The Viscount’s Darling Adventure by Maggie Dallen

3

This infernal season would be the death of him.

Leo resisted the urge to tug on his cravat, which was far too tight in this stuffy drawing room. He took one last sweeping look at the young ladies in attendance, but he’d known it the moment he’d entered—she wasn’t here. Just like she hadn’t been at the last three events he’d attended.

He bit back a curse before it could escape, but disappointment churned in his gut. This blasted cravat wasn’t helping. It was choking the life out of him, and all he wanted to do was tear it off, and then turn right back around and head home.

The only reason he’d come tonight was in the hopes of seeing his mystery woman, but he was starting to fear he’d imagined the entire fantastical evening.

He was beginning to suspect he’d imagined her.

A fortnight had passed since he’d danced with his masked lady in red, and he’d been haunted by thoughts of her ever since. Memories of her laughter, of her words...of those lips.

Funny how he could hardly remember the conversation he’d had over dinner last night, but he could still recall in vivid detail the exact shade of pink, and the impish way her lips curved up at the corners, as though she had a secret.

And she did. The secret, of course, was her identity. He gave one last desperate glance about the room, as though his enchanting moonlight goddess might have been hiding behind a fern. He scoffed aloud at the thought. There were no hidden ladies in this drawing room. All he saw was the same old tedious crowd he’d been seeing at every event these past weeks.

Well, the same crowd except for one particular family.

“This is an outrage,” Charlotte hissed beside him.

He gave a huff of exasperated amusement. Outrage seemed a bit extreme, but she wasn’t far off. The family who was hosting this evening’s soiree knew exactly what they were doing when they’d invited both the Ainsworths and the Rutlands.

They were trying to stir up trouble. Perhaps even scandal.

He’d been too caught up in his own romantic ponderings to think much about the family feud, but there was no escaping the drama tonight.

He eyed the room, which seemed to pulse with anticipation as the party guests talked softly amongst themselves. But these bloodthirsty fiends wouldn’t get the confrontation they were hoping for. Not if he could help it.

“Now, now, Charlotte, try to calm down,” he said in his best placating tones. Which, he discovered, was not all that calming judging by the way his cousin stiffened in response at his side.

“Do not tell me to calm down,” she snapped. “Lady Harriet knows full well how we feel about the Earl of Darling and his ridiculous sisters. What was she thinking when she invited them?”

He half turned so he was facing her, lowering his voice so the eavesdroppers to their left could not hear. “She likely hopes to stir up conflict so the gossips will be talking about this soiree for weeks to come.”

Charlotte’s lips curved in a sneer.

“Which is precisely why we must not give them anything to talk about,” he continued. When Charlotte’s sneer turned to a pursed-lip scowl of irritation, he tried a new tack. “I am counting on you, Charlotte.”

She glanced up at him with arched brows.

“Your mother looks ready to kill, and your father disappeared into the study with Lord Nicholas and his brandy.” He leaned in closer, as if letting her in on a secret. “It’s up to us to represent this family well.”

Her chin notched up and her shoulders went back. For a moment he felt like a military commander and his cousin was his army of one. “I’m counting on you to ensure your mother acts appropriately as well.”

She gave a short nod. “I’ll stay at her side to be sure.” And then Charlotte was off, with a new mission in life now, it seemed, and that was to ensure the Ainsworths behaved with more dignity than the Rutlands.

Shouldn’t be difficult. He glanced over at the family, which was gathered together at the far end of the room. They might have been quietly talking now, but just give them time. Either the earl would plant a facer on an unsuspecting gentleman or one of the sisters would humiliate herself in some way. His eyes narrowed on the youngest sister, who’d clapped a hand over her mouth, seemingly stifling a laugh at something her brother said.

His bet was on her. Lady Clarissa. She’d be the one to cause a ruckus this evening, he was sure of it. How could she not? Loud and aggressive seemed to be at the heart of her nature.

He hadn’t spoken to her directly at the last ill-fated dinner party thrown by the Claremonts, but he’d heard her. Oh how he’d heard her. He would have had to have been deaf not to hear her.

“Careful there, Leo,” a familiar voice said at his side. “The way you’re staring, one might think you’re besotted.”

Leo glanced over at his old school chum. “Henry, good to see you.”

His friend chuckled as he joined Leo in perusing the crowd. “I bet you are. Seems you may require an ally this evening.”

Leo laughed under his breath. If it were anyone else saying as much, he would have taken offense. But he and Henry had been friends for an age, and aside from that—Henry wasn’t wrong.

The room looked to be divided between the two families who stood on far ends of the room. In between, the rest of the crowd hovered in the middle, glancing back and forth between the two parties, as though no one wanted to choose a side. And he couldn’t exactly blame them.

For all that the Ainsworths were respected and well connected, the Earl of Darling’s group now included a duke, thanks to the eldest sister’s recent engagement. Leo frowned. The last thing they all needed was for Darling’s family to gain in social status and connections. And now they’d have a duchess in their ranks.

Heaven help them all.

That was the sort of match his cousin Charlotte should make. And truthfully, it was high time he made a good match as well. He resisted the urge to tug on that cravat again.

He’d always understood his duty to this family, and he’d never really minded it before.

But that was before.

Before a certain masked lady had swept into his life and taken over his thoughts. Before a moonlit conversation had made him feel more alive than he’d ever felt in his life. That was before he’d heard her laughter, and seen her smile, and before he’d held her in his arms for a dance that now haunted his dreams with its sublime perfection.

That was before a certain masked lady turned him into a besotted, lovesick fool. Sublime perfection? Really. She’d turned him into an overly sentimental poet. And a bad one, at that.

He let out a scoff that had Henry turning to him, brows arched in question. “Everything all right?”

“Mmm.” The sound was vague because...was he all right? Likely not. Apparently he’d lost his mind along with his heart. All the logic and reason with which he conducted his life had been replaced by silly, romantic thoughts that made him question his own sanity.

Maybe it was for the best that he’d lost her. Maybe it would be for the best if he never saw her again. The thought made his insides twist violently.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Henry was squinting at him now, studying him with open concern. “You look ill.”

He shook off the maudlin thoughts. “I’m fine.”

Or rather, he would be fine. Just as soon as he found the lady who’d bewitched him. Once he had her at his side, in his arms—once he’d made her his wife—then surely his reason would return and he could once more resume his role as the family’s paragon of virtue and duty.

“Any news of Major Ainsworth?” Henry asked.

Leo stiffened. Again, if it were anyone else asking… He shook his head. “Nothing yet.”

So far as he knew, his cousin was still rotting in a jail in India. But his family was working every connection imaginable to bring him home.

Whether he deserves it or not.

He snatched a drink from a passing servant’s tray. If he’d needed a reminder of why he truly needed to resume his role in this family, the mention of his wayward cousin had done the trick. Someone had to be duty-bound and represent their good name, and that task fell to Leo.

“Until your cousin’s mess is sorted, it’s likely best you keep your distance from the earl,” his friend muttered.

“That’s been my intention all along.” He flashed his friend a wry smile. “Now if only our fellow members of society would cease inviting them to every outing.”

Henry laughed. “Indeed. They’ve gone from social outcasts to the favored family ever since the duke proposed to the eldest.”

“Hmph.” The sound conveyed all the disgust Leo felt. “A family does not just magically become proper overnight.”

“Of course not, which is why I’m telling you to bide your time.” His friend’s gaze was wicked as he glanced over at Darling’s sisters. “They’ll be sure to fall from grace again soon enough.”

“Give them enough rope, eh?” Leo said with a laugh.

“Exactly.” Henry lifted his glass and the two men toasted the Darling girls and their imminent downfall.

“That day cannot come soon enough,” Leo murmured.

He was proven painfully right a moment later when the guests adjourned to the dining room and took their places. His gaze met Charlotte’s at the far end of the table and she grimaced in dismay as they both realized at the same time what had been done.

Lady Harriet had outdone herself, she truly had. Inviting the Darling family was bad enough, but seating him next to one?

Heat climbed his neck and anger made every muscle tense as he sank into the seat beside the youngest. Lady Clarissa. The most brazen and brash of the bunch.

This is an outrage. Charlotte’s words from earlier in the evening came back to him as he sat in stilted silence beside her. Charlotte hadn’t been wrong. Lady Harriet had gone too far.

“Remember what we said,” Henry murmured from where he sat a little ways down.

Leo gave a short nod, and when he glanced at Charlotte, she seemed to be trying to convey to him the same message he’d given her earlier tonight. The Ainsworths would not be the ones to misbehave. Not tonight.

“I beg your pardon, but do you mind?” Lady Clarissa was addressing him, and her tone was peevish, at best.

“Pardon?” He turned to face her slowly, struck for a moment at the sight of her. He’d never been this close to her before and from this view, well...she was pretty.

He frowned at the realization, but it was the truth. Her eyes were bright and blue, her cheekbones high, her skin smooth, and her lips…

He blinked at the sight of her lips. This close they looked almost…familiar.

He tore his gaze away as a surge of unwanted heat ripped through him. He looked down at the soup that was placed before him.

Lady Clarissa let out a short exhale as though he’d done something wrong. “Do you mind?” she repeated.

He glanced over and saw her staring at him with wide, expectant eyes. Those eyes made his mind go blank for no reason he could possibly explain. “Pardon?”

Her lips quirked up, and just like that—he was back to that night. The moonlit, enchanted night he could never forget. The memory was vivid as could be. It was something about the curve of her lips. Or perhaps it was the way he kept repeating the word ‘pardon’ like a witless fool.

She glanced down meaningfully, and when he followed her gaze, he realized in horror that the pale blue silk of her gown was caught in the leg of his chair. “Oh! Apologies,” he murmured as he righted the situation.

With the wardrobe snafu remedied, he expected her to turn back to her elder sister who sat to her left or perhaps to the other sister—the pretty one who never seemed to speak, who sat across from her with her head ducked down as though she were hoping no one would notice her there if she didn’t call attention to herself. Someone ought to tell her that she was far too beautiful to go unnoticed for long.

But instead of talking to her sisters, the youngest Rutland sister turned more fully to face him. “Well, we’d best acknowledge it then, don’t you think?”

“Er…pardon?” He glanced around the table but no one was paying attention to them, or at least they were pretending not to notice, and Lady Clarissa’s gaze was alarmingly direct. And it was aimed at him.

“This is awkward, is it not?” she asked.

Horror filled his veins so quickly it took his breath away. Surely she wasn’t…

She couldn’t mean…

“This.” She gestured between the two of them in a manner that went well beyond gauche. “It’s terribly awkward that we have to sit next to one another.”

He gaped at her. He couldn’t help it. Who in their right mind spoke like this? What sort of hapless heathen directly addressed a topic that everyone knew was not to be spoken of?

His mind reeled from her audacity.

He straightened, his upbringing kicking in at last. “I have no objection to this seating arrangement, Lady Clarissa.” He tilted his chin up, his chest swelling with family pride. “But if you find my company so—”

“Oh no,” she cut in quickly. “That’s not at all what I meant.” Her eyes were wide and so guileless he knew she could not be trusted. No lady was without an agenda. Especially one related to the Earl of Darling.

“Indeed,” he said with a haughty sniff that he hoped ended the conversation.

It did not.

“All I meant was—”

But her sister hissing her name on the other side of her cut her off, and he was blissfully spared more of her loud blustering as she turned to whisper something back to the soon-to-be duchess.

Henry flashed him a smirk and Charlotte gave him a grim smile of support from her end of the table. At least the rest of his family hadn’t been seated next to a Rutland. There was some measure of relief in that.

He reached for his spoon. All he had to do was ignore the girl and—

“All I meant to say, Lord Ware, was that there is some tension between our families, and so to be seated next to one another like this is rather uncomfortable. Not that I mind, of course. I don’t. Not at all. You seem perfectly...fine.”

He stared down into his bowl, frozen in place for a long moment as her words registered. He turned to her slowly, and once again his gaze was snared by her lips.

Pretty, lush, pale pink lips that quirked up at the corners just so.

He blinked and shook his head. He was being ridiculous, obviously. There were no similarities between this brazen, tactless lady and his mystery woman. Of course there wasn’t.

He lifted his gaze to meet hers, and her lips quirked up further. Almost a smile, but not quite. “I am perfectly fine, am I?”

A low laugh slipped out before she clamped her lips shut, and that hint of laughter held such a note of familiarity, it sent a shiver down his spine.

Dread was slithering in his belly as he turned to face her more fully.

“You do see what I’m saying though, don’t you?” Her brows arched, her eyes widened hopefully. She didn’t give him a chance to answer before she continued. “I just feel it’s best for these matters to be discussed openly. After all, we’re both aware of the situation between our families. Why feign ignorance? I far prefer to deal with matters in a straightforward manner. Clear the air, as they say.” Her smile broadened further and his stomach sank in response.

That smile was so familiar.

So. Very. Familiar.

“Don’t you agree?” she prompted.

He opened his mouth and shut it, swallowing down a sick sensation as some part of his brain sounded an alarm. But he refused to believe it.

This could not be her.

It was too awful to imagine, too loathsome to bear.

And yet, when he opened his mouth, he found himself saying, “I believe I do see your point, Lady Clarissa. There is something to be said for honesty. For…” He hesitated, watching her brilliant blue eyes closely. “For stepping out from behind our masks, so to speak.”

Her smile faltered, but her voice was still light and clear. “Yes. That’s what I mean exactly.”