A Viscount of Mystery

by Bethany M. Sefchick

  Snapping her fan shut, she turned to glare at him, though careful to keep a smile on her face. Drat. She had no idea how the ladies who trod the boards as actresses managed it quite frankly. "And you will select a wife? You will promise me that much at least?"

  Another shift and a small wince of pain as well, as if he could not get comfortable. This time, he was not faking his discomfort either. "I promise, my lady. By the time the season ends, I will have a wife. She might not be the one you would have me select, but I will have a wife. I promise." She opened her mouth to protest again, but he quelled her with a glance. "A wife, Caro. Not a mistress. A wife."

  She was about to argue with him once more when she saw him shift again, this time moving far more stiffly about in his chair, favoring his right leg and stretching it out before him as much as he was able. Beneath his dark evening clothes, his skin was pale, almost grayish in cast. Drat it all. She did not want him to be uncomfortable or in significant pain. She knew from the carriage ride earlier in the day that leaving his leg bent for long periods of time pained him greatly, the damaged muscles protesting until he grew restless with discomfort. Just as was happening now.

  She also knew that he still had episodes of extreme pain where his damaged leg refused to move at all. Not even the least little bit. His leg simply froze until somehow he managed to work the cramps and knots out of the damaged limb. That choice bit of information had come from Lady Falconridge who had been speaking to Lady Coleridge near the punch bowl at a ball the previous week. Someone had seen Marcus very nearly collapse while walking on Bond Street earlier that day. According to gossip, he would have certainly landed in the mud if not for the assistance of his carriage driver. Marcus had, of course, assured everyone that he had merely tripped over a rock, but others were not so certain, especially since rumors about the horrid scars on his leg were currently making the rounds.

  At the time, Caroline had dismissed the entire tale as a nasty bit of gossip, not the kind of thing she would print her in Lady X column. However, she had made a note of the information in case there was something seriously wrong with Marcus' leg. Not to report upon it, certainly, but rather to get him medical help if such a thing were required. If there was additional and untreated damage, then Dr. Hastings needed to know of it as soon as possible. Now, she was afraid that the rumors had been correct.

  Leaning close to Marcus to ensure that no one else overheard, she dropped her voice to only the barest of whispers. "Now it is my turn to ask you, Marc. Are you well? Or do you need to move about?" She took note of the pained lines that bracketed the corners of his mouth and the thin lines that marred his high forehead. There was also a thin sheen of perspiration on the back of his neck as well, dampening the thick curls of his hair. No, he was not doing well at all.

  "Just my leg," he muttered, not wishing to divulge that the pain in his leg had begun to make his head throb, which in turn clouded his vision to the point where he was very nearly blind in his left eye. Damn his failing body to Hell and back! "It is nothing." The last thing he either wanted or needed was Caroline's sympathy.

  "It is not nothing," she ground out quietly while still managing to keep a serene expression on her face. Without waiting for Marcus' approval, she rose and turned to Lady Chilton who was in the next box with her husband. Caroline had been counting on Lady Chilton's son, Alex Selby, who was one of Marcus' good friends to be in the vicinity, but unfortunately, he was nowhere to be seen.

  "Your grace," Caroline said as politely as she could while attempting to both curtsey and help Marcus to his feet at the same time, "I am afraid that Lord Breckenright is not feeling quite the thing at the moment. Might your son be about so that he might help his grace to his carriage? I would be ever so grateful if he was."

  If Lady Chilton thought either the request or the presence of Caroline in Marcus' box was unusual or unseemly, she said nothing. Instead she inclined her head towards another box where Alex Selby was practically worshiping at the feet of Lady Sophia while her brother the duke looked on, a barely concealed glower on his face. "I am afraid that my son is otherwise engaged."

  "Thank you, your grace." Caroline curtseyed again, praying that she was not courting disaster once more. "I shall simply assist Lord Breckenright into the hallway. I am certain one of his friends is about." In truth, she was certain of no such thing, but the lines of pain on Marcus' face were deepening and she had to remove him from the sight of the ton's prying eyes quickly. If anyone were to even suspect that Marcus was physically weak, he would not be able to find a suitable wife. No, it would not do to show any sort of weakness.

  Once Marcus was on his feet, though just barely, Caroline discreetly shoved his cane into his hand, which seemed to steady him a bit. His left eye also seemed to focus a bit more and to her complete surprise, he offered her his arm, making it appear as if he was leading her out of the box instead of the other way around. When she looped her arm through his, however, she felt the heavy weight of his body leaning against her for support.

  Oh, Marc, she thought sadly, what has become of you?

  His body was clearly wracked with immense pain, his mouth a thin slash, his eyes occasionally closed against something she dared not even imagine. His breathing was difficult and his hands clenched and unclenched into fists as if fighting for control of his body once more,

  Yet he moved on through the crowds and into the rapidly emptying hallway as the performance was about to begin, a grim smile on his face, but a smile nonetheless. He was unwilling to allow his friends, not to mention the rest of society, see him this way. Crippled. In pain. Broken. Somehow less of a man.

  Except not less in Caroline's eyes. Oh, no. To her, he was anything but. In her eyes, Marcus was far better and far more courageous than any man she had ever known. He was far stronger than any man as well, and in that very moment, Caroline lost what little bits of her heart he did not already own.

  Would another woman be able to handle seeing him this way, she briefly wondered? Would his wife, whoever she might be, know how to deal with a husband who was not as physically perfect as other men, one whose body sometimes rebelled against his wishes? A part of her doubted it. A woman who truly loved Marcus could overlook moments like this. One who merely liked him? Tolerated him? Most likely not.

  Then memories of her old friend began racing through her mind and with them came a fresh wave of anger at the men who had done this to him, using his body to ply their fake craft, carving up his body in some type of sick game, eager only for a few coins rather than the patient's improved health. In this case, Marcus' health. That anger, however, drove her onward when she might otherwise have faltered, especially when Marcus began to drag his leg a bit more, his weight now resting between her and the cane, unable to move without either of them.

  Somehow she managed to get him down the balcony stairs and through the ornate lobby, not stopping even when friends called out to Marcus, eager to wish him well now that he was back in town and on the hunt for a wife. In the back of her mind, Caroline was also searching to find a way to spin a tale about this incident, one that Lady X could publish tomorrow that would somehow not give away her identity yet still manage to salvage Marcus' reputation. Given how many people had seen him staggering out of the theater, he would need the help.

  Finally, his carriage was brought around and with the assistance of Allan, his driver, Marcus was tucked safely inside. Caroline made certain his leg was stretched out fully and as carefully as she could, pointed his foot straight up in the air, which wasn't as easy as one might have imagined. Quickly, Caroline lit the two interior lamps that Marcus had installed in the carriage upon his return so that his damaged eyes might see better in the darkness. Then she pulled the curtains tightly closed around them so that no prying eyes might peer inside, gawking at either of them. Before she settled in beside him for the ride she also slid off his shoe and loosened his stockings a bit, knowing that the pressure on his ankle should be eased so that it would not swel
l.

  Out of all the tasks she had performed for Marcus that evening, removing his shoe was by far the most intimate. And the only thing that had made her blush in a very long time.

  It was the act of a wife. Something she was not. And never would be.

  Once they were settled in and she was satisfied that he would not be overly jostled about, she rapped on the ceiling to let the driver know they were ready to depart. It was only when they had put some distance between the coach and the theater that she risked a glance at him. Though his breathing was still shallow, his color was returning and he looked a good deal better than he had at the theater. He also opened his eyes and while he did not say anything at first, he did smile at her. She took a great deal of comfort from that simple action, perhaps more than she should have.

  By the time they approached Turner-Carson House, Marcus was quite recovered much to Caroline's relief. She hated the thought of leaving him while he was still suffering. "I will have Allan see you to your front door, Caro," he whispered, his voice still a bit tight with pain. "And thank you." He shifted on the carriage seat, clearly still a little uncomfortable. "I hate for you to see me like this. Despise it, really. I am a man, after all. It is I who should be taking care of you. You should not have had to drag me out of the theater as if I was a bloody cripple." He did not mean to snap at Caroline, he truly didn't. Still, he was ashamed of his own weakness.

  In his memories, Marcus could easily visualize the way he had been the night he returned to town, all fiery anger and righteous indignation, his stride long, his legs steady even with the cane in his hands. That night, he had been almost normal. The eyes of every lady in the room, as well as some of the men's had been drawn to him. What he would not give to experience that again, especially with his injured leg paining him as horribly as it was at the moment.

  Marcus realized that today was only a minor setback, of course. He had been overtaxing himself, spending his mornings doing his normal exercises, just as he had in Bath. In the afternoons, however, he went riding and often was out late at night, walking, dancing and doing all manner of activities that put additional pressure on his leg. He had not engaged in any of that sort of pleasurable activity while in the resort town. Riding occasionally perhaps, but not the rest. Certainly not the dancing. Now, his body was beginning to protest his overexertion and he was all the angrier for it.

  "Do not worry, Marc," Caroline replied softly as she moved so that she could leave the coach. "It is of no matter."

  Those words, however, only served to infuriate him more. This was not the way he had planned to win Caroline's heart, by proving to her that he was still weak and in need of her assistance. Instead, he had wanted her to see his strength, prove that he was whole. Unfortunately once inside the theater, something unexpected had occurred. His leg had started to throb mercilessly and pain had shot through his body like liquid fire. His vision had begun to cloud as well and all he could think about was getting outside where no one would see him. Now, all he could think about was proving to the woman sitting across from him that he was not weak.

  "Damn it, Caro, it does matter!" he practically snarled, letting the old anger wash over him once more, filling him until it was all that he could feel. Anger. Pain. Humiliation. Those were emotions he knew well. "It matters more than you can ever know." When the tiger began to open the door for Caroline, Marcus smacked it closed with his hand. He was so caught up in his anger and Caroline that he had not even truly realized that the carriage had stopped.

  In the dim light of the carriage, he could see her eyes flare with curiosity and something more. Yes, there. Just right there, in the briefest of flashes. She was, dare he think it, aroused by this primal, angry side of him. There was something in his raw emotions that she found attractive. And he was feeling far too sorry for himself to even think of letting the moment pass him by without pressing his advantage.

  Before Caroline could object, Marcus was across the carriage, the swiftness of his movements surprising even him. "Marc!" There was the barest hint of outrage in Caroline's voice as he dragged her into his lap. "What are you doing?"

  Then there was blessed silence as his mouth came down over hers and claimed her lips for their first kiss in years. She was just as delectable as Marcus remembered. And far more dangerous. But she was, he knew in an instant, well worth the trouble.

  Caroline's first instinct was to push hard against Marcus in an attempt to get free, but she was met only with the hard wall of his chest, immoveable muscle that she could not deny felt rather delightful beneath her fingers. It had been a very long time since she had touched a man, and Marcus' body left no room for doubt that there was nothing at all weak about him. No matter what he thought.

  His lips were hot and urgent, a glide of satiny smooth skin over hers. Softer than she expected and yet somehow far more demanding as well. His tongue sought entrance to her mouth, which she gladly gave with a low, throaty moan, unable to stop herself or the flood of need that washed over her. She needed him. Marcus. She needed him like she needed air to breathe and water to drink. She always had. She feared she always would

  Slowly, she felt something begin to unfurl inside of her, a part of herself that she had locked up tightly from the very day Lewis Tollston had arrived in town and announced she was bound for Dunlin Castle. The secret part of her that she had long denied was achy and needy, hungry for the man who cradled her in his lap as if she was a precious jewel. Unlike their previous encounter, if Marcus pressed the issue, she would consent and give herself to him. To do otherwise, to pretend she did not want him would be a lie. And Caroline was tired of lying.

  In this moment, Marcus was everywhere. All of her senses were filled with him, but she needed more. She wanted it all, all that he could give her. And she was more than willing to take what he would not readily give. She could feel the heat of his big body seeping through the thin, watered silk of her gown, but it was not enough. She wanted to be closer.

  Pushing almost desperately against him, she ignored the little voice in the back of her mind that reminded her she was little better than an wanton and a lightskirt. Instead, she snuggled closer to him, opening herself further to his kisses. When he began to suckle at her neck, she whimpered with need, a deliciously hot ache developing in her tummy and then sliding lower. Beneath her bottom, she could feel his hardening cock and knew that despite his words at the theater, he wanted her. Very, very much.

  At her advanced age, she was not unfamiliar with the properties of a man's body. Her uncle had made certain of that. So while she still felt that she was somewhat of an innocent, she also knew far more than was proper about relations between a man and a woman. And in that precise moment, she wanted all of Marcus that he was willing to give, no matter what sort of woman that made her.

  When he returned his attentions to her lips, she shifted her body so that she might cup his cheek. She should not do such a thing she knew. She should be finding him a wife. At the moment, however, she could not think of one good reason why she should not snatch the position for herself. She could also think of several reasons why she should, including the fact that she loved him. She loved him more than any other woman ever would.

  Then he brought his hand to her breast, kneading the soft mound of flesh through the thin fabric of her gown, and she forgot everything else except the man who held her in his strong arms.

  God, she is lovely. And so responsive. And she is mine.

  Those same three thoughts continually ran through Marcus' mind as he plundered Caroline's mouth, drinking her in deeply. She was still an innocent; he could tell by her kiss. However something deeper and far more sensual lurked just below the surface, as if she knew there was more to passion than just kissing. Given the way she pawed at his chest, she also seemed to desire it rather badly.

  His eyes drifted shut as his hands moved lower to cover her breasts. He could feel her hardened nipples beneath the thin fabric of her gown, tasted the sweet, hot moan of her
mouth against his, the way her hand cradled his face, her fingers stroking along the ridge of his cheekbone.

  With nimble fingers, he freed her breasts from their fabric prison, thankful that she had not worn any of those infernal undergarments that women seemed to be so fond of. That allowed him to feast on the sight of her bare breasts, her nipples a lovely, dusky pink in the fading light of the carriage. Her breasts were small, but perfect. Just as he had known they would be.

  He should not ravish her here, he knew. She deserved better than to be tumbled in his carriage. Still, what could a small taste hurt? Just one sip at the sweet flesh of her breasts and then he would stop. He swore to himself that he would. He wouldn't taste her at all except that he ached for her so very badly. And now, she was here, in his arms and for once, she was not resisting his advances. Rather, she was encouraging them.

  Slowly, Marcus lowered his mouth to her breast and sucked one peaked nipple into his mouth. He twirled his tongue around the distended tip, loving the feel of her as she squirmed against him, brushing against his raging erection and making him ache all the more. He smiled as she gasped with pleasure and arched more fully into him. So responsive. So lovely. And all his.

  Since his illness, he had forgotten how truly wonderful a woman in his arms could feel. When he had been at his most hedonistic, he had indulged with sometimes two or three women at a time. Never had any of them felt as perfect and right as Caroline did at this very moment. Mostly because he had never cared for any of them as he cared for her. Emotions, he was quickly discovering, made all the difference - even when sex was involved. Especially when sex was involved.