The Viscount and the Heiress

by Dominique Eastwick

  “No, nothing.”

  He threw the door open with such force it cracked against the wall before slamming of its own momentum behind him. A footman stationed at the end of the hall jumped up from his chair in shock. “Sir.”

  Recognizing the horny youth from earlier, he bit out, “The garden.”

  The boy pointed in the opposite direction down the hall. “Down the servants’ stairs to the ground floor. First door before the upper kitchen.”

  “Thank you.” He followed the directions and stepped into the dark courtyard as the first drop of water hit the flagstone path. Lifting his face to the sky, he allowed the rain to wash over him, hoping that it could bathe away his problems, anger, and perhaps the love he still felt for a woman who, for some reason, could not reciprocate his feelings. Within a couple of minutes, the light sprinkle turned to a soaking downpour. Wiping the hair away from his forehead, he relaxed.

  She had been right. His family was in financial trouble. He did what he could to make money for his brothers, had managed to make some good investments, but his father wouldn’t allow him near the estate ledgers. Worse, the man had barred him from the houses both in London and in the country. Until his father died, there was no way to know how dire the situation was. But he was fairly certain it was worse than even he suspected.

  He glanced up at the room he had vacated long enough to see the curtain drop and her voluptuous form disappear from sight. She’d rejected his suit for the second time, and that was once too often. Society dictated that gentlemen once rejected should, with all good grace, step away from the lady in question. Society didn’t seem to give a damn about what a person’s heart demanded. So, after tonight, he would leave her be as he had for a decade. But he had this night to love her. A few hours to make a lifetime of memories. He wouldn’t miss another minute.

  Chapter Two

  How easy would it have been to say yes, to allow her heart to lead instead of her brain. Jon was not the only one flooded by memories this night. Memories long suppressed bled like an open wound. She’d never tried to fool herself into believing she wasn’t in love with him. She had fallen hard far sooner than he had. Years, in fact, before he noticed her as a woman, she had played out fantasies of marrying him and becoming his countess.

  She had been prepared in the hayloft to accept the proposal she had been so sure he would offer. But his declaration of love had been more than enough. Marriage would be next. When he missed their assignation at the stable, she’d gone up to the big house to see what had happened. She had been led into the hulking manse, a building that had always struck her as dark and lacking any love or life, and placed to wait in a library with empty shelves. She found out later the books had been long sold years ago.

  As she sat on the edge of a worn horsehair sofa, a footman had left the room across from her, the door latch failed, and the door crept open revealing Jonathon standing rigid, his jaw tight, his broad back emphasized in the blue velvet coat, and his long muscular thighs filled out his tight riding pants. Though the earl was hidden behind the wall, there was no mistaking his gravelly voice. She drew near the doorway to listen.

  “I will not allow that woman to become a Railey.”

  “Milord, we need the money she can bring.”

  “There is always another way. The upstarts with their new money. Mark my words, she will bring disgrace to this family.”

  “Would you rather rot in debtors’ prison? That is where this is heading.”

  She heard something hit a wall, followed by a curse before the old man snorted. “You do what needs to be done, boy, for the family.”

  “We always do.”

  “Don’t expect me to acknowledge her.”

  Distraught and disheartened, she backed deeper into the room until she hit the corner. She stared at the ceiling, working out her escape. Could she hold it together long enough to get back to her house and into her room?

  Halfway down the hillside that connected their two estates, she heard him yell her name and turned to see him throwing on a green overcoat as he chased after her. “Izzy, wait.”

  He finally caught up to her and grabbed her arm to turn her to face him. “Didn’t you hear me call?”

  She nodded, unable to talk past the lump in her throat.

  “Where are you going?”

  Her only thought was to get away from him. Her heart was in danger of shattering into a million pieces, and she didn’t want him to see what his betrayal did to her.

  “Allow me to escort you.”

  “No.”

  “No?” His eyes widened.

  “I don’t want to see you again, milord.”

  “Izzy, stop.” He forced her to face him. “I know I missed our appointment. I had to meet with the family solicitor in town.”

  “I see.” She reached up and removed his fingers from her arm, unable to bear the touch for a second more. Liar she wanted to yell. He was in the very house with his disgusting father.

  “My love, what is the matter?”

  “I shall never marry you. Ever. I will be damned if you think I will ever wed you so your father can get his hands on my money.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m not stupid. Go seduce someone else because you shall never touch me again.”

  She ran and hadn’t stopped until she reached her bedroom. Only then did she allow her curiosity to take control. From the floor-to-ceiling windows of her bedchamber, she peeked through the soft blue sheers, wiping away tears that flowed like a river. In the distance where she had left him, he stood staring at her house. Unmoving. Then, as if sensing her mood, the skies opened up and the rain started down. He remained long after he was drenched from head to toe. She fell asleep in the window seat and awoke the next morning to find him gone. At breakfast, which she requested in her room, pretending a slight cold, her maid informed her that sometime in the night his lordship, the viscount, had quit the manor. He rode out like the devil was on his heels.

  She later heard through the servants’ grapevine that the earl and his heir had engaged in a gigantic argument, the earl announcing if he could disown Jonathon, he would have. Days later, she came across one of the younger brothers, she couldn’t remember which one, now, but he had been in tears, distraught over his brother’s exile. Even as she’d hugged the small boy, she understood his despair. She knew it, lived it.

  Close to a year passed before they crossed paths again. Every holiday, birthday, or family event, she’d expected to see him at his family estate, although the servants said the earl forbade his name to be spoken in the house. At her first ball in town, she and a friend had entered a room to encounter Jonathon and his friends flirting with a group of debutants. Their eyes met, and she drank him in, his shoulders broader, jawline stronger, any signs of the boy she had loved had transmuted into a mature man. He’d nodded in her direction before returning his attention to the ladies at his side.

  Over the years, they’d crossed paths on occasions, but, as if by unspoken agreement, they avoided each other whenever possible. She’d even begun to believe he didn’t affect her anymore. But tonight had proved he could still hurt her, and, as she looked down at the courtyard, as the rain started to fall, she had a familiar sense of déjà vu. They seemed destined to repeat past hurts and mistakes.

  Stepping away from the window, she pulled the cord for the maid. A few moments later, a petite blonde servant curtsied before her. “Ma’am?”

  “Have some warm blankets brought up for his lordship and a hot bath drawn immediately.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The woman curtsied again and closed the door on her way out.

  Isabel pulled the sheers back as lightning lit up the sky. Jonathon still stood, eyes closed, face to the sky. As she’d seen him on the worst night of her life, so far. She watched him, riveted, until a second knock dragged her away.

  Two maids with warm blankets and a pot of warm tea entered. The one
she’d sent for the items, curtsied. “The under butler will meet him in the hall with a warmed robe and take his clothes to be dried.”

  “I thank you.”

  “Shall we pour you some tea?”

  They took the situation all in stride, as if it were normal for a lord to run into a rainstorm. But perhaps this was not the most abnormal thing this place had seen. If the walls could talk, they would have a thing or two to say. And most would likely make her blush. “No need. I can manage it.”

  “Will there be anything more? I believe his lordship will be returning momentarily.”

  “Nothing, thank you. I don’t think we will require anything else. I would not keep you from your beds.” She hated to think the staff would remain up on the chance either of them would ring.

  The maids exchanged glances before the elder of the two turned. “No worries, ma’am. We are hired for the night. There is another complete staff that comes in tomorrow to clean and mend. So, should you need us, please don’t hesitate.”

  They didn’t bother shutting the door, and, within seconds, she could hear soft footsteps coming down the hall.

  He entered, wet hair stuck to his forehead. “Thank you for arranging the robe.”

  “Come and sit down,” she insisted, grabbing the warm blankets off the bed. It may have been summer, but the temperature had dropped. She settled him in the armchair and tucked the blankets around him. “I’ve asked for a bath to be drawn, and I did request the blankets but cannot take credit for the robe.”

  “Well, thank you for thinking about the items you did.” He accepted the cup of hot tea she handed him, blew over the steam before gulping the hot liquid. He handed his cup out for seconds.

  “May I ask you a question?”

  “Yes, though I can’t promise to answer.” His icy walls were back.

  She pressed down on the lid of the teapot, hoping to steady her fingers. “You seem drawn to the rain. Don’t you worry you will catch your death?”

  “Death is sometimes not the worst thing that could happen.”

  “How can you say that?”

  He gulped down the rest and placed his cup upon the spindle side table. “There are days where the weight of responsibility becomes too much. But I do not go out into the rain to tempt fate as much as I go out to cleanse my soul. The rain helps wash away what bothers and reminds me there is something larger than myself out there.”

  “Why does it all fall on you?”

  “Because I am the oldest.”

  “But why must you be the only one to marry for money? Why haven’t the others?”

  He glared at her as if she had two heads. Uncomfortable, she reached up and played with a ringlet of hair. “Do you think my brothers have anything to offer? I have nothing except a god damned title. So, if a rich family wants a title, then, by all means, buy it. Gabe tried to marry, but the engagement fell apart shortly after I was banished.”

  “And yet you remain unmarried.”

  “As you see.”

  A scratch on the door alerted them to the servant in the hall. The door cracked, but no one entered. “Milord, the bath is drawn.”

  “Thank you.” Jonathon crossed the room and glanced out. He said a few words she couldn’t make out before closing the door and facing her. “The bathing chamber is across the hall. The servants are clearing out so no one will see us together.”

  “Us?”

  “Us.” His eyes met hers and dared her to look away. “We have a single night. I, for one, am damned well not going to waste another minute on the past or dwelling on a future I am never meant to have.”

  “This isn’t a good idea. I should have them call my carriage.”

  “Probably you should.” He strolled behind her and unknotted the ties of her robe, taking her by surprise, though it should not have. “Aren’t you in the least bit curious if perhaps this afternoon’s escapade was simply years of built-up lust?”

  She closed her eyes as he slipped his hand inside her dressing gown and cupped her breast. His thumb played over her nipple until it hardened with desire. She braced for the inevitable removal of her robe. A minute later, she was surprised to feel the dressing gown fastened closed around her. She opened her eyes and turned to Jonathon.

  “Come. The water is getting cold.” He held out his hand.

  She placed her fingers onto his palm and allowed him to lead her across the hall to the bathing chamber. Firelight lit the room, taking the chill out of the air. A brass tub, larger than any she had ever seen, occupied the center of the room. Nerves settled in her belly. Turning her back to him, she took a deep breath to give her the courage to remove the brocade dressing gown. They had been intimate earlier, but this was different. They had never bathed or been undressed when they had not been making love. She hadn’t actually looked at his body this afternoon. She had been too caught up in lust and primal needs.

  Somehow, this seemed more personal.

  “I have turned my back,” he murmured, a hint of humor in his tone. “Just let me know when you are in the bath, and I will join you.”

  Relief filled her, pulling the silk over her head, she rushed across the room. With a quick test of the water’s warmth, she climbed in. Knees to chest, water lapping at her breast, she questioned the insanity that brought her to this point. “Um, you can turn now.”

  A moment later, he crossed before her, bare-chested. With only his fawn-colored still-damp breeches on, she was given a beautiful view of his muscular back in the firelight. He removed his pants, revealing the body of a man. She took in the gentleman he had become. Every part of him had filled out since she had seen him years before. The image of his chest full of hair, muscles that rippled with every move, and his male member, large and hard at full attention, burned into her brain before she dropped her gaze.

  “You can look. You have seen me before.”

  “Neither of us is the same as we were a decade ago. And I didn’t have my eyes open much this afternoon.” When he didn’t make a move, she finally looked up. “Why aren’t you getting in?”

  “I am trying to determine if I should climb in front of you or behind as you are sitting in the middle.” His eyes twinkled.

  She scooted forward, convinced it would be easier not to see his face as they sat naked in the tub. Doubt in her decision filled her the instant his erection touched her lower back. His muscular legs filled the space on either side of her, pinning her in place.

  “Lean back.” His voice cracked, and she realized he was as affected as she. She hesitated, but he didn’t push. She didn’t know where his hands or arms were, but, other than his legs and his groin, there were no other points of contact.

  Steadying her nerves, she eased against his chest, the hair tickling the sensitive skin of her shoulder blades. Warm hands cupped her breasts as his lips caressed her nape. “I intend to burn myself so deep into your skin, no other man will ever compare.”

  “And what if I do the same to you?”

  He paused, gripped her bun, and yanked her head back so his face was visible to hers. “You did that the first time I entered your body.” His lips came down on hers in a bruising kiss, demanding and punishing her for doubting her power over him.

  How did a man let go of the only thing that made him feel complete? He watched her sleep long into the night. Long past when her breathing fell into a soft cadence and her body relaxed into the sleep of the sated. He would love this woman until he died, but nothing on this earth would convince her to marry him. She desired him. That he knew for certain. Though he had branded the memory of their lovemaking deep into her memories, she couldn’t love him and refused his suit again. As she refused to marry him as he needed money, he could no more wed without love. So, although he had said he would ask one more time when the sun rose, he was now rethinking everything he held dear.

  Easing from the bed, careful not to wake her, he drank in her image one last time. Her long russet hair fann
ed out over her pillow. One delicate hand tucked under her cheek as she curled onto her side. It was long past time he moved on. If he could not have her, could not have love, then he must do his duty to the family. After covering her with the blanket, he moved around the moonlit room, collecting his items of clothing. Once decent, sans cravat, he opened the door to the hall. A young boy in his early teens jumped to his feet.

  “Please, call for my horse.”

  “Aye, milord.”

  “Is there a room available where I can wait?”

  “Certainly, sir. Would you like some refreshments?”

  “If it’s not too much trouble. A cup of tea would be appreciated.”

  “No trouble at all. The kitchen stays up all night to be available for our guests.” The boy headed down the hall but turned. “At the foot of the stairs, someone can direct you.”

  Jonathon gave one last glance at Izzy, fighting the urge to return to bed even for a few hours. Nay, this was the best way for them both. In fact, he was coming to believe it might be the only way. Time to move forward. Reaching for his top coat on the chair, he then exited the room without a single glance back. She had broken his heart for the last time, and all that remained was a hollowness.

  Chapter Three

  Clad in well-tailored gray long pants, a powder-blue waistcoat, and dark-blue coat, Jonathon looked every inch the lord he was born to be. Isabel had known he’d be here. How could he not? And still she’d accepted the invitation to yet another wedding. The marriage of the Earl of Windenshire to Miss Miranda Beauchamp at their county estate. Isabel wanted to see Jon, but perhaps a wedding with love in the air had been the wrong venue. Steeling her shoulders, she raised her chin a bit higher and walked toward the married couple to wish them well.

  “Miss Hathaway, I am so glad you made it.” Miranda, the new Countess of Windenshire, beamed with happiness.

  Isabel swallowed past the lump of jealousy in her throat. “Thank you for inviting me, Lady Windenshire.”