The Viscount Always Knocks Twice by Grace Callaway

Chapter Ten

With simmering anger, Richard watched the door of the library open at three in the morning. She’d arrived exactly as her note had promised, the glow of her taper licking the paneled walls. She was wearing a frilly wrapper over her nightclothes, her hair a gleaming, luxuriant cascade down to her waist: perfect for the assignation she’d planned, he thought grimly.

He rose from a chair in the shadows. “Good evening, Miss Kent.”

She gasped, her candle wobbling precariously in its holder. “Carlisle. Gadzooks, you startled me. Wh-what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing. But I don’t have to, do I?”

He held up the piece of paper between finger and thumb. The incriminating note he’d watched her slip under his brother’s door. He knew the brief message by heart, having read it over several times in furious disbelief.

W.,

Urgent that we meet. Library—three o’clock, whilst everyone’s abed.

V.

By God, over supper she’d been trifling with him, Richard—even he couldn’t mistake a foot running up his leg as flirtation—and the next minute she’d gone running after his brother! Rage seared his chest. The little trollop. She was no different from the others. Well, if the shallow flirt thought she could play him like a puppet, she was in for a rude awakening.

Her eyes widened. “Why do you have the note I left for Wick?”

The coquette didn’t even bother to deny that she’d set up a lover’s tryst!

“Because I saw you put it there and retrieved it. Because I’m saving my brother from a world of trouble where you’re concerned,” he bit out.

“Hold it right there.” She slapped her candle down on a table and approached him. “You stole the note I left for Wick?”

God, why did she yank on his tether like no one else?

“I didn’t steal it, you brazen minx,” he said through gritted teeth. “I took what should never have been put there in the first place.”

“First of all, you have no right to take what is not yours. Second,”—her arms folded over the ruffled front of her wrapper, her eyes bright with anger—“why do you insist in interfering in my friendship with Wick?”

“Friendship? So that is what you modern sorts call it?” he said scathingly.

“It’s what anyone who has more than a speck of pea gravel for a brain calls it. Gadzooks,” she burst out, “why must you plague me so? What have I ever done to you?”

“Other than pushing me into a fountain? Or running your foot up my leg during supper?”

That shut her up. For nearly an entire minute.

Huffing out a breath, she said, “Fine. I apologize. Both were accidents.” As if that half-arsed attempt at remorse wasn’t bad enough, she followed it up with a glower. “Now why did you follow me to Wick’s room?”

It was on his tongue to deny that he had. His pride made him balk at admitting that he’d gone after her for any reason. At the same time, he refused to stoop to her level—to play games.

Satisfy your honor, and be done with this madcap business.

“I wished to speak to you,” he said shortly.

“To me? Really?” If sarcasm could drip from words, she’d have flooded the library. “I’d never have guessed given the way you were scowling at me through supper.”

“Me, scowling at you? How would you even notice when you scarcely looked my way?”

“Why would I look at someone who blatantly disapproves of me?” She stepped right up to him, toe to toe, her stance fearless. “Who thinks I’m a no-good hoyden?”

He fought to hold onto his temper. “I never said you were no good. I said you were no good for Wick. He needs a wife who can manage him.”

“For the last dashed time, Wick is my friend. Get it through your thick skull: I have no designs on your brother whatsoever. In fact, I don’t want to get married at all.”

“That’s inconvenient, isn’t it,” he said acidly, “since I’m offering for you.”

A heartbeat passed.

She glared at him. “That is not amusing, Carlisle.”

“I don’t think so either. Unfortunately, it must be done, given what happened between us in the Priest Hole.” He managed to adopt a pragmatic tone, despite the fact that his heart was beating like a fist against his ribs. “I am not in the habit of seducing innocents, Miss Kent, and my honor demands that I answer for my mistake.”

“Your… mistake?”

Her incredulity made his neck heat, yet he blundered on. “Obviously, I wasn’t in my right mind. If I had been, I wouldn’t have gone near you. You’re obviously not the type of female who would suit a man of my temperament.”

“I don’t suit you?”

“Well, yes,” he said impatiently. “It’s obvious that we are opposites in nature. As you yourself have said, I respect tradition. I envision a calm, orderly sort of life, one centered on my duty to my title and estate. Ideally, my wife would share my goals and views on marriage.” Finally, he was on stable ground; he could talk for days about duty. “She would understand the importance of abiding by rules of convention and propriety. She would not be prone to flights of fancy or the silliness which plagues most of your sex. Rather, she would strive to live up to the honor which I would bestow upon her.”

“What lottery did she enter to be so lucky?”

Ignoring the interjection, he said, “You, on the other hand, are a modern female, which means… well, I don’t know what it means exactly, other than you’re prone to scrapes, flirtations, and generally wreaking havoc wherever you go. In sum, you are nothing like the sort of wife I had imagined for myself. Nevertheless,” he said, holding up a hand when she made to speak, “I am willing to overlook those differences between us because of the weakness of a moment. It happened, there’s no going back, and thus, I must do the honorable thing. So will you?”

She was staring at him. “Will I… what?”

“Marry me,” he said.

~~~

Violet was not a girl prone to romantic delusions. Growing up, she hadn’t been one to dream of a knight in shining armor sweeping her off her feet because she’d wanted to be the one riding the steed—and not side saddle either. Knights, to her mind, received the better end of the bargain: they got to ride off on exciting quests while their poor wives were left to slave away in some drafty old castle.

So, no, she wasn’t a particularly sentimental girl. But that didn’t mean she expected her first and only marriage proposal to be slung at her like mud. Anger blasted through her.

“I’d sooner… eat a horse than marry you!” Her voice shook. “And I adore horses.”

She had the satisfaction of seeing Carlisle’s expression harden. “So your answer is no.”

“You have a screw loose if you think I’d say yes to such a proposal!”

Emotion smoldered in his eyes; it was quickly banked. “Then my duty is done.”

“I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth.”

“Spare me the clichés,” he clipped out. “Your answer has been duly noted, and, I might add, with no little relief.”

Relief?Her fury found fresh legs. “Your relief could not be possibly greater than mine. As wrong as I may be for you, you are infinitely more wrong for me. You’re nothing like the sort of man I would wish to marry.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Your behavior in the Priest Hole would suggest otherwise.”

Heat scalded her cheeks. “It was dark. A moment of weakness.”

“Admit it, you little baggage. You wanted me,” he gritted out.

She refused to give him the satisfaction. “You could have been any man.”

A dark flame leapt in his eyes as he leaned over her. “So you would have allowed any man’s tongue between your lips? Any man’s hand down your bodice? You’d ride any man’s thigh and pant in his ear?”

“You… you’re no gentleman.” Not the strongest riposte, but it was difficult to think when she could scarcely breathe. His nearness made her feel lightheaded. More than a little crazed. Clinging to her last vestiges of rationality, she shot back, “Only a troglodyte would say such things.”

“Troglodyte? Impressive word.” His eyes glinted like raw ore. “But can you spell it?”

That does it.

Black lines exploded across her vision. Her hand raised to slap him.

He caught her wrist. Her other hand automatically came up, but he caught that one too. Before she knew what was happening, he’d driven her backward, her spine pressing up against the end of a bookshelf. He caged her, pinning her hands above her head with one big hand. Bosom heaving, staring into his dark impassioned eyes, she felt… anticipation.

“By Jove, you drive me mad, woman,” he growled.

Her heart hammered in her ears. “Not as mad as you drive me.”

Pure masculine triumph flashed in his eyes.

“Then let’s go to Bedlam together,” he rasped.

His mouth slammed onto hers.

~~~

All thoughts of honor and duty were washed away by a flood of red—anger and desire so intertwined that there was no hope of separating them. Together, they lashed at him, whipping him into an animal frenzy. Control slipped from his grip, replaced by the burning, driving need to tame and claim the recalcitrant goddess in his arms.

He ravaged her soft lips, shuddering when they parted on a breathy moan. When she licked his invading tongue, he felt that lush swipe all the way down in his groin. His balls swelled, his engorged cockhead butting against his trousers.

Her sweet, hot flavor wiped reason from his brain. He was driven by one imperative.

Make her mine.

He released her wrists, growling with satisfaction when her fingers speared his hair, pulled him closer. He loosened the tie of her wrapper, his palms roaming over her night rail. Cupping one sweetly rounded breast, he found the stiff peak, working it between finger and thumb, swallowing her sensual little gasp. He dragged up the voluminous fabric of her shift, bunching it between them.

His hand closed around one sleek, soft thigh and moved upward. Goddamn—yes. She was drenched for him, her plump petals soaked with dew.

“Wh-what are you doing?” She looked dazed. “You can’t, shouldn’t…ohh, by Golly…”

He stroked her leisurely. “Shouldn’t what? Touch your pearl? Tickle it like this—or like this?”

She whimpered; her thighs clamped with erotic insistence around his hand.

“Work yourself against me,” he said thickly. “There you go, lass. Exactly so.”

Eyes glazed, she wriggled against his hand, her bottom lip caught beneath her teeth. Her wanton innocence undid him: no woman had ever responded to him with such unschooled passion, such pure feminine desire.

His cock had risen fully, the blunt dome nudging past his waistband. He spurted a little as he petted her, diddling her pearl, coating it with her own cream. Maddened by her moans, he went lower, delving deep into her slick folds. As his thumb rocked over her nubbin of pleasure, his middle finger circled her quivering hole.

“Do you feel empty here?” he rasped. “Does this little mouth wish to be fed?”

Her hips lifted, her eyes passionate and needy. “Carlisle, please…”

His name on her lips and her breathless plea—a siren’s song.

Triumph blasting through him, he nudged his finger deeper, groaning at the exquisite restriction. Her shiver coursed through him, his cock straining desperately toward the virginal paradise flowering around his digit. Mindful of the snug fit, he touched her carefully, raging lust tempered by tenderness he’d never felt with any woman before. He plunged and withdrew in measured increments, shuddering when she finally took him to the knuckle.

When she chanted his name, he claimed her mouth once more, screwing his finger in deeply, his thumb working her pearl. She stiffened in surprise when her climax broke, her sweet cries of release vibrating down his throat. As her cunny massaged his finger with mind-obliterating spasms, sweat misted his brow. His erection pulsed, more pre-spend leaking. By God, to feel that tight little sheath stretched around his shaft. One flick and he could release the fall of his trousers, could bury himself to the balls—

Faint voices jerked him from feverish temptation. He tensed, ears straining. A man and a woman… out in the hallway?

The peril of the situation struck him like an icy wave. Violet’s reputation would be ruined if they were caught like this. With fathomless regret, he pulled away. He yanked her nightclothes down, grabbed her hand.

“We have to go,” he said.

“Hmm?”

Despite the looming disaster, his lips twitched at her dreamy response. Well… damn. If he’d known he could get her acquiescence this way, he’d have seduced her weeks ago.

In low tones, he said, “People are out in the corridor.”

He saw reality return, her eyes widening. “Crumpets, what are we going to do?”

“We’ll wait in here until they pass.” He tugged her into the dark labyrinth of bookshelves. Positioning her behind him, he stood on guard at the mouth of the aisle, peering around the shelf to monitor the entrance to the library. His senses strained to catch what was going on outside.

“Carlisle.” Her urgent whisper came from behind him.

“It’ll be all right.” His eyes were trained on the door. “They’ve passed us by—”

“Never mind them. There’s someone else in here. With us.”

He swung around, saw her pointing shakily toward the far end of the aisle. Squinting, he made out a form in the gloom… someone sitting on the floor against the shelves? The back of his neck prickled.

“Stay here,” he said tersely.

He went to grab the taper she’d set on the table earlier and headed back down the aisle. She ignored his instruction—of course—and followed right on his heels.

The flame cast an eerie mix of light and shadows over the aged spines, and as he neared his destination, the form on the ground took the shape of a woman. Crouching, he held out the candle: Madame Monique. His gut iced over. She was slumped like a ragdoll against the shelf, eyes staring out of her bloodless face, hands balled at her sides.

He heard Violet’s sharp intake of breath. “Dear Lord, is sh-she…?”

He placed his fingers on the acrobat’s throat. Cool skin, the flatness of nothing.

“She’s dead,” he said grimly.

“H-how did this happen?”

He raised the flame higher, saw blood streaking from a wound on her right temple. He ran the light over the rest of her; something glinted within her furled fingers.

“Hold this.” He handed the taper to Violet. “I see something…”

Reaching down, he gingerly removed the object from the dead woman’s grasp. His breath rammed into his throat as he lifted the distinctive signet ring, the ornate initials gleaming.

No, it can’t be...

“Gadzooks.” Violet sounded as shocked as he felt. “That ring… it belongs to Wick.”