think he was getting better at keeping it under control, but on occasion, bits of his anger did manage to slip out, much to his annoyance. Which, of course, only made him angrier still. A vicious cycle that.

  Quiet now, Nicholas considered his friend thoughtfully for a moment before replacing his cup on the tray with something akin to confusion mixed with wariness. Almost as if he were treading on unfamiliar ground. "I thought you were fond of Lady X? Almost to the point of distraction. Was I wrong?" There was clear question in his voice. "After all, she did champion the match between your sister and Lord Ardenton while downplaying the attentions of Lord Drake, did she not? She also helped diffuse the gossip surrounding the death of Michaels in your family's home, correct? And I believe you once mentioned that her numerous columns about you helped to ease your reentry into society so that you might find a bride. Or did I misunderstand you? After all, much like Radcliffe, I am advancing in my years, as are we all. They say hearing is the first thing to go, you know." Then he sat back and smiled, waiting for Marcus' reply. Nicholas knew he had scored a direct hit with his words.

  Around them, Marcus could hear the clank and clatter of activity inside White's gentleman's club, the low hum of voices mixed with a bit of laughter and perhaps a game of billiards being played somewhere off in the distance. They were soothing noises and helped to calm him down and keep his temper in check. It also prevented him from thrashing his friend, even though he knew well that the infamous Duke of Candlewood could best any man in a fight - including the erstwhile Viscount Breckenright.

  When Marcus had first arrived in town, even his friends' teasing words might have touched off his anger, made the monster that lurked inside of him come out to bare its sharp teeth at the world. Now? Well, now the monster roared, but Marcus was far better at keeping it in check. The anger that roiled inside of him was his problem and his alone. It would not do to take his frustrations out on his friends. Nicholas meant well. Of that there was no doubt. Also, in a fight with the man, Marcus would lose. There was that to consider as well.

  Still, the urge to throw something was strong and he clenched his fists around the arms of his chair for several moments before calming himself enough to casually reach for a piece of toast, as if he had meant to do so all along. "You did not misunderstand a bloody thing, Nick." He munched the toast in silence for a moment. "Yes, she speaks the truth but it is one thing for her to know it and quite another for her to print it for all to see, as if I am some prize to be won on the marriage mart."

  "But you are a prize, my friend," Nicholas reminded him gently as he gazed out the window but obviously not truly seeing what lay beyond. "You said it yourself but a fortnight ago. You, not to mention your titles and fortune are the prize to be won when you wed. Which, might I remind you, you hope to be sooner rather than later so that you might go off and hide yourself in the country until the end of your days." He looked at Marcus askance. "Not that I agree with that particular part of your plan, it should be noted."

  Marcus grumbled something in response, but Nicholas continued on as if he wasn't at all disturbed at the rising anger within his friend. Truth be told, he probably was not, given Nicholas' own less-than-placid reputation.

  "Providing of course that you can find a chit who can look past what you consider your numerous deformities." The duke turned back to look at his friend once more, his eyes boring into Marcus as if they knew every last secret in his heart. "To my mind, Lady X is doing you a great favor by talking you up as much as she has. She makes you appear to be a god, a man that any female with half a wit about her should be panting after, unattached or not. Do you honestly believe that without Lady X's words, you would have received half of the invitations you have thus far?"

  "No. Of course not." Marcus grumbled again, knowing that his friend was right, and praying that he could continue to hold his tongue. For Nicholas did speak the truth. Without that gossip rag, Marcus' plan to forget about Caroline by finding himself a young wife and moving to the country permanently would be going much slower than it was. Though considering that events leading to that end were occurring at a snail's pace, he did not know exactly how grateful he should be.

  In her column, Lady X had repeatedly dubbed him the "catch of the season," along with bestowing upon him the much-loathed title of the Viscount of Mystery. He knew full well that without that particular endorsement, his hunt to find a suitable wife would be that much more difficult. There would be fewer invitations, more suspicious looks, and more pity than interest in him as a potential suitor and eventual husband. Without the notorious gossip, Marcus' path back into society would have been far more difficult to navigate. That said, he was still no closer to securing a bride than he had been a month ago, so perhaps she wasn't doing him that much good.

  Nicholas drummed his fingers on the edge of the highly polished table that sat between them, clearly restless himself. Even now, there was an edge of something dark lurking within the duke, something dangerous that Marcus recognized only because it was inside of him as well. He wondered if it had anything to do with Lady Berkshire, but he dared not ask. Marcus knew the passion that his friend carried for the lovely young widow. It was the very same passion Rosemont had carried for her since before her ill-fated marriage to a man nearly three times her age. It was enough that Marcus suspected the reason for his friend's disquiet, he supposed. The rest need not be discussed.

  "You ask much of a potential wife," Nicholas finally offered, his frown easing a bit as his thoughts turned back to his friend's dilemma. "You do recognize that, do you not?" From his own reclined position in the chair, Nicholas appeared as if he hadn't a care in the world, as if they were discussing the weather rather than Marcus' future bride. It was a lie. He was very interested in the topic at hand, probably because he feared that his friend would do something stupid if he became frustrated - like court Caroline. "There isn't a chit out there who can be all of those things, you know. Not that you really want that sort of woman anyway."

  In truth, Marcus did not think he was asking all that much, actually. He wanted a woman who would be willing to live much of the year in the country, coming to town only when necessary. She would be meek and quiet, a prim and proper young thing who would be willing to lie with him often enough to produce the requisite heir and spare, as well as any other children that should happen along in between if they were so blessed. Above all, she would be beyond reproach in reputation since Marcus' own reputation was not exactly spotlessly clean. Especially not in his youth when he did a bit more drinking, whoring and carousing than was strictly necessary to be thought of as a consummate rake. In fact, he knew he had bordered on being a libertine and scoundrel of the highest order.

  Ideally, Marcus decided, his future wife would care for him to some degree, though he knew that was perhaps asking a bit much. At the very least, she would hopefully overlook his poor eyesight and his bad leg. He was physically much improved, even since he had first arrived in town a month ago, and Dr. Hastings, who had taken over Marcus' care after Gibson Blackwell had once again become Lord Ardenton, felt that some additional improvement might not be out of the question. Marcus would never be the man he was before the fevers, but he would not be a cripple either. In fact, one day he might be able to do without his cane. As it was, he did not need the miserable thing as much as he once had, on occasion moving about with its assistance.

  Were all of those things, no matter how outlandish they appeared to some, really so much to ask of a woman? He did not think so. Though it seemed that, to some degree anyway, his friend disagreed.

  "And you think I don't know the sort of woman I want?" Marcus asked, not because h
e believed he did not know his own mind, but because he was truly curious as to what his friend thought. He valued Nicholas' opinion, perhaps even more than either Radcliffe's or Selby's or even Hathaway's. They had all been through much together and there was a deep and abiding trust between them, one made all that much stronger because of the rough times they shared. Still, for some reason, Candlewood's opinion meant more.

  "I know you don't." There was a note of condescension in Nicholas' voice, one that Marcus let pass only because of their long-standing friendship. "Gads, man! The chit you describe, if she even existed, would either run screaming from your home within a week out of fear for her very life or murder you in your sleep." Then he grinned cheerfully. "Can't say which one might be more entertaining."

  "So glad thoughts of my possibly impending demise amuse you." Marcus no longer found this conversation funny.

  Leaning forward, serious now, Candlewood lowered his voice, obviously not wishing to be overheard. "Marcus, you need a wife. You yourself have said that a mistress would no longer suffice, though I sincerely doubt that. Pay a woman enough and she'll gladly spread her legs for you if all you're looking for is a tumble a few times a week."

  "No. I want to move on with my life. A good fuck is nice, but I need more at this moment, especially if I am ever to be viewed as whole again. If all I wanted was a warm and willing body for a night, there are whores aplenty in this town for that purpose." There was little chance Candlewood would understand this burning need inside of Marcus to prove that he was still a man, still in control of his life and his future. A mistress might accomplish that, yes, but a wife who bore him children? Then there was no question that he was still a whole and proper man. A man to be reckoned with and respected. "A mistress will not accomplish what I need."

  "She would bring you release. The rest could come later, perhaps? Once you were more settled." Candlewood regarded him with those relentless dark eyes of his.

  There was a certain logic to Nicholas' words, of course, one that Marcus himself had considered and then dismissed just as quickly. He needed a wife, someone to anchor his life. The meeker and more unobtrusive she was, the better.

  Additionally, there would be the added benefit of a wife removing the constant thoughts of Lady Caroline from his mind. If Marcus were lying in his bed with his wife, his body hard between her thighs as he pleasured her, he would no longer dream of Caroline. At least not as he had since the night of the Devonmont musicale.

  Well, it had sounded better when he had first thought of the plan, anyway.

  "A wife, Nick. Not a mistress." Marcus was firm, feeling his anger begin to abate a little, just as it always did when he did not give it free reign.

  "Very well then," Nicholas said with a sigh as he rose to depart. "A wife. We shall find you a wife, my friend, if that is what you truly desire. Have no fear." He reached into his coat pocket and produced a thick vellum envelope. An invitation of some sort by the look of it. "Julia and Radcliffe are having a small event this evening. Dinner, dancing, and what not. Nothing fancy, but it will probably be somewhat of a crush. Everyone wants to see my sister one last time before she returns to Seldon Park in a few weeks. End of season house party and all that rot."

  Frowning, Marcus took the invitation, though it was already understood that he would accept. The piece of paper was just a formality. There were certain invitations that he would not even consider turning down. One from Lord and Lady Radcliffe was among them. "I thought she was about to begin her confinement at Spring House at the end of the season." Spring House was the country seat of the Radcliffe family, and given that Julia was growing large with the duke's child, it would make sense that she would disappear from society until the babe was born.

  Then again, this was Lady Julia Radcliffe, wife of the notorious duke. She was also Nicholas' sister. Like her brother, she often did not abide by society's rules.

  "After the event at Seldon Park." Candlewood rolled his eyes in disgust, but it was also clear that he would do anything for his beloved sister and would not begrudge her a thing she desired. "She and Benjamin wanted to hold a house party at Spring House this year, but renovations there are not yet complete and, well..." He trailed off, unwilling to admit that his soft spot for his sister knew no limits.

  "Ah, yes, then. Very well." Marcus waved the invitation, which he hadn't even bothered to open, in the air. "Tell her I'll be there, will you? I'll send a messenger 'round later, but if you see her before..."

  "Right. As always, then. See you this evening." Then Candlewood was gone, his strides brisk and efficient just as Marcus' had once been.

  Anger, thick and hot bubbled inside of him once more, but with great effort he pushed it back down again. Control. He needed to get control of himself, especially if he was planning on courting and then marrying some young thing. Planning on obtaining a wife.

  A wife he did not particularly want but was necessary to his life now. Necessary to prove to the ton that he was still a man, whole and desirable.

  However, if not for the fever, none of this would be necessary. He could still be cutting a wide swath through the beau monde, women falling at his feet, bedding a different lady every night if he chose. If not for the quack physicians that had attempted to cut his body to ribbons, he would still enjoy his old place in society, one where he was lusted after by every woman and envied by every man. Even if, at the time he had succumbed to the fever, he had already been growing bored with that lifestyle.

  More than that, he would still be a whole man. Not one who relied on a cane and had to be careful when he walked so that he did not bump into random pieces of furniture because they were outside of his limited range of vision. Not one who was whispered about behind his back by those who wondered if he could still get it up and pleasure a woman. Oh, yes. He had heard those rumors too.

  He would be like his friends again. Like Hathaway and Selby and yes, even Candlewood.

  That, he realized, was precisely why Lady X annoyed him so. She still treated him as if he was just like the others, as if he was not different, as if he hadn't fallen from his once-exalted place in society due to his physical limitations. She wrote of him as if he was whole. She wrote as if she didn't see his deformities. Had not heard the whispers that he could no longer perform in the bedroom and please a woman as she deserved?

  And that? That enraged him, at least deep inside of him, in a place where no one but him could see. It enraged him because she saw him as he had been, as he wanted to see himself once more. He wanted to know how she did it, how she could look past what he could not. More than that, he wanted to know who she was.

  For his friend had been right.

  Marcus did not want a brainless idiot for a wife, someone who was meek and mild and would do his bidding. Someone who would live in the country, content with a quiet simple life.

  No, Marcus wanted a woman with life and spark, one who challenged him, who glittered brightly and did not allow him to treat her like a piece of property. He wanted a woman like those he had courted and trysted with before his illness. A woman like Caroline.

  Except that he was very much afraid that those kinds of women would no longer want him. Not as he was presently, anyway.

  Except for Lady X.

  She seemed to want him for some absurd reason. It was there, lying just beneath her carefully crafted words, hints of something darker and more passionate, as if she were wishing that she was the young miss that Marcus was pursuing. As if she wanted to be the one sharing his bed. As if she desired to lie with him and bear his children.

  As if she either could not or did not see the deformities he saw each time he looked in a mirror.

  And for that reason alone, Marcus was desperate to find her.

  She was probably a dragon of a matron or a dried up spinster, despite whatever rumors Candlewood had heard. Those were the most likely candidates for the real identity of Lady X, women who had time to spare and were not in pursuit of a husband. Yet for some
reason, Marcus did not think that was the case this time. In all likelihood, Nicholas was correct; she was young and quite probably, beautiful. She wrote with too much passion and energy for her to be old and decrepit.

  It still did not explain her fascination with him however, though he was grateful for small favors

  Also, fortunately for him, that conclusion left only a very small pool of society women to choose from. And she was a society lady rather than a maid or servant, most likely a powerful member of the ton. That much was clear by the manner in which she wrote. She had made it obvious in her writings over the last few weeks that she had servants herself, especially after Michaels, his father's steward, had attempted to kidnap Amy and whisk her away to Gretna Green to seek revenge for the death of his brother. Lady X understood the nuances of life as a society miss and clearly had experience living amongst the highest reaches of society. What men of consequence liked. What they desired. Specifically, what Marcus desired. That was not possible if she was not one of the aristocracy.

  So who was the mysterious Lady X? Marcus had no idea but he was determined to discover her identity. And when he did? He would either wring her pretty little neck or make wild, passionate love to her all night long. He had yet to decide which.

  Chapter Three

  Marcus was still debating the possible identity of Lady X as he walked through Hyde Park later that morning, having departed White's some time ago. He should have taken his carriage home he knew, but he also knew that he was not exercising his leg nearly as much as Dr. Hastings would have liked. Unlike in Bath, there were more social appointments to keep in London, disrupting Marcus' schedule far more than he would have liked. So he wandered, not really keeping track of time and only vaguely aware that the sun was rising higher and higher in the sky as he moved about town, uncertain as to where he was going or why.