A Viscount of Mystery

by Bethany M. Sefchick

  Marcus didn't say anything immediately and she knew he was weighing his words. "Yet I do not want to go back to being that man who began to walk with you in the park, either. One who acted as if he had not spent his youth engaging in numerous misdeeds at your side. Though you are right about one thing. A prospective bride would probably not appreciate you occupying my time." He could admit at least that much.

  She considered him for a moment, an idea springing into her mind and she did not dismiss it as quickly as she probably should have. Instead, she spoke the idea out loud. "If I were your matchmaker, she might not object."

  "Pardon?" He wasn't certain he had heard her right. Not at all. "You did not just offer to find me a wife. Did you, Caro? You? Of all people?"

  Truthfully, she rather wished she hadn't but now that the words were out, she could not take them back. Also, it was not so bad of an idea. She could work on two fronts, much like a war. She could encourage Marcus both as herself and as Lady X. She would find him the perfect wife before the end of the season. She would see him happy and settled. Then, perhaps, they could both move on from this strange and somewhat infuriating relationship they had been engaged in for so many years. For standing next to him now, Caroline knew for certain that she did not desire him any less today than she had seven years ago. If anything, her body yearned for his even more. She wanted him so much that it was a wonder she did not burst into flame from want.

  On the other hand, if she found him a wife, she would be certain to pick one that would make him happy, something he might not do on his own, thinking himself unworthy. She would be able to ensure that he found some measure of love in his life, even if it was not with her. She wanted that for him above all else.

  It was not a perfect solution certainly, but it was better than not seeing him at all. Even though that, too, would end - probably sooner than she would prefer. Still, she did not think he could remain in town and her be apart from him. She did not know how she would bear such a thing. It would be nothing short of torture.

  Just a little more time together and then she could wish him well in his future. What could it hurt? Other than her heart?

  "I did," she finally said as she attempted to keep her voice calm, not wanting to betray even the slightest hint of uncertainty. "You have made it no secret that you need a wife. As for me? I speak little but see much. I know a great deal about you and your preferences in women, Marc. Or did you forget that incident with the dairy maid back at your father's estate?"

  That made him laugh. "Ah, no, I had not forgotten, but I also had not thought of Anna in years." He stopped once more, pulling her to a stop as well. "Still, are you serious, Caro? You would help me find a wife?"

  Nodding, she did her best not to allow him to see the pain in her eyes at his words. If he accepted her offer, that meant that he did not see her as a viable candidate for his wife. Which was as it should be, of course. It was what she told herself that she wanted. No matter how much it hurt.

  "I am. I will find you a wife, Marc. One who is everything you need her to be. I promise." She swallowed past the lump in her throat. "You have been out of society for a very long time. To many matchmaking mamas and their daughters, you are almost as much of a mystery as I am. Perhaps even more so. Yet, even though I am a mystery, I am still familiar, and you? Well, let us just say that your rakish reputation from the past does you no favors." She paused for a moment as if considering something very serious. Instead, she was simply trying very hard not to cry with the knowledge that she was truly about to lose him forever. "If I performed introductions for you, then perhaps that would help the young ladies understand that you are serious about courting them. That are you are not to be feared."

  Marcus frowned in confusion. Perhaps he had been away too long, for he did not understand Caroline's way of thinking. "But I thought that mystery was a good thing." He gave her a searching look. "It is in your case, is it not?"

  "Some mystery is a good thing," she admitted slowly, choosing her words carefully. "But too much can do more harm than good. It is a skill I have learned over the years. When to offer information and when to withhold." She gave him what she hoped was a dazzling smile. "If you give me a chance, Marc, I can make you the toast of the ton again. I can make certain you marry the woman your heart desires most." Caroline did not mention how much it would pain her to match him with another. He did not need to know.

  He hesitated but a moment, his face quickly breaking into a smile so wide that it tore at Caroline's heart when she realized that he had not even considered her for his wife for even a moment. Maybe once years ago, but no longer.

  "Very well, then. I accept." Then he cleared his throat and tugged her along the path, this time the pace slower so they would not reach their destination, wherever that was, quite so quickly. "Now about this fête tonight..."

  As he began to offer her suggestions as to what he was looking for in a wife, Caroline began to wonder if she had just made the biggest mistake of her life.

  Chapter Four

  Attending this dinner party was a mistake. Marcus had realized it from the very moment he walked in the door and allowed the butler to take his hat, but he also knew that he had not been able to refuse. To turn down the invitation from Lady Radcliffe would have been not only an insult to Lord Radcliffe himself but to Candlewood as well. Nicholas had stood by Marcus through some of the darkest times in his life. It would not do to let him down.

  No matter how much Marcus simply wanted to return to Cheltenham House and hide.

  At this point in the evening, however, the possibility of staging an early departure was becoming more and more likely. He had been ill after all and no one would fault him for claiming exhaustion or a bad leg unable to support his weight. Except perhaps Radcliffe. And Lady Julia. And most certainly Candlewood. Possibly even Hathaway as well, if the boring, bloody idiot was even here.

  Then there was the little matter of his finding a wife. During his stroll with Caroline through the park that morning, it had become abundantly clear to him that he knew very little about the way of things in society at present. The basics had not changed, certainly, but there were details, however small, that could help or hinder his chances at making a successful match by the end of the season. Details that he did not know and did not care to discover on his own. They were bothersome and silly. He was finished dealing with silly. But Caro was not. In fact, she thrived on it, so careful was she not to put a foot wrong socially.

  Simply put, Caroline's advice and guidance was his best hope of securing a bride and proving, once and for all, that he was still a whole man.

  Not that anyone had suggested otherwise, for they hadn't. At least not to his face. Behind his back, however, he knew that in addition to the questions surrounding his ability to perform sexually, there were whispers about his overall health and the future of the earldom and viscountcy. There had been since the night he had appeared at the Devonmont musicale, leaning heavily on his cane and rather obviously only having partial sight. Damn the lot of them, gossiping mongrels that they were.

  In truth, his vision was no longer as awful as it had once been. There had been a point, shortly after his arrival in Bath that both Dr. Hastings and Gibson had thought that between the numerous fevers and the massive bloodlettings he had endured Marcus would lose his sight completely. Fortunately for him, that had not occurred. Instead, little by little, as the stresses that had battered his broken and damaged body eased, he found that the blinding headaches that had once been his constant companions had all but disappeared. As they had, his eyesight had improved as well.

  There was some vision loss, particularly in his left eye, which, on occasion no longer focused properly, leaving things fuzzy and misshapen, as if he was looking at the world through a muddy piece of old glass. Thankfully, that malady, too, seemed to be easing and often times, the loss of sight was merely a nuisance rather than the complete bother it had been before.

  There was, unfortunately, l
ittle he could do about his leg however. One of the idiot physicians, or charlatans as he privately referred to them, had attempted some absurd method of "trapping" the fever in his leg and then opening said leg at both ends to bleed it out of him. Secretly, Marcus believed that whoever had done that particular damage was most likely attempting to kill him, though to what end, he did not know. He had asked, of course, but neither his parents nor his sister would tell him anything. If either Hastings or Gibson knew, they were not talking either. Much to his great annoyance.

  Beneath his evening clothes, along with the other scars he had gained from being bled, were several long slices that began near his hip. They went around his backside and then down his front towards his cock. There were similar slices about his ankle on the same leg. According to Dr. Hastings, who had sutured the gruesome wounds before even attempting to move him to Bath, the so-called physician had done little more than slice into muscle and other tissue necessary for walking, and that, unfortunately, there was little Hastings, or anyone really, could do to correct.

  So now, Marcus walked with a slight limp. Or a more pronounced one if he was tired. He did not need the cane all of the time and in fact, was often times able to move about without it. However, when he was out at social functions such as this one, he felt more secure with the cane in his hand, knowing that if his leg did give out, he would still be able to find the safety of a chair before he collapsed into an inglorious heap on the carpets. Not to mention that it made a handy means of escape if he was cornered by a matchmaking mama and her daughter that he did not wish to speak with any further. A lame leg was a surprisingly effective romantic deterrent, much to his continued delight.

  Still, overall, the leg was healing nicely, but there was one other concern, at least in Hastings' opinion. And if Hastings was concerned, then so was Marcus.

  The idiot who had sliced Marcus silly had cut a bit into the sensitive ballsac beneath Marcus' cock. Though Hastings had stitched him up there as well - an uncomfortable, not to mention embarrassing procedure to be certain - there was some lingering doubt about Marcus' ability to father children. He could still perform sexually, of course but getting a woman with child? Well, that might be another matter all together. While no one knew precisely how such things actually worked, Hastings had seen his fair share of previously fertile men no longer able to sire children after similar incidents.

  Hastings felt certain that as only a small part of Marcus had been damaged, children would most likely be possible, even with Marcus' age against him. After all, many men well past their prime impregnated their wives. Usually young wives, but still, they were able to get them with child. But he wasn't completely certain. No one could be. Not even the great Dr. Hastings.

  And that worried Marcus a great deal.

  He did not want either the viscountcy or the earldom to fall into the hands of other, more distant family members, ones who weren't even Cheltenhams by blood but rather by marriage. Unfortunately, his family line was not overly given to procreation in the first place, much to his chagrin. He had also seen the consequences of such events first hand when Caroline's father William had died, and the disgusting Lewis Tollston had taken over the Redwing title. That had lead to heartache all around. Marcus did not want the same for his family.

  Therefore, he needed a wife and quickly. A young wife. One above reproach so there would be no talk that the babe might not be his. He did not want to be like Lord Oliver Saintwood, son of the Earl of Tottenshire. Oliver, who was about Marcus' age, and his much younger wife, Patience, had just welcomed a baby boy into their household. An heir, exactly as all men in Oliver's position wanted.

  However, it was rumored that the child was not actually Saintwood's, but rather that of Patience's rather youthful and dashingly handsome painting master, a man who had continued to tutor the young wife in the art of watercolors long after lessons should have ended. When Marcus had seen the child for the first time a few days ago, there had been little doubt. The child was not Oliver's. Not that anyone would say such a thing, of course, but the truth of the matter was rather plain for all to see.

  No, Marcus did not want that to be his lot in life as well, to be laughed at when his back was turned at White's or Brook's. To be cuckolded before he was even forty.

  That was why he had such a long list of requirements for his proposed bride. When he had discussed them at length with Caroline earlier in the day, he could instantly tell that she had wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but dared not for fear of offending him. Instead, she had patted his hand the way she always had in the past, particularly when he was being thickheaded about something, and informed him that she would do her best to sort through the women of ton to find him the perfect bride.

  Now as he stood gazing at the throng of dancers on the floor before him, he wondered again if he could do this. Could he pluck a young woman, likely one just barely out of the schoolroom, from the glitter and glamour of London and tuck her away in the country at Heatherton Abby? Would she allow it? Would she be happy with him? Better yet, if he did so, would she still allow him in her bed at night? Or would it be as he feared and she would soon seek out the son of a baron or some such to bring her pleasure and then claim the resulting babe was his?

  If he were a whole man, this would not even be necessary. Once, women practically fell over themselves to be with him, to lie in his bed and pleasure him repeatedly, as much as he demanded. Several had begged him to get them with child - though that had largely been so that they might claim part of the Cheltenham fortune for themselves and not out of any great love for him. Marcus was not stupid, after all.

  What he had been, however, was a rake of the highest order, and he had taken a perverse delight in sampling all that was offered. He was no bounder and did not dally with the innocent - well not unless they begged or better yet, stripped bare for him. But the widows and older ladies, including some spinsters who knew what they were about? They were easily fair game and he rarely deprived himself of whatever treats they offered him. He was far too self-indulgent to do otherwise.

  That, however, had been the old Marcus, the one with the unblemished body of an Adonis and a devil-may-care smile that let everyone know he simply didn't give a damn what they thought of him. That he would do exactly as he pleased for as long as he wished. He had his friends, including Caroline, and his family. There was plenty of time to settle down later, when he was older. After spending his youth as a sickly boy, he reveled in his health, thinking nothing could bring him low again.

  How wrong he had been. How very, very wrong.

  Unbidden, he felt the old anger rise in him again, tingeing the world before him red and making his vision cloud. It was always like this when he was angry, this infernal red gaze and the loss of his precious vision and control. He should leave; he knew that he should, preferably before he hurt himself or someone else. Before he said something he would regret, insult his hosts or worse, Candlewood, one of his few true friends.

  Then he felt a small, warm hand on his arm and looked down from his nearly six foot two height to see the much smaller Lady Caroline beside him. She was fairly glowing with something akin to pleasure and in that moment, all he wanted was to devour her. It was that need that froze him where he stood, made him wonder once more what he was doing.

  "Lord Breckenright, perhaps you would be so kind as to smile a bit more. Or at least cease baring your teeth at everyone. I'm afraid that all of your glowering is chasing away any prospective brides who might be in attendance." She said the words so sweetly and with such a gentle smile. Yet he was not fooled, the note of iron threading beneath them hard and fast.

  Marcus' first reaction was to snap and snarl, the way he had done in Bath whenever anyone suggested that he might not be behaving at his proper best. This, however, was Caroline and he did not wish to be rude to her. He would never hurt her, at least not on purpose. She was his friend and had always been - even when he did not deserve her regard. Which, now t
hat he thought upon the matter, had been rather often. He did not wish to add another transgression to his list of sins where she was concerned.

  "I shall endeavor to do better, my lady," he ground out through clenched teeth. "But this is not easy for me."

  "And you believe that it is any easier for me? You think I enjoy being here?" she retorted, a sweet smile still pasted on her face. If he looked closer, however, he could see the strain in her eyes and hear it in her voice. "I have been pawed at by no less than three men this evening, each of them eager to 'unlock the lady of mystery' to quote at least one line of rubbish that I have been fed this evening. Two other men have suggested that I might make them a suitable mate. Not to bed me, mind you, for they simply won't give up their mistresses but because I am in possession of a fortune and their families are in want of it."

  Truthfully, Marcus had not given much thought to what someone like Caroline must endure during these balls and parties. He was under no illusion that most men were gentlemen. He had been one such rakehell after all and knew that for the most part, the only thing men like him desired was to get under a woman's skirt. However, he did not think that many men would be so bold as to state their intentions to a lady so directly. Then again, after a scant three years removed from London, he was coming to learn that there was much different that he had not anticipated.

  "Caro, I'm sorry." The words were whispered so softly that Caroline almost missed them entirely.

  "Do not be. I have come to accept it." She continued to stare straight ahead, unblinking, as if he had not even spoken, not wanting the dragons lining the far wall of Lady Radcliffe's elegantly appointed ballroom to know that Marcus had momentarily slipped up and referred to her by her Christian name. "However, I believe it is time that we being your campaign to find a wife. Dance with me."