His Scandalous Viscountess (Lustful Lords Series Book 3)

by Sorcha Mowbray

  “Julia, it is lovely to see you again so soon.” The rich tones of Tariq’s voice only added fuel to the fire of her fury. But in an effort not to cause a further scene, she banked the flames and stepped as far from him as she could.

  “Sheikh Hassan, it is a pleasure to see you again.”

  He winced. “So formal?”

  “Merely proper. We are no longer so intimately acquainted, and I do not believe either of your wives would appreciate a more intimate greeting. May I introduce my sister, Mrs. Rosalind Smith?”

  Ros curtsied as Tariq stepped over to her, took her hand, and placed a kiss on it. “Another lovely English rose, from the same bush.”

  A low growl from the shadows of the house suggested that Ros was being watched, and that her protector did not appreciate such attention from another quarter. It was a response Julia could well understand and value, as opposed to an accusation of responsibility.

  Ros blushed as she stepped back. “Thank you, Sheikh Hassan.”

  Then Wolf strode out of the shadows, followed by Flint. The men took up positions by her and Ros’ sides, respectively. Tariq eyed the men with interest, particularly when Wolf placed a hand against Julia’s lower back.

  He flashed a predatory smile. “There you are, dearest. Leave it to you to have already met Lady Maccomb’s esteemed guest. I am Lord Wolfington, and this is Lord Flintshire.”

  Tariq nodded at each man. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. And how is it you are acquainted with Lady Wallthorpe?”

  “May the good Lord save me from posturing men,” Julia snapped, glaring at each man in turn. “Lord Wolfington and I are engaged to be married. Now, all three of you, cease this childish behavior at once. Sheikh Hassan, I am sure your wives are wondering where you have wandered off to. Wolf, another word, if you please.”

  And then she strode off onto the garden path, leaving the others to disperse as directed.

  “Good evening.” Tariq cast a dark glance her way before he made his departure from the terrace.

  A moment later, her fiancé joined her where she stood waiting, furious with his behavior. She heard Flint and Ros walk back into the house before she turned to confront Wolf once more.

  “That man has far more serious intentions toward you than a rekindling of your connection.”

  The roughness of his voice indicated how agitated he was, but it did little to soothe her ire.

  “I am well aware of his desires; however, I have already dealt with the situation.” Feeling waspish about the whole scenario, she did not hold back. “As for you…” She pursed her lips and glared at him. “You were well aware of the terms of our agreement. I shall not be treated like a possession to be paraded about or fought over. You would do well to remember I am no simpering miss.”

  Wolf inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring in the dim glow of the lights from the terrace. “God, you are stunning when you are angry.”

  “You will not distract me with such flattery. Your behavior is unacceptable, and I shall not be a pawn in yet another man’s machinations. If you cannot control yourself, my lord, our arrangement must come to an end.”

  She let her fury fill each word with a seriousness that he could hardly miss.

  “Magnificent,” he mumbled, as he swooped in and captured her mouth with his own.

  Unable—or more accurately, unwilling—to push him away, she melted into his kiss. The bruising power of his desire melded with the searing heat of her lust until the two of them nearly set fire to Lady Maccomb’s lovely garden. With their tongues entwined, Wolf walked her deeper into the shadows. Somehow, even as they continued to taste and explore each other, they maneuvered onto a bench and sank down.

  After a tug on the front of her gown, her nipples peeked over the edge, drawing first his touch and then his lips. He suckled one rosy tip and then the other, until her breath grew as sharp as the need pulsing between her thighs. With a deft hand, he opened his trousers and freed his impressively hard cock.

  Hungry for the taste of him, she reached over and stroked his shaft, making sure to draw the moisture from his tip onto her finger. Then she lifted it to her lips and licked the salty-sweet essence that was all Wolf.

  “Fucking hell, woman, you destroy my common sense.”

  Then he shifted them so she sat on the bench, her thighs wrapped around him.

  A husky chuckle escaped her, her anger forgotten in the heat of passion. Then her amusement was abandoned when he drove his cock inside her with a single hard thrust. Grateful for the ease of access of her pantalets, she absorbed each hard thrust of his shaft as he claimed her in the most elemental fashion. She reached backward to grip the edge of the bench as he pumped into her over and over again, a man lost in the throes of animal need. Her breasts bounced each time he bottomed out inside her as she held on.

  And then he pulled out until just the tip of his erection remained inside her. “Who do you belong to?”

  His demand caught her by surprise as she reeled from the need to have him fill her once more. Unable to follow his words, she shook her head. “What?”

  “Say it. Say that you’re mine. That you belong to me.”

  His growled demand made her pussy grow impossibly wetter, even while her heart pounded in her chest. Her eyes widened as she stared up at him.

  Her heart and body warred with her head.

  He slammed into her once more, only to retreat and hold still again. “Say it, Jules.”

  She moaned. “Please, Wolf.”

  Her hips bucked, seeking more of him.

  He shook his head.

  Despite the protests of her mind, she finally whispered the words. “I’m yours.”

  “Mine,” he groaned in triumph, and then resumed pistoning in and out of her channel.

  He fucked her hard, and with a demand she could not deny. Her body welcomed his claiming until she strained and shook, while bliss overtook her fears and doubts. She burst apart at the seams as he continued to slide in and out of her, fighting the tight grip of her pussy with each thrust. In and out, he worked her body until he stiffened and thrust twice more before he withdrew to spill his seed on the ground.

  Reclined and watching him right his clothing, Julia wondered how this would change things. Because there was no doubt in her mind everything had just shifted between them, whether he knew it or not. A tear slipped down her cheek, because she knew there was no more denying how she felt. No more protecting herself from this man.

  Fool that she was, she had fallen in love with him. Again.

  Chapter 18

  Wolf stood with Flint in the front parlor of Mr. and Mrs. Fairchild’s home. They each had a brandy in hand, which Flint appeared to need far more than he. His friend scowled fiercely as he listened to Mrs. Fairchild prattle on about how wonderful it was that Ros and Flint had experienced such a whirlwind romance.

  “These people know nothing about me, yet based on the fact I have a title, they would hand their daughter over without a single qualm,” Flint said in an aside to Wolf, as he swallowed down half his glass of liquor.

  Wolf snorted. “Not just because you have a title. Consider that I also have a perfectly respectable title, and I was never an acceptable suitor for Jules.”

  “All the more terrifying that that poor girl might be foisted off to some cretin once we end this charade,” Flint muttered softly.

  Wolf’s brows rose in surprise. “Well, if you are that concerned, I suppose you could just go through with it and marry Ros. But I’d point out that she is no girl; she is a widow. And not just a widow, a battlefield widow. She followed her husband to war, endured harsh conditions, cared for the wounded soldiers in the aftermath, and then, when her own husband was taken, she sought out her sister and lived abroad with her.”

  Flint gulped the remainder of his drink. “And yet, she’s still too innocent by half.”

  “My lords, I was just saying that the girls should consider a double wedding,” Mrs. Fairchild said loudly, cutting
into their private conversation.

  Jules tried to bring her mother’s meddling to a halt. “Mother, it is far too soon for such thoughts. We have yet to even set a date.”

  But the steely-eyed Mrs. Fairchild was not to be deterred. “All the more reason to plan a double ceremony. You can all come to an agreeable date. It is a second marriage for both of you, so it’s not as though you will have so much pomp and circumstance as your first weddings.”

  Wolf looked to Jules to see how she wished to field such a slight. But before she could say anything in response, Flint spoke up.

  “Mrs. Fairchild, if I may, it will be my first marriage. I cannot imagine forgoing the usual traditions, but I shall bow to the wishes of my betrothed in this matter.”

  All eyes turned to Ros, who turned a pretty shade of pink. “I, too, think it is a bit early to be discussing this matter, but I promise we will consider all of it very soon, Mother.”

  While Mrs. Fairchild did not look pleased about being put off, she seemed far less likely to argue with Ros than with Jules. But that was no surprise to Wolf, since Ros had always been a bit of a peacemaker in the family—especially between her mother and sister.

  Two hours later, they were nearing the end of the meal. Wolf had not expected such a lavish dinner. Then he caught Jules staring at him once more. Throughout the dinner, she had cast long, lingering gazes at him, which was not at all her usual style.

  He couldn’t help but wonder if it was possible that she, too, had felt the shift in things between them after he’d claimed her in Lady Maccomb’s garden? Incensed by the air of possession the sheikh had exuded when it came to Jules, Wolf had felt the need to clearly mark his territory. Not that he believed for one moment Jules would have tolerated such a notion. In fact, she had picked up on his most basic need and squarely bashed him for giving in to the urge.

  Of course, once they’d been alone in the coolness of the garden, he’d still laid his claim. And somehow, it had been more than mere words or actions. It had been as if he’d finally pierced a protective shell that had been erected around his Jules’ heart. He’d felt the connection between them grow stronger, and warmer. It was hard to explain, and not something he’d expected, but he could not say it was unwelcome.

  He’d known the moment he’d deserted her that he’d made a mistake, but some mistakes took time to correct. Even years.

  “Lord Wallthorpe came by this afternoon, you know.”

  Mrs. Fairchild was a calculating woman, but she’d yet to understand that Jules could be very much like her when pushed to her limit.

  The feisty redhead who owned his heart simply smiled. “Did he, now? I can’t imagine what he could have wanted.”

  Her mother frowned at the subtle hint, but she persevered. “He was simply visiting. I’ve told you, we are quite close friends with him. Such a handsome young man, and a marquess to boot. Such a shame that he hasn’t yet found a woman receptive to his interest.”

  Jules sighed. “Yes, well, I am sure he would find a lovely bride among the season’s debutantes if he were but to look.”

  “Oh, he has, but he says it is exceedingly difficult to find a bride in these modern times. Many of the girls come filled with these notions of being treated as equals. I, for one, blame that Wolstoncrab woman.”

  “Wollstonecraft, Mother. Mary Wollstonecraft is the author you are thinking of. And she has many a capital notion. You would do well to read her treatise.”

  Jules gave her mother a pointed look. One that was clearly lost on the woman.

  Mrs. Fairchild huffed. “I should say not. Men have their roles in this world, and we women have ours. Caring for our home and families is not demeaning work.”

  “Now, Patrice, you know the younger generation has more modern sensibilities. They aren’t like we were, when we married.” Mr. Fairchild attempted, however gently, to turn his wife’s thinking more toward understanding.

  Mrs. Fairchild darted an angry glare at her husband. “A good man will always see to the care of those dependent on him. It’s how it has always been.”

  “And what of a husband who does not hold to that standard, Mother? What should a woman do then?”

  Green fire snapped from Jules’ eyes, but Mrs. Fairchild completely missed the warning signs.

  Wolf did not.

  “May I suggest we adjourn to the parlor for a digestif?” Ros suggested, as she set her serviette aside.

  Jules and her mother stared at each other for a moment longer, and then her mother nodded.

  “An excellent idea, Rosalind. Gentlemen, will you join us?”

  “In a moment, my dear,” Mr. Fairchild replied, delaying their departure.

  As the women filed out of the dining room, silence settled over the men while the servants bustled around the table, clearing the bulk of the dishes. Finally alone, Mr. Fairchild sat back and rubbed his protruding stomach. “My lords, my wife means well, but I’m afraid she is not always one to see the situation as clearly as I do.”

  Wolf and Flint glanced at each other. Worry niggled at Wolf as he braced for whatever might come next.

  “I did not think it strange when Julia resumed her friendship with you, Lord Wolfington. You two have been peas in a pod for ages. But when Lord Flintshire—no slight intended, my lord—suddenly took an interest in Rosalind, I could not help but wonder.”

  “Wonder what?” Flint asked, a dangerous edge to his voice that had Wolf on alert.

  Jules’ father sat forward, a crease in his brow. “I know that Lord Wallthorpe merely courts my wife’s attention to serve his own purpose. I was unsure what that purpose might be until Jules related his aggressive courting. I still had my doubts, unsure if she merely misunderstood his enthusiasm for something more. But now that she is engaged to you, Lord Wolfington, I like to believe she is protected from any unwanted advances.” He paused and turned his focus to Flint.

  “What I am not sure I understand is your interest in Rosalind, Lord Flintshire. While I love my daughter, I fail to understand her sudden willingness to marry, when she has rejected every suggestion to that effect since her husband was killed. What, my lord, are your intentions toward my daughter?”

  Flint shifted in his seat, causing the delicate cherrywood to creak ominously. His hands clenched into fists for a few moments, and then he appeared to consciously relax them. “Mr. Fairchild, I seek only to protect your daughter.”

  With his brown hair and green eyes, Jules’ father looked at Flint with a hard stare. “Do you not care for her? Perchance even like her? I could not condone a connection based on so little as a simple desire to protect her. I once made the mistake of entrusting a daughter to a man based solely on his title, and his claims to wish to protect and care for her. I shall not be so foolish again, my lord.”

  “She is all that is fresh and innocent, Mr. Fairchild, and yes, I wish to protect that. But I also want to bask in the kindness she exudes, for as long as I am permitted.”

  The words felt forced from Flint, but were delivered with a grinding honesty that shocked even Wolf.

  “Very well, then. I think we should join the women, before my eldest daughter and wife come to blows.”

  Mr. Fairchild then rose and strode from the room, fully expecting them to follow.

  Chapter 19

  Johnson closed the door behind Julia as she stepped onto the sidewalk. A young man, Jeremy, held the reins of her sleek little phaeton, and the handsome, matched pair she’d purchased after her return to England. Her vehicle was stylish and on the smaller side, nothing too flashy or over the top. At the time, she’d thought she would be moving home and fading into the hustle and bustle of London. Instead, she’d found herself caught up in one tangle after another.

  First was Wallthorpe, a knot she’d yet to fully unravel. The man was dogged in his pursuit of her, and she simply couldn’t fathom the why of it. She was starting to worry that if she didn’t get to the bottom of that question, she’d never manage to convince him to leav
e her alone.

  Then, in an attempt to solve her first problem, she’d managed to ensnare herself in a second, far more pleasurable—yet equally confounding—knot. Wolf was a man who was proving to be very different from the one she remembered. The gregarious young man she’d spent summers traipsing around with had been replaced by a thoughtful, calculating man who showed a tendency to brood. He also seemed to be very comfortable with their arrangement, yet there was something about it all that didn’t quite fit.

  Another puzzle to solve, though certainly far less sinister than the first.

  And then Tariq had appeared on the scene, muddling an already complicated problem. The enigmatic man was unaccustomed to hearing the word no, which was obviously proving to be an issue. Though it had been nearly two years, he obviously had not accepted her refusal to become his wife—or her decision to return to England.

  Who followed a woman halfway around the world and dragged his two wives along with him? And how on earth had she managed to attract three such different men?

  Or conceivably, at their core, all three were more alike than appearances suggested?

  Without question, Wolf and Tariq were closer in nature. Both were men of privilege, with their birthrights teaching them that anything could be acquired if they desired it. And Wallthorpe could certainly be lumped in that group, but somehow, he struck her as different. There was a core of principle in both Wolf and Tariq that she did not sense in Wallthorpe, which would make sense, considering who his father had been.

  She settled behind the reins and set the vehicle in motion once Jeremy hopped on the rear bench. She had an appointment with Madame LaFleur, who she’d been waiting a month to see in order to sort out a few wardrobe changes. She’d kept up with the latest fashions, but since she’d been spending more time in Society than planned, she needed to add a few more gowns to her arsenal.

  Having arrived a few minutes early so she could browse for any fabrics that caught her eye, she was considering a lovely clover green silk when she was rudely interrupted. A hand latched onto her arm and spun her about, until she faced an all-too-familiar woman.