The Viscount's Wayward Son: A Regency Romance (Ladies of the North Book 2)

by Isabella Thorne

  They were nose to nose now, fairly hissing in each other’s faces. “You are insufferable” Anne snapped.

  “Insufferable, am I? Well, If you truly believe Amberleigh’s pretty deceptions, then you are as dim-witted as he is,” Edmund finished, turning from her in a huff as he had done so many times in the past.

  Anne sputtered. She could not believe Edmund would insult her so, as if he held the high ground. She would not let him have the last word, as if he were right; He was not! Anne reached out and grabbed his arm spinning him around to face her. “You don’t know the first thing about being a gentleman,” she hissed.

  “I know that only an empty-headed ninny would believe Amberleigh’s pack of pretty lies. You must be daft.”

  Anne was shocked at the venom of his insult. How dare he say such things to her! She stared at her childhood friend, realizing for the first time, just how little he had grown up in the last few years. He was still the same. “Unbearable bottle-headed idiot.”

  “Bottle-headed idiot?” He laughed bitterly. “You have not called me that since we were children.”

  “Perhaps it is still fitting, since you act like a child,” Anne replied, though she almost instantly regretted it. She had not intended to speak aloud.

  She felt for the first time as though she didn’t know Edmund at all. She was, in fact, quite hurt at his unreasonable attack. It mattered not that she had held some doubts of her own regarding Lord Amberleigh, especially in the way he had disappeared so soon after her very near mishap on the stair. Her own ire mattered not. Edmund, though, had been her friend and companion for too long for his opinion not to matter. It mattered a great deal.

  Flustered, Anne moved towards the fireplace, putting her hands out to capture the heat though she was hardly chilled. No. She felt flushed. She could not look at Edmund, but she felt his eyes upon her. She concentrated on the flames before her. Tears jumped to her eyes and she did not know why. Her chest felt tight.

  Then, his hands were upon her shoulders. He had come up behind her and touched her, oh so gently as if she would bolt, or turn away from his touch. She did not move. She felt as if she could not breathe.

  “Anne,” he said softly. Just her name, breathed against her hair, took all of the anger from her heart. “I am sorry, Anne,” he whispered. “I spoke rashly and without thought. Forgive me?”

  She nodded mutely, unable to find the words to speak with him standing so close. She could smell his scent, so masculine, laced with a subtle hint of brandy and the wood smoke. She could feel his strength behind her, and resisted the urge to lean back against him. She could feel the hard line of his body at her back. If she turned and tipped her face up to him, would he kiss her? She stood frozen. When had he become a man? She wondered. A mere moment ago she berated him for acting like a child, but the hard form at her back bore no resemblance to the boy she remembered.

  A hot flush ran through her, and she realized the heat was not from the fire. She grasped for something to say…anything… “It seems to be going out,” she murmured, noticing the way the little pile of wood had fallen apart as it burned. The fire had been hastily built, perhaps in part because the night held only a small chill, a dampness from the rain more than true cold. Perhaps the servant had thought they would not want a fiery blaze tonight.

  Edmund’s hands tightened on her shoulders. “Are you cold,” he whispered in her ear. His breath tickled and she shivered.

  “We should…” she began, but he turned her to face him, and tipped up her chin. All thought of conversation skittered away from her.

  “We have built many a fire between us over the years have we not, Anne?” Edmund asked softly.

  “Yes,” she agreed, not sure if they were still talking about the fire in the grate or the heat that had sprung up between the two of them. She looked at him then, seeing for the first time how close his lips were to hers. She could feel his warm breath on her cheek. He smelled pleasantly of brandy. His eyes were a dark jade. Her heart skipped a beat in a new way as warmth spread through her that had little to do with the fire and everything to do with the way she felt in his arms.

  “Edmund…”

  His name fell from his lips, in a soft sigh ending on a moan of desire. I want this, she thought desperately. She wanted him to pull her against his hardness and kiss her. The fire at her back was nothing in comparison to the heat in her blood. She wanted this. For so long, she had wanted this. “Edmund,” she murmured again, her breath warm against his lips. Anne knew she should refuse. She should pull away. If he kissed her now, she did not know where it would lead. She found she did not care. She wanted his kiss and she wanted his arms around her. She never wanted this moment to end. She closed her eyes and tipped her head up, leaning into the circle of his arms.

  Edmund released her abruptly.

  The movement was discordant. Jarring enough for her to open her eyes and grasp at his shirt as he tore himself from her embrace. Was that regret in his dark eyes as he released her? She could not be sure, not when plagued with her own bitter confusion. This was Edmund, whom she had almost kissed, whom she had wished to kiss her. And he did not want the same.

  The rejection was like a sharp pain in her breast. Her heart ached at the loss. She retreated toward the desk, fisting her hands in her skirt to keep them steady. Her pulse still raced, and her cheeks felt warm and flushed.

  Edmund made some excuse about the lateness of the hour. She barely heard him. Such was her misery. He stood at the door to the study, hat in hand. “Goodnight, Miss Albright,” he intoned, and Anne’s heart broke again at the unfamiliar form of address.

  “Good night…Edmund,” she finished lamely unable to call him Mr. Ingram even now.

  He inclined his head to her, turned on his heel and very nearly fled the study.

  Anne stared in the direction he had gone, feeling her heart thudding in her throat until she heard the front door snick shut behind him. She turned to stare at the dying fire. The last bit of wood fell to ash with a soft hush, the red embers covered in grey.

  She had very nearly kissed Edmund.

  He had not kissed her.

  She could not get past the thought. Especially when a second more insidious whisper sounded in her mind: What does this mean in regards to Lord Amberleigh? Oh, she did not care. She did not have room in her head to spare a thought for Lord Amberleigh just now. She had been careless and could have easily been badly burned as so many incautious women had been in love.

  Love?

  Was she in love with Edmund? Anne did not know. She had wanted to kiss him, but that was not exactly the same thing, was it? Oh, how could she be so foolish? Edmund didn’t want her. He didn’t want a wife at all. He thought the whole idea foolish. Is that not what he had said? He was no longer the boy she had known, and he was lost to her now. Tears stung at the corner of her eyes and rolled down her face. She dashed them angrily away. She swallowed hard, willing herself to stop shaking. She turned to seek her own bed for the night.

  As she passed Emily’s rooms a deeply contented sigh drifted through the heavy door. Anne hurried her steps; rushing back to her own chamber, shutting the door firmly behind her. She pulled off her dress and stays tossing them in a corner, not bothering to summon a maid to assist her. She didn’t want to see anyone. Perhaps ever again. The tears were flowing freely now.

  Thankfully, she couldn’t hear anything from Emily’s chambers here. Her own borrowed room was far down the hall, but thoughts of her friends’ wedded bliss taunted Anne. Emily was happy and lucky in love. Anne was not. Was it so wrong to want love for herself? She turned to her own cold and empty bed and wept bitter tears upon her pillow.

  Edmund returned to his rented rooms for the night in a state of agitated desire. He knew Alexander had provided him with accommodation and had expected him to stay, but he could not sleep with Anne only steps away. The way he felt tonight, sleep seemed an impossibility.

  The cool night air helped to clear his head as
he walked. He had nearly lost himself tonight. Anne had been so close, spitting in his face like an angry kitten. He could smell the scent of her perfume and beneath it a sweet feminine musk that was all her own.

  He had most violently wanted to kiss her; to crush her form to his own and claim her with lips and teeth and tongue, and when she tipped her face up to his so sweetly he was nearly undone. He wanted to hold her and protect her and make her his. The thought sent a shudder through him even now. The drink pounded in his blood and pushed him to act rashly, but he could not. Not with Anne.

  He sighed. He should not have spoken so harshly to her. She was right. He still acted like a child and he was a fool. The reprimand stung, but he knew the truth of her words. He could not act rashly with Anne. He could not drunkenly maul her in a darkened room as if she were some wanton. Anne was better than that. She was a woman to have forever, not for a single night of pleasure. He realized then that he did want Anne forever. He wanted her as his wife.

  He always had, since the day he had made that first ridiculous proposal. He could make no childish declaration now. He must do the thing properly. He would court her if that is what she wished. It was no less than she deserved. He would show her that he was a grown man and a gentleman, not some silly child. And he would beat the detestable Amberleigh at his own game. He would win. He must.

  8

  Anne had spent the entire week ignoring Amberleigh’s calling cards. Ever since he had cut short their last outing, she had refused to receive him. If he was too busy to spend time with her, she could be the same. He seemed to know that he had upset her and insisted she come with him to a grand dinner at Vauxhall. His way of apology, Anne supposed.

  It had been two days since she and Edmund had been left unchaperoned in Alexander’s study. Well, perhaps a day and a half. Anne had awoken the next morning feeling somewhat better than the night before. She felt raw, but scrubbed clean, as if she had cried her heart out upon the pillow and was now empty.

  A small part of her wished for some message or note from Edmund, some acknowledgement that he felt something between them as well, but she knew it was a vain hope. Instead, she had received a large bouquet of roses from Amberleigh and an invitation to dinner at Vauxhall, and at the urging of Emily’s mother, she had accepted.

  Amberleigh pulled out all the stops and had been most attentive to her all evening. The Vauxhall gardens were lovely. It was the closest one could get to the fresh air of the country in London. But the country was quiet and Vauxhall was a spectacle. So it really was not the same thing at all.

  Lord Amberleigh had reserved a supper-box for Anne and several others who accompanied them, including Emily’s mother who was once again chaperoning. Lady Kentleworth seemed to have found a friend in one of Lord Amberleigh’s acquaintances. Anne wished that Emily and Alexander had come too, but they had a previous engagement.

  After ordering supper, Lord Amberleigh suggested they explore and listen to music, while their repast was prepared. The garden was like a dream. The air was perfumed with an abundance of flowers, and music played while Lord Amberleigh directed Anne’s attention to the many lovely works of art.

  Anne would have been lost along the numerous winding footpaths, but Lord Amberleigh managed to lead her back to their particular supper-box by noting the artwork that hung in the back of it. Anne would not have noticed. Lord Amberleigh spoke about the artist as if he was known to him personally. Perhaps he was.

  Anne could see around the garden from their viewpoint. The supper-box was open at the front like a theatre box to view the musicians, as well as the fine people who visited the gardens. Many such personages were milling around, talking to one another. Others were seeking their own supper-boxes. The sky was a bit cloudy, and Anne worried about rain.

  Lord Amberleigh shook his head knowingly. “It shall not rain. The clouds only make the sunset that much more spectacular,” he intoned.

  It was a lovely sunset.

  Twilight approached and drinks of wine, cider and ale were offered. As Anne sipped her wine, she wondered when they would start to light the many lamps. She had seen the bucket lamps with cotton wool along the way, but no one had started to light them, and it was quickly getting dark.

  Lord Amberleigh smiled at her naivety.

  “Watch and see,” he said.

  A short while later, when a whistle blew, lamplighters with torches came to their prescribed places.

  Anne was uncertain why they were waiting, but then a second whistle blew and the lamplighters touched their torches to the cotton wool in bucket lights around the garden. Fuses connected the oil lamps and precisely together thousands of lamps were lit at once. The entire area was immediately bathed in the sudden lamplight and the spectators clapped their approval of the spectacle.

  Then supper was served.

  The food was superb. It consisted of salads and appetizers as well as thinly carved meats. Tasting each morsel, Anne found herself satisfied early in the meal. When yet another platter arrived, she would have declined. She was quite full, but Lord Amberleigh told the waiter that she would have the beef. She picked at it a bit and realized that it was very good, moist and tender. Eventually, she realized that she had eaten most of the slice.

  Lord Amberleigh insisted that she must also try the ham which was truly a Vauxhall delicacy. “It is sliced so thin, one can nearly see through it,” he said.

  Anne was not sure why this was a requirement of good food, but she was actually glad that it was so thin. There would be less of it to eat.

  “A slice for each of us,” Amberleigh told the waiter. Anne nodded, accepting the dish. The waiter smiled at her with approval when she took a small bite. It was good, but there was just too much food.

  She sat back in her chair as dessert was brought to the table. She stared with a look of dismay at the selection presented here too. She had heard that Vauxhall offered light refreshments, but this array of food was not light faire. Anne wondered if Lord Amberleigh had ordered such a mass of food simply to impress her. She had to say, she was impressed.

  Nuts and sweetmeats vied for attention with dozens of pastries on the trays. They were presented in elegant shapes and arranged in such a way as to delight the eye as much as the palate. In truth, she could not eat another bite, which was a shame because all of the desserts looked delightful. In the future, she thought, she would only take small bites of the main courses so that she would have room to sample the pudding. That is, if she returned to Vauxhall Gardens.

  Honey cakes with a single nut atop each tiny cake were presented, and she took one of those to nibble. It was the smallest, although Lord Amberleigh insisted that she also try the lemon cake topped with a sugar confection shaped like a bird. Diligently, she tasted the cake, spooning the smallest possible portion into her mouth.

  “I cannot eat another bite,” she told Amberleigh.

  In truth, she felt a bit sick already. If the other guests felt the same, they said nothing other than to exclaim in delight at the arrival of the treats. Anne shot a glance at Emily’s mother who sat on the other side of Amberleigh. The other guests seemed quite distinguished, but they were little more than strangers to Anne; acquaintances of her host who had not been overly helpful in establishing their relationships to himself.

  But then, Lord Amberleigh had seemed more set upon pointing out the finer points of the artwork displayed than conversing with the others in the box, except for Anne of course. She should be glad to have his undivided attention, Anne reprimanded herself.

  Lord Amberleigh was speaking again. “Given the import of this particular evening, I wished to make sure that all was arranged just so.” Amberleigh almost sounded sullen. “Did the sugar swan not please you?” he asked Anne as the waiter arrived to take away her plate.

  The man hesitated to disturb them, and Anne smiled at him before turning back to Amberleigh to comment on his thoughtfulness, but he continued speaking.

  “It cost the earth to obtain,”
Lord Amberleigh said, “and I would be most put out were you not to take pleasure in it.” He eyed her plate critically and Anne dutifully took another small bite.

  She realized that Amberleigh had made some special arrangement for the treat. She had been to Vauxhall once or twice before with Emily, but not often enough to know what was normal. The opulence of the pleasure gardens still impressed her, and she cast about for a response.

  “Truly, I was enjoying the cunning shape. I would not have thought to create a pudding in the shape of bird. It is almost too beautiful to eat,” Anne replied, lifting her spoon to gesture at the treat, which appeared to have been made of sugar, blown like fine glassware.

  “Yes. Only the best for you, my dear,” he said, “but do be cautious of the eyes. Those are actual pearls. You might have them set in a piece of jewelry if you wish later: a brooch perhaps or a pair of ear-bobs. I know how ladies do love their baubles.”

  The significance of a gift of jewelry was not lost on her. Amberleigh meant to make a pronouncement tonight, if not a proposal. Anne felt her stomach turn over at the thought, and she did not think her upset was because of the excess of food.

  “How charming.” Anne commented. She touched her spoon to one of the pearls and gasped as it popped free and rolled across her plate. She had a moment of panic. What would she do if it rolled to the floor? But the pearl stopped, stuck in a gob of honey. She stared at it in consternation, not sure if she was supposed to fish it out herself or leave it for a servant to attend to.

  She shot a glance at her neighbor who was calmly eating strawberry tarts and ignoring her entirely. Anne industriously tried to use her spoon to sweep the pearl free, only to knock it from the plate. She watched it roll underneath a crumpled napkin and then, bit her lip to keep from laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. Amberleigh seemed not to notice.