The Viscount And The Virgin Part 4

Once Viscount Mildenhall had finished brus.h.i.+ng the dirt from his jacket he sat down on the stone coping of the bal.u.s.trade. It was over. He surrendered. When Miss Hebden came back outside, no doubt with her chaperon and any other wit nesses she man aged to round up, he would inform anyone who cared to listen that yes, he would marry the hussy.

It scarcely mattered what he thought of her. It had not been the behaviour of a gentleman to half ravish an unmarried girl. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, keeping his eyes fixed on the door through which Miss Hebden had fled, and dabbed at the blood seeping from his lower lip. Now he must pay the price for letting the base side of his nature get out of hand.

He grimaced. It would serve his father right. The earl had given him a lengthy lecture about the type of female he wanted him to bring back to Shevington as his bride. Though his father, with three abysmally miserable marriages under his belt, was the last person qualified to dish out marital advice.

How ironic it was that his father had already specified that on no account was he to marry for love! 'If she should die in child birth, you will feel like a murderer,' he had said. 'And if she proves faith less, it will break your heart. Just pick a woman with the right connections that you feel interested in bedding. And then, once you have got her pregnant, you may leave her here, return to town and reward yourself by taking a pretty mistress. Or two.'

Well, he was interested in bedding Miss Hebden all right! Yes, it would serve his father right if he did bring her into the family. He would positively enjoy flaunting that scandalous creature under his father's nose!

He s.h.i.+fted his weight as the cold from the stone parapet seeped through his silken breeches. Where was was the girl? It could not have taken her this long to round up reinforcements, could it? the girl? It could not have taken her this long to round up reinforcements, could it?

He got to his feet, and began to pace up and down. He did not like the feeling of being played like a fish on Miss Hebden's line. But in a way, it would be a relief to get the issue of marriage settled. Once he had her name on the marriage lines, he would have reason to return to Shevington, and this time, he would brook no nonsense from his father's steward. He would let the man know that he knew what he was up to. He would visit every single tenant on all his father's vast holdings and let them know that things would change once he was in the saddle. That until that time, he would do his d.a.m.nedest to see that none of them suffered unnecessarily. And as for the matter of his brothers...

Yes, marrying Miss Hebden would have its ad vantages. Not least of which would be getting her flat on her back, where she belonged.

But he was d.a.m.ned if he was going let her think he would dance to her tune! He c.o.c.ked his ear to listen to the strains of the music filtering out onto the terrace; if she did not get herself back out here by the time the minuet was finished, he was leaving! Why should he freeze to death, awaiting her pleasure? He had given her a sporting chance to get the matter resolved tonight.

The last strains of the minuet faded away, and Viscount Mildenhall strode to the door, his face set. He had an appointment to meet Rick at Limmer's. He would enjoy one last night of freedom, and then, in the morning, he would make an appointment with her guardian, when he would offer to make an honest woman of her.

If such a thing were possible.

Imogen pa.s.sed a restless night.

She may have escaped Lady Carteret's house with n.o.body any the wiser, but the vile viscount was bound to want to exact some form of revenge for his waist coat, his jacket and his lower lip. She could not see him doing it by simply telling everyone what had pa.s.sed between them on the terrace, since he might come out of the retelling looking a little ridiculous. But he would think of some thing.

She would never dare show her face at any Tonnish gathering again!

But she could not just sit back and wait for the viscount's next move.

She had not fully appreciated, until he had hauled her into his arms, just how close to the brink of disaster she stood. But now she under stood her nature better. She would have to take drastic steps to prevent herself from tipping over the edge.

It would mean leaving London. To protect her uncle and aunt. Because, while she resided under their roof, everything she did reflected on them.

She could, she eventually decided, seek Lord Keddinton's help. He had, after all, made a point of taking her to one side, not long after she arrived in London, and telling her in an under tone that if ever she found herself in difficulties, she could apply to him for a.s.sistance. He explained that this was because he felt a particular fondness for her, on account of the close friend s.h.i.+p he had enjoyed with her father.

She had not, she recalled ruefully, been all that grateful for such an a.s.surance at the time. For one thing, she had felt offended at his a.s.sumption she would get into the kind of trouble her aunt and uncle might not be able to deal with. For another, his claim to have been a friend of her father had set her back up. She had never heard anything good about the man who had sired her. And then again, if Lord Ked din ton was such a good friend, why had she never even heard of him before arriving in town?

She had mouthed all the right words, but had not been able to repress a s.h.i.+ver as she had shaken his long white fingers from her arm. There was some thing so very...dessicated about the man. His smile had held no warmth. She had not been able to look straight into his cold, pale eyes for more than a fleeting moment. On top of everything else, his faintly supercilious air had made her aware how very gauche and countrified and ignorant she was.

But since that first, in auspicious meeting, she had revised her opinion of him. For he had demonstrated the friend s.h.i.+p he claimed, by instructing his daughters to include her in their social set. Which, considering her reputation, was a risk in itself. And while she had never warmed to either Penelope or Charlotte, there was no denying that they had be come frequent callers. The fact that all their 'helpful hints' made her feel wretched was hardly their father's fault.

And he had not exactly been a friend of her father's either.

'I expect,' her aunt had explained, 'he began to feel responsible for your welfare after he worked with Lord Narborough to smooth things over after the Dreadful Tragedy. Robert Veryan, as he was then, only held a junior post in the Home Office when your father was called in to help with some mystery that others were finding hard to solve. Say what you like about Kit Hebden-' she had nodded sagely '-his mind was exceptionally sharp. As is Lord Keddinton's. He has risen to his present exalted office solely due to the brilliance of his mind and the energy he devotes to his work. It is whispered-' she had lowered her voice conspiratorially, though there were only the two of them in the room '-that he is soon to receive an earldom. If he declares he is your friend, Imogen, you may think yourself a very lucky girl. very lucky girl. Just a hint from him, in the right quarters, and, well...' She had spread her hands expansively. Just a hint from him, in the right quarters, and, well...' She had spread her hands expansively.

Yes, Imogen decided, just as dawn was breaking, she would would take Lord Ked din ton up on his offer of a.s.sistance. With all the connections he was supposed to have, he was bound to be able to find her a post some where as a governess. And deal with her uncle's objections. It would mean confiding in him some thing of what had happened. And her fears of creating havoc in the Herriard house hold. But somehow, she sensed that he was a man well used to receiving-and keeping-secrets. take Lord Ked din ton up on his offer of a.s.sistance. With all the connections he was supposed to have, he was bound to be able to find her a post some where as a governess. And deal with her uncle's objections. It would mean confiding in him some thing of what had happened. And her fears of creating havoc in the Herriard house hold. But somehow, she sensed that he was a man well used to receiving-and keeping-secrets.

She was not sure exactly when she would be able to arrange an inter view with Lord Ked din ton, though. She yawned. Nor how long it would take him to arrange for her departure from London.

The next morning, when she found a note from Rick beside her break fast plate, her heart leapt into her throat. Had he challenged the viscount to a duel after all? With trembling fingers, she broke the seal, and discovered that all he wanted to tell her was that Monty was arranging a trip to the theatre for that very evening. With immense relief, she pa.s.sed the note to her aunt.

'A trip to the theatre?' Her aunt regarded her doubtfully while Imogen fiddled nervously with her teaspoon. 'Are you sure you are quite up to it? You had to leave Lady Carteret's early last night. And you still look a little wan. If your head is still paining you...'

'I am feeling much better, thank you, Aunt. And providing I have a rest this afternoon, I am sure I shall be quite well by this evening.'

She so wanted to see Rick and a.s.sure herself he was not going to get mixed up with the vile viscount. And he was not going to be in the country for very long.

'This Monty person, whose box it is, does he come from a good family?'

'Rick says so, Aunt. It was his curricle Rick borrowed to take me driving in the park.'

'Must be well-to-do, if his family has a box. And his address?'

'Hanover Square.'

'Hmm. I suppose it can do no harm, so long as I accompany you.'

Imogen exhaled the breath she had been holding. If she had to go out anywhere tonight, she would feel far safer in the theatre, with Rick and his friends, than at some Ton gathering where she might run into the viscount again! And as the day wore on, she began to wonder if Rick's notion-to match her up with a serving soldier who could remove her from England altogether-might not have some merit.

It would not be the match they had hoped for, but surely her aunt and uncle would prefer to tell people she was married, rather than working as a governess in some rural back water?

And most of Rick's friends, she suspected, would be younger sons from the kind of families that were not likely to care very much about scandals that had happened twenty years ago.

It might work! If only, she thought despondently, she could induce one of them to propose to her. She did not have much confidence in her own powers of seduction. But she only had to drop a hint to Pansy that there was likely to be a special gentleman at the theatre that night for the girl's eyes to light up with missionary zeal. She pulled out the evening gown whose bodice was so low, Imogen had never agreed to wear it before. Even now, she eyed it with some trepidation. Then lifted her chin. Des per ate straits called for des per ate measures. Besides, the gown could not be as shocking as she considered it, or her aunt would never have purchased it for her.

It was not long before she was standing before the mirror, staring in shocked awe at the exposed mounds of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and the shadowy outline of her legs through the diaphanous skirts. She flicked open her fan and looked at her reflection over the top of it, in the coquettish way she had seen other girls employ. Could she really bring herself to simper up at some poor un suspecting gentleman like that?

Bother the viscount for forcing her into a situation where she felt obliged to resort to such strata gems! She snapped her fan shut and tossed it onto the bed as Pansy held out yet another brand-new pair of evening gloves. The ones she had worn the night before had been beyond repair. Ladies' gloves, she sighed, were just not designed to with stand bouts of fisticuffs.

Only Rick's response, when he saw her descending the stairs, managed to ease her con science somewhat.

'You look as pretty as a picture!' he declared, bussing her cheek.

'Really?' Imogen flushed with pleasure. The gown could not be too revealing, then, or her brother would have certainly let her know. Of course, she did not really believe she was as attractive as he had implied. She was not a beauty, like her mother. But she knew she was not an antidote, either. She smiled wryly. By the end of the evening her hair would most likely have escaped the bandeau into which Pansy had re strained it, and would be rioting all over the place. But at least she could start the evening out feeling as though she looked like a fas.h.i.+onably eligible young lady.

'Here, let me help you on with your cloak,' he said, taking it from the footman who was hovering with it over his arm.

'Your aunt about?' he murmured into her ear as he draped the fur-lined mantle round her shoulders.

'She will be down shortly, I expect.' Her con science niggled at her again. Would she be feeling so glad to be covered up, if her gown was not verging on the indecent?

'Good. Wanted a word.' He tugged her into the drawing room and pushed the door to. 'It's like this.' He looked briefly uncomfortable. Then he took a deep breath and plunged in. 'Glad you've made an extra effort tonight. With the dress, and the fancy thing in your hair, and all that. Because, you see, I was talking to Monty last night, and the upshot is, he's willing to help you. Find a husband that is. The fellows he's rounded up for tonight are both on the lookout for the kind of wife who would accept they have careers in the Army.'

'He...what?' She sat down quickly on the nearest chair. 'Are you r-roasting me?'

'No! Would not make a jest of a thing like that! He said he feels as though he knows you, through all those letters you used to write to me, and that you deserve to find hap pi ness with a man who will appreciate you, rather than some fas.h.i.+onable-' he broke off, looking guiltily towards the door, through which her aunt might enter at any moment. 'You ain't angry with me, with us, are you? Just trying to help.'

'No, oh, no, I am not in the least angry,' she ex claimed as she gave him a fierce hug. 'How can I thank you! Best of my brothers!'

His cheeks flushed. 'It is nothing. Sure Gerry would do some thing, if he were here. So would Nick, if you could get his nose out of his books long enough to alert him to the fact that all's not right with you.'

No, she sighed. Neither of them would ever be likely to stir them selves on her behalf. Rick was was the best of her brothers. He had always been the one to check her over for broken bones when she fell out of a tree, while Nick would cluck his tongue impatiently and Gerry would roar with laughter. the best of her brothers. He had always been the one to check her over for broken bones when she fell out of a tree, while Nick would cluck his tongue impatiently and Gerry would roar with laughter.

Before either of them could say another word, they heard her aunt coming down the stairs. They went to join her in the hall, and embarked on the kind of lighthearted chatter suitable for a party bound on an evening of pleasure. All the way to the theatre, she felt as though she was floating on air. This was the first stroke of good luck she'd had in an age. Even if the gentlemen she met tonight did not take to her, it sounded as though Monty would be prepared to help her find the kind of man she could enjoy being married to. Perhaps, he might even take one look at her, and... Her heart skipped a beat. How wonderful it would be if Monty himself, the hero of all her girlhood dreams, took a s.h.i.+ne to her. If he he proposed and whisked her away from London, just when she was most in need of rescue! proposed and whisked her away from London, just when she was most in need of rescue!

She could not stop smiling, all the way up the stairs to the upper tiers. Though her heart was beating so fast that it made her feel a little shaky. By the time they reached the door to Monty's private box, she was clinging to Rick's arm for all she was worth.

And it was just as well. For the first person she saw, when the door swung open, was none other than Viscount Mildenhall. He was lounging against one of the pillars that sup ported the gilded ceiling. Very soberly dressed, for him, in a dark coat, plain waist coat and only one ring adorning his little finger.

The castles she had been building in the air came cras.h.i.+ng down about her in ruins. However much Monty might want to help her, the Viscount would prevent any man he considered a friend from getting entangled with her!

Viscount Mildenhall met her horrified gaze with lowered brows. Then he looked at Rick. Then at the way she was clinging to his arm. Then back at Rick.

'Rick,' he drawled, pus.h.i.+ng himself off the pillar and coming forward with his hand out stretched. 'Welcome. And this is?' His eyes flicked to Imogen again, his features now fixed in an expression of polite enquiry.

'My sister!' said Rick, as though it must be obvious.

'Your sister,' he repeated, looking at her long and hard.

Imogen bristled. What was he doing acting as though he he was the host tonight, the arrogant pig! It was Monty who had invited them! And then, to her horror, Rick said, 'She has been really looking for ward to meeting you properly, at last.' was the host tonight, the arrogant pig! It was Monty who had invited them! And then, to her horror, Rick said, 'She has been really looking for ward to meeting you properly, at last.'

Imogen felt heat flood to her cheeks. If that was not enough to destroy her reputation in this man's eyes, she did not know what would. He had already accused her of pursuing him. Though n.o.body else seemed aware anything was wrong, she could tell from the way his eyes glittered he thought she was so bra.s.sy she had even roped her brother into her schemes.

She lifted her chin and glared at him. 'I was not in the least keen to meet you you, Viscount Mildenhall. My brother told me he was to introduce me to an ex-officer from his regiment.' She scanned the other occupants of the box again, wondering which one of the young gentlemen it could be. Neither of them looked in the least like the Monty of her imagination.

'You already know each other?' Rick asked, glancing down at her in surprise.

'We have crossed each other's paths, once or twice. But we have never been formally introduced,' said the viscount.

'Well, then, Monty, let me do the honours. This is my sister, Midge. Well, my step sister, Miss Imogen Hebden, I suppose I should say, to be perfectly ac curate. And her maternal aunt, Lady Callandar.'

'M-Monty?' Imogen's eyes swivelled back to Viscount Mildenhall and widened in horror. 'You are Monty? B-but-' are Monty? B-but-'

At exactly the same time, Lady Callandar rounded on her. 'This is your brother's friend Monty?' is your brother's friend Monty?'

Finally, even Rick picked up on the fact there was some thing amiss.

'Oh, ah, well, suppose I should have explained he's Viscount Mildenhall, nowadays.'

'The family name is Claremont, as I am sure you are aware, madam,' he said to Lady Callandar, bowing stiffly from the waist. 'My brother officers still tend to use the name by which they have always known me. I started off as Lieu tenant Monty, then Captain Monty, and so on. In Captain Bredon's defence, we have not seen each other since I took the t.i.tle after my older brother died last year.'

Lady Callandar began to talk to him. About what, Imogen did not know. There was a funny roaring sound in her ears.

Rick led her to a chair at the front of the box, then helped her off with her cloak, while Viscount Mildenhall per formed the same office for her aunt.

She felt naked without her cloak. Even more so when the viscount's eyes swept over the curves of her exposed bosom, reminding her of the way his hands had stroked there, to such devastating effect, only the night before. He looked up, then, and their eyes met.

Imogen gasped at what she saw in them. He was remembering too!

He had raised his hand to his jaw, and was fingering his lower lip, drawing her horrified attention to the raised scab, and the purplish bruise she had put there.

She tore her eyes from his and gazed dizzily down into the stalls below. She had never been scared of heights before, but now she felt as though she was teetering right on the brink of an abyss.

All the viscount had to do was give her one little push, and she would go plunging down into social ruin.

Chapter Four

Nothing on the stage could hold Imogen's attention. There was far too much drama playing out right there in the darkened box.

After the initial shock of meeting her, the viscount re covered his customary aplomb remarkably swiftly, introducing her to his other guests-the men she now had no hope of marrying-as though nothing was amiss.

Only she noticed some thing odd in the way he did not give her full name, but instead presented her as 'The sister of my good friend, Captain Alaric Bredon,' before correctly introducing her aunt as Lady Callandar.

He did it to prevent them knowing Rick was related to the scandalous Miss Hebden, no doubt. And she was, reluctantly, grateful to him.

Though he was still furious with her. She could tell by the way the air between them seemed to positively thrum whenever she glanced his way.

When the curtain fell for the interval and everyone rose and began to chat to each other, he took the opportunity to draw her aside.

'You will not say one word to your brother about what has pa.s.sed between us,' he bit out. 'He has introduced you to me, in all good faith, believing you to be the innocent young creature who grew up with him in Stafford s.h.i.+re. He has no idea how much you have changed, and I have no intention of being the man to disabuse him.'

She felt an over whelming sense of relief that he was going to put aside his desire for vengeance because of his friend s.h.i.+p with Rick.

'Thank you,' she breathed. 'I would not have Rick hurt for the world. Indeed, I would never have come tonight and put him in this situation, had I known that you were Monty.' She took a good, long look at him then, riddled with confusion. She would never have guessed that Monty could be the same man as Viscount Mildenhall. The Monty Rick had written about had been das.h.i.+ng, courageous and honourable. Whatever could have happened, to turn him into this vain, rude, slimy...

His eyes narrowed under her scrutiny. She wondered if he could tell what she was thinking about him. But then he nodded and said, 'I believe you. For my part, I never connected the sister Rick de scribed to me with the Miss Hebden I know. Why is is your name Hebden-' he frowned '-and not Bredon?' your name Hebden-' he frowned '-and not Bredon?'

'Because Rick's father did not care to adopt me and give me his name.' She stared past him, to where Rick was chatting happily with one of the other young men. Out of the corner of her eye she could see her aunt quizzing the other. 'Well,' she added bitterly, 'I should think you can understand that. You, above all people, know the kind of things that are said about my parents.'

When they all took their seats again, after the interval was over, Imogen found to her dismay that she had been manoeuvred into a chair next to Viscount Mildenhall.

He ignored her for the entire second act with magnificent disdain. Every time she glanced up at him, his face was turned towards the stage, his whole demeanour indicating that the actors were far more interesting than the presumptuous female who had inveigled her way into his box.