Chapter Five

November 8, 1812

“—think you’ll find Miss Stewart is far more interested in what I have to say, Mr. Thomson,” said Mr. Peters, his fleshy chin stuck up in the air.

“Well, actually,” Edie began softly.

“Poppycock! Your ego does you no credit, my good man,” said Mr. Thomson proudly. He puffed out his sizable chest. “I think you will find Miss Stewart has been desperate to talk to me all evening.”

“You truly believe that? You must be dull witted indeed. Consider, after all, that my fortune is far greater than… “

Precisely what Miss Stewart thought, no one knew. That was because Edie had remained standing between the two men for nigh on ten minutes, and at no point had they bothered to ask her.

Edie sighed. It was wearying, enduring this sort of discussion day after day. It did not appear to matter where they went. Almack’s, private balls, dinners, card parties…

This afternoon tea had proven most hopeful. The invitation had promised entertainment, which appeared only to be a singer by the pianoforte. She was very good, but it was nothing compared to what Edie had hoped for.

And she was once again being subjected to being the topic du jour . Or should that be de l’année ?

“Miss Stewart has commented on how much she liked my carriage,” said Mr. Thomson pompously.

“Ah, but Miss Stewart has remarked on how delightful she found my horse,” countered Mr. Peters.

Edie pursed her lips but did not bother attempting to interrupt. This was not, it appeared, anything to do with her.

What she found most amusing was that she had made neither the comment nor the remark. Clearly, her polite acceptance of a carriage ride with one and a ride in Hyde Park with the other was sufficient for the gentlemen to presume her compliments.

Men!

“—such a beautiful woman as Miss Stewart would never—”

“I know full well the beauty of Miss Stewart—she is the year’s flourishing rose—”

Edie sighed, a tad louder than perhaps was polite, but it did not appear to make any difference. Mr. Thomson and Mr. Peters continued to talk loudly about how much she admired them, without at any point requiring her participation in the conversation.

Oh, it was so dull. The whole afternoon tea was dull, in fact. There was hardly anyone here she did not know, and of those she knew, there was no one she wished to—

Frederick Chance, Viscount Pernrith.

Edie’s heart skipped a beat. She had not realized he had been invited. Despite—or perhaps because of—the little she knew of him, and the very little Mrs. Teagan had been willing to discuss with her, the man intrigued her. There was something… something different about him.

While other gentlemen attempted to talk over her rather than at her, her few interactions with Frederick—with Lord Pernrith—had been most agreeable.

“Though I suppose my time will come.”

“Your time?”

“For proposals.”

Edie shivered, despite the temperature of the room.

Lord Pernrith was standing in a trio of gentlemen, though he appeared to be saying very little. Taking advantage of the fact that her conversational companions could not have cared a fig what she was saying, Edie examined the enthralling viscount.

He was dressed well, but then all gentlemen were. It was a Society event. One had to be dressed well.

And yet, now that she came to consider him more closely, she could see she was mistaken. Though Viscount Pernrith was dressed in an impressive jacket with a silk waistcoat, Edie realized both were of last year’s fashion. Perhaps a few years older than that.

Or at least, what had passed for “this year’s fashion” in Woodhurst, where the styles changed more slowly.

It was the same cravat, Edie spotted, that he had worn at St. James’s Court. Not that there was nothing wrong with that, but it was… unusual.

Oh, how she wished she had friends in London. She loved her home village of Woodhurst, of course, but the instant Edie, her father, and Mrs. Teagan had arrived in town, she had realized just what a disadvantage her long years in the country had proven.

There was so little she knew about… about gentlemen. About flirtation. About how one was supposed to go about getting a husband, something her father was most stringent about.

About what she was supposed to do with all these feelings for Frederick Chance…

He looked up and Edie’s insides melted.

She looked away quickly, back to her companions, before remembering why she had stopped attending.

“No, it is Miss Stewart’s eyes that are the most fine,” said Mr. Peters confidently. A lock of dark, oily hair danced above his brow. “No one could disagree with—”

“Fie, it is her lips!” Mr. Thomson protested. His own lips were remarkably chapped. “To think otherwise is to denigrate—”

Edie ceased listening again. They had not noticed her inattention, she was certain. It was most rude of them, but it did give her an idea.

Why not simply… walk away?

It would have been the height of rudeness if the three of them were in a genuinely reciprocal conversation, but as they weren’t, Edie thought it would be rude of them to not notice if she was suddenly gone. Which she couldn’t do… could she?

Testing out the waters, Edie took a hesitant step backward, her cup of tea still in hand.

Neither of the men noticed.

“—more like the Mona Lisa with her ineffable—”

“You would compare Miss Stewart to that old trout?”

Edie took another step backward. She was now definitely not in their conversation, yet that did not appear to slow either man down.

“She complimented me when—”

“You fool, she was complimenting me !”

Taking a third step back, Edie gave a sigh of relief and meandered a few feet to the left—still within their hearing, but far enough that another person could approach her. If they wished.

And she caught the hazel gaze of the one man in the room who appeared to be looking at her eyes.

Edie smiled nervously, heat radiating through her as Viscount Pernrith’s eyes glittered. Though she knew it was bold of her, she much preferred thinking of him as Frederick, but they were in public. They were supposed to keep to some sort of decorum.

But just when she was trying to convince herself to look away, that holding the steady eyes of a gentleman like Lord Pernrith—particularly when her father had wished her not to—was a bad idea…

He winked.

Edie’s lips curled into an answering grin before she even had time to think about what she wished to do next. It was unthinkable. Grinning at a gentleman across a crowded room, and after such a rebellious, flirtatious act as a wink?

Heaven forbid!

And yet she did. He was… well, delightful. There was no other word for it.

The viscount jerked his head.

Edie turned, bemused, and saw he had indicated a door in the room that led, as far as she could recall, to a corridor.

He doesn’t want me to—

But he did. Moving slowly and sedately as only a gentleman completely at ease with himself could, Lord Pernrith was moving through the room toward the door. He glanced back over his shoulder and jerked his head a second time.

There was no mistaking his meaning. Edie’s gasp caught in her throat. It was outrageous, what he was silently requesting across a room. She could no more go with him than abscond to Gretna Green. It was an impossibility!

Still. There was no harm in gently placing her cup of tea on the sideboard and… meandering in that direction, was there?

I only wish to speak to him , Edie attempted to convince herself as she stepped farther away from Mr. Thomson and Mr. Peters, still arguing over whether she would be impressed by the former’s golf swing or the latter’s fencing stride more. She walked past Mrs. Teagan, having what appeared to be a very dull conversation with a Mrs. Marnion about linen, and her father, who was engaged in a vehement discussion with a gentleman she did not know.

“Absolutely preposterous,” snapped Lord Stewart as she walked past. “Begonias, in a border like that? The planting would be all wrong!”

Edie’s pulse quickened at the audaciousness of what she was about to do. Her father’s obsession with gardening had shown no sign of lessening, even after they had left Woodhurst.

By the time she reached the door where Lord Pernrith was standing, her heart was thumping painfully, her fingers tingling.

“Yes?”

The viscount said nothing. He merely smiled—that delicious, enticing smile that surely had worked on hundreds of women before her—reached out to open the door, and stepped out.

And Edie hesitated.

He was asking a great deal of her. They had already been caught by her father in what had appeared to be a tête-à-tête. Moreover, they were both guests, and it would be indecent if they were to be discovered alone outside of the drawing room.

Afternoon tea was one thing. An assignation elsewhere was quite another…

Edie stepped through the door.

Lord Pernrith was nowhere to be found.

Glancing up and down the corridor in great confusion, she was almost ready to step back into the drawing room and hope no one had noticed her momentary absence.

Then a gentle voice said, “This way.”

Edie turned hurriedly. Lord Pernrith’s face had appeared in a doorway farther down the corridor, a tantalizing expression—his lips cocked into half a smile, his brows raised—on his face. Then he disappeared into the room.

Her footfalls sounded like elephant stomps as she moved along the corridor, but Edie did not hesitate. His conversation had to be at least better than that which she had suffered with Mr. Peters and Mr. Thomson.

A natural propriety, however, made her pause in the doorway of what was revealed to be a library. Lord Pernrith was peering at the books in a bookcase near a window, and he looked up as she waited for him to speak.

“Not coming in?”

“Not… Not yet,” Edie said lightly.

It seemed impossible that he could not hear the hammering of her heart, and while he could have laughed at her indecision, the viscount merely nodded.

“Quite right too,” he said quietly. “Scandal is a most terrible thing.”

Now what on earth did he mean by that?

Edie halted herself from taking another step into the library and was about to ask why he had summoned her here—albeit silently—when Lord Pernrith spoke again.

“You were bored, weren’t you?”

She sagged against the doorframe in a most unladylike manner, of which Mrs. Teagan would certainly not have approved. “So incredibly bored. I know it is uncouth to say—”

“I think it more uncouth to tire out a lady with nonsense,” said the viscount. He had not turned to look at her and was instead examining the spines of books. Still, she could tell he was smiling. “What were those two men, Mr. Thomson and Mr. Peters, what were they talking about?”

Edie sighed. “They were… well. Arguing. Over me.”

It felt a tad crass to admit to such a thing, but it was the truth.

At this response, Lord Pernrith did turn around. He crossed his arms in a languid manner that spoke of riches, and privilege, and an expensive education. Leaning against the bookcase, he looked her full in the face.

“Well,” he said quietly. “Can you blame them? You are beautiful.”

When she smiled, it was tight. Edie had hoped for… what, she was not exactly sure. More than that. Better than that.

Beauty was all very well, and she supposed she was meant to be glad of it. She certainly had not earned the symmetry of her features, nor the way her figure made men’s heads turn, even if she purposefully wore an ill-fitting gown of last year’s style.

But was that truly all she was? Was that all men saw? Could she not be more than—

Footfalls.

Edie jerked her head, then inclined it as gracefully as she could to the passing footman, who was holding a silver tray. The servant stared curiously, then seemed to remember himself. Cheeks red, he dropped his gaze to the floor until he slipped through a servants’ door.

“You can’t just keep standing there, you know.”

She turned back to the room, into the library where Lord Pernrith was standing. He was still leaning against the bookcase. “What do you mean?”

The viscount hesitated. “You need to decide, I suppose. Come in here and talk with me, or return to the drawing room.”

A simple decision, on the face of it.

Yet it wasn’t. Edie knew what she wished to do—to know this man, this unusual man, better. There was a gentleness in him that belied every other trait, and yet there was fire, and spark, and laughter. And he held himself back all the time. She wanted to know why.

And why her father thought it so outrageous she would even consider speaking to him.

Edie swallowed, rent in half by indecision. Her whole body was quivering, unsure which direction to take. Somehow, she knew the choice she made would be far greater than standing in a library or in a drawing room.

Footfalls again.

This time, they came from inside the library. Lord Pernrith walked toward her slowly, without taking his eyes from her. He reached out a hand. Having accepted tea earlier, certainly, he wasn’t wearing gloves.

Neither was she. Without taking her eyes from him, unable to, Edie took his hand and stepped into the library. Both of them reached for the door, their hands mingling as they pushed it. A resounding click of the catch sounded in the room.

They were alone.

Edie’s lungs were tight, each inhale a struggle as she stood there with her hand still held by Lord Pernrith. It was the single most sensual thing that had ever happened to her.

Though that , she tried to think rationally, isn’t that impressive. But still.

“We should lock the door,” said Edie without thinking.

Her cheeks burned as the viscount arched an eyebrow. “We should?”

“Y-Yes,” she said, as boldly as she could manage. Her hand fumbled at the lock behind her, unsure which way to turn it. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the man beside her to look, but she thought she’d managed the task. “I would hate to be discovered here and be forced to answer difficult questions. Wouldn’t you?”

Lord Pernrith continued to hold her hand as he meandered back to the bookshelves, forcing her to follow him.

Not that it was much of a hardship.

There was something so intensely intimate about this, and Edie knew that from now on, she was just as culpable for what happened as he was. He had invited her in, to be sure. He had taken her hand.

But she had made the suggestion to lock the door.

Swallowing hard and wishing she were more experienced in the area of flirtation, Edie pointed at random to a bookcase. “I suppose you have read all of these.”

“I’ve read a fair few,” Lord Pernrith said, pulling her to the bookcase. “But I didn’t have the impressive education that… that my brothers did. I’ve had to work on my studies in my own time.”

His brothers?

He was a Chance. Edie had carefully prodded Mrs. Teagan for information on the Chance family, who were, as far as she could tell, one of the most prestigious in the land.

A duke, a marquess, an earl… and a viscount.

Most unusual in one family.

So what did he mean, he had a different education than that of his brothers? Why would that be?

“We… We shouldn’t stay too long.” Edie hated the nerves in her voice, but who could blame her?

At any moment, her father or Mrs. Teagan or someone else would notice she was missing. There would be delicate inquiries made at first, and more intense ones as it became increasingly apparent she was unaccompanied. Alone.

And then—

“You know being here with me is scandalous, don’t you?” Lord Pernrith murmured.

Precisely how, she was not sure, but Edie somehow had her back to the bookcase. She could feel the spines pressing into her own, and there was something… something eager in the viscount’s expression that she had not seen before.

He was standing before her, mere inches away.

Her breath hitched. “Y-Yes. I suppose it is.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Lord Pernrith quietly. The intensity of his look was overwhelming. “We’re in a library. It ought not to be so scandalous.”

Flickers of desire, of needing to know what it was to touch Frederick Chance, Viscount Pernrith, were fluttering through Edie’s mind.

Thoughts she most definitely should have suppressed. Shouldn’t she? Wasn’t it wild of her to be even considering such a thing?

She licked her lips, deliberating what to say next, and could not help but notice a glimmer of lust in the viscount’s face.

Did he want to kiss her as much as she wanted him to?

“We are alone,” Edie pointed out quietly.

He took another step forward. Now he was toe to toe with her, his chest mere inches from her breasts.

And that would have been enough. Edie was certain if they had been discovered in that stance, her back against the bookshelves and her way blocked by the sturdy presence of the tall viscount, there would be sufficient scandal.

Certainly enough for the Whispers of the Ton . More than enough for Mrs. Teagan. Cataclysmic for her father.

But Lord Pernrith—Frederick—did not halt there. Leaning forward ever so slightly, he placed both hands on the bookcase, either side of her shoulders.

Edie exhaled jerkily, her chest rising and falling with no discernable rhythm.

How—How did he do that? The man wasn’t touching her, yet she was enclosed by him, caged by strong arms, muscles taut against the sleeves of his jacket.

“Yes, we are alone,” said Frederick, his gaze dipping to her lips before swiftly returning to her eyes. “And I am close to you.”

“Very close,” Edie murmured.

It was neither benediction nor remonstrance. She didn’t know what she wanted to happen, didn’t know what was supposed to happen next.

That Frederick was a practiced seducer was obvious. No man, surely, could be acting on instinct alone and have her cornered here, pinned up against the books like a strumpet.

Yet Edie did not feel like a strumpet. She had always presumed that if—and it had once been a very large if —she was caught in a compromising position, she would immediately feel how wrong it was. She would flee, bolt from the danger, and feel no compunction in informing the gentleman just how out of order he was.

And here she was, in just such a position… and she wanted him to kiss her.

“Very close,” Edie repeated, pulse thundering. “And yet… yet you could be closer.”

It was the most outrageous thing she had ever said—and it sparked the response she’d wanted.

Frederick had not needed to move a great deal to place his lips on hers, but the sudden intake of breath and the fire of his passion startled Edie more than the movement. His lips were crushed on hers, and it was overwhelming and overpowering and—

And pleasurable.

Edie sank into the kiss. Somehow, her fingers had become entangled in his wild, blond hair, and she was tugging him closer, as if he could be any closer. His chest was pressed against her breasts, holding her in a vise between the shelves and his broad plane. As she squirmed against the delightful pressure, he moaned.

“Edie,” Frederick whispered against her lips.

Just the mention of her name from his mouth was enough to tilt her head and welcome him in. Welcome him deeper.

His teasing tongue seared a tender ache across her lips as Frederick plundered the wet core of her mouth. Edie whimpered, unable to help it as sensual ripples flowed through her body.

How did he do it? How did he transform what ought to have been the simplest of movements into something that delighted her body so utterly?

“Frederick,” she moaned, unable to prevent herself.

And that somehow increased the pace, her reciprocal passion pushing them forward. A book slipped to the floor as Frederick pulled at her gown, tugging it past her shoulder and revealing the cusp of her breasts, tightly pinned by her stays.

Edie gasped at the sudden intimacy.

And he stopped. Pressing his forehead against hers, Frederick muttered, “I’ll… I’ll stop. If you want to.”

She knew what the correct response was. She knew she was not supposed to let such things happen—that such things did not happen, even within an engagement!

And she hardly knew this man—beyond his name and the suggestion he was an absolute rakehell, perhaps proven by this encounter. Frederick Chance was like any other man she could pass in the—

No, Edie could not believe that. She looked deep into his hazel eyes and saw not just lust, not just the base desire she saw in all men’s eyes when they saw her… but something more.

And she trusted that.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered.

Frederick moaned as he pressed a hard, furious kiss on her lips—but his hands weren’t idle.

Though she had believed her stays held her breasts tightly, it took but a moment for Frederick’s hand to free one. His thumb raked across her nipple and a jolt of molten desire soared to her core.

Edie whimpered. “Again! Again, please, Frederick, please—”

“Put my daughter down!”

She froze. The whole library went cold.

Frederick broke the kiss, still panting, every rise and fall of his chest pinning her more tightly then less tightly to the bookcase. Very slowly, as though he were not quite moving, he slipped her breast back into her stay.

Edie could not move. The voice—she knew who that was. But it wasn’t possible, it couldn’t be. There was no likelihood he could have—

“I said , put my daughter down!” repeated Lord Stewart, his footsteps harsh as he strode toward them. “Dear God!”

Edie swallowed as Frederick stepped back from her. The loss of his presence was painful, a sudden chill in her bones, an unhappiness she had not known was there.

“I thought you locked the door,” Frederick murmured, his eyes wide.

“I—no,” Edie whispered weakly, realizing the mistake she had made as her shoulders slumped. “I… I thought I did, but I wasn’t sure. I didn’t check. I never thought we would be—”

“Discovered,” said her father menacingly. “Well, damn.”