The Lady’s Guide to Marrying a Viscount (The Lady’s Guide to Love #8)

Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

“Jolly fortunate you found her!” said Hugo. “Wonder what she was doing up on Fox Tor while the rest of us were enjoying a splendid hunt.” He meandered over to the library’s drinks cabinet, unstopping a decanter and sniffing gingerly.

Mallon raised an eyebrow. “You noticed she was gone, then? I did wonder if you might be anxious for her.”

“Well, yes—of course.” Hugo selected one of the lighter-colored single malts, pouring it into two heavy tumblers. “But by the time I realized, the mist was coming down. I just assumed she’d headed back. Then, later on, we got your message that you’d holed up at The Saracen’s. Very sensible, although mother seemed a bit miffed that Geneviève didn’t make it back for her special luncheon or the dinner. They’ve become super-friendly, you know—talking Fran?ais when they think no one is listening. Sharing tips on hats and gloves and bustles and suchlike, I expect. Rather nice for mother to have a compatriot to chat with.”

“Hmm.” Mallon took the glass from his nephew.

“To be honest, I was more upset about Slagsby,” Hugo admitted. “I didn’t even know he was gone until he didn’t appear for dinner. He’s never liked horses, so it was no surprise he didn’t bother with the hunt.” Hugo went to look out the window, as if doing so might summon back his friend. “Set off in his motor without saying goodbye…and he’d promised to take me for a spin. We used to rub along well enough at Eton, and he said he couldn’t face Christmas in Northumbria with his own family. Don’t think they get on too well.”

“Perhaps for the best he’s headed off. I wasn’t too enamored of him, myself.” Though Hugo seemed genuinely upset, news of Slagsby’s departure was music to Mallon’s ears. “I’ve meant to ask, what are your plans?”

He watched as Hugo took a tentative sip from his glass. Mallon knew full well his nephew didn’t enjoy spirits. Hugo was far too honest-faced to hide his reactions. Like so many young men, he thought feigning a taste for whisky would make him appear more mature, much like growing a moustache.

“Well, I might go for another ride. I do love a good gallop. And I suppose I’d better stir myself to wrap a few gifts.” He gave an apologetic grin. “Nothing too exciting, mind you. Bit limited in the choices hereabouts.”

“That’s marvellous, Hugo, but I was thinking rather longer term.” Mallon inwardly rolled his eyes, and reminded himself to be patient. The matter of Hugo’s future was a conversation long overdue. He didn’t even know, for sure, how attached his nephew had grown to the countess.

“Oh, right. Got you!” Assuming a more serious expression, Hugo came to sit in one of the armchairs. “Might go and survey the inheritance. Those vineyards, you know. Mother seems eager, although there’s no need for me to be involved in actually running the place. The vintners have all that in hand, thank goodness. Don’t need the likes of me interfering!” Hugo gave a bark of laughter. “But wouldn’t do any harm to show my face, would it? Let them see the new lord of the manor…or should that be chateau?”

“Yes, that’s an idea.” Mallon gave a smile of encouragement. “A man should see a little of the world.”

“Just my thinking,” said Hugo. “Although my French is a bit rusty. Wasn’t even that good when I was at school...”

“Not to worry. It will all work out, I’m sure.” Mallon shifted in his seat. “I realize your uncle’s death has brought you a title and lands of your own, but you know Wulverton Hall will also be yours one day, and the viscountcy.”

“Seems rather rum, doesn’t it?” Hugo looked wistful. “So many chaps without much of a fortune at all, and two falling in my lap without me having to lift a finger.”

Mallon nodded. It was ‘rum’, the way things worked out. Mallon might have wished for a more resolute streak in the young man who would, one day, inherit the Wulverton estate, but it could have been far worse. Hugo’s heart was in the right place, even if he was limited in the brains department. Mallon had grown quite fond of him. He had Edward’s manner all right, taking the world as it came and generally seeing the best in it.

He wondered what Allenby de Wolfe would have made of it all, or the great Gaetan de Wolfe. Hugo hardly fitted the heroic mold of their de Wolfe ancestors.

But then, neither do I , thought Mallon. He’d done his duty as a soldier, it was true, but he’d never considered himself brave. As for honor and acclaim, Mallon had no desire for either. He’d be content to do right by his tenants and to ensure the security of Wulverton for future generations. Having no son of his own, he needed Hugo for that.

And Hugo needed him, too.

Just over two years had passed since Edward had died, and Hugo appeared to be dealing well with his bereavement, but he needed a father-figure to guide him.

Mallon hadn’t yet processed his feelings of grief over his brother’s death. It was another emotion he’d battened down, unwilling to dwell upon what he’d lost. What point was there in rehashing the past? Better to concentrate on what he could do now, to make amends.

Naturally, the subject of Hugo, one day, taking a wife, ought to be brought up.

Mallon took a deep breath. “The fact is, it falls to you, Hugo, as the future viscount, to ensure the succession.” Seeing a look of confusion cross his nephew’s face, Mallon elaborated further. “Stallion and well-bred mare, Hugo, and a stable full of healthy foals.”

Hugo colored a little, as realization dawned. “Ram and ewes, birds and bees?”

“Exactly.” Mallon suppressed a sigh.

“Well, I’d not thought to marry just yet.” Hugo swirled the whisky around his glass. “But I have been wondering what it might be like, just lately…”

Mallon gave a tight smile. What he said next needed to be worded carefully. “Hugo, it goes without saying that the mother of all those…foals, should be a woman worthy of being brought into the family.”

“Someone of rank, you mean?” Hugo nodded. “You intend for me to go up for the Season and choose my filly.” He looked pleased with himself. “I’m well ahead of you on that count.”

Mallon sat further back in his chair. At last, they were getting somewhere. “Rank isn’t everything, Hugo; nor is wealth.”

“That’s what I’ve always thought, too. Beatrice, for instance! Lovely girl! Not a penny to her name and no nobility to speak of, although I believe her grandfather on her father’s side was the youngest son of a baronet somewhere in Somerset.” Hugo gave a low whistle. “I’ve always been sweet on her. Used to play together as children.”

Hugo looked towards the window again, in the vague direction of the Wapshots’ rectory, requiring Mallon to cough loudly to regain his attention.

“Sorry!” Hugo gave another grin. “Just remembering.” He gave his head a little shake. “As I say, I’d not been thinking of the wedded state, but I must own to my heart having been set aflutter, and by a woman perfect on all counts.” He tapped the side of his nose in conspiratorial fashion.

“Oh, yes?” Mallon spoke through clenched teeth.

“She has funds of her own, so she can’t possibly be after me for mine.” Hugo gave a guffaw. “But, more than that, she’s the epitome of feminine refinement. Bearing of a queen! Figure of a goddess!” He sat forward in excitement. “And, she rather likes me. We’ve even kissed…just a little.”

“I see.” Mallon felt himself grow cold.

“Nothing to jeopardize her reputation,” Hugo added quickly. “Just a peck, really, although I must be a pretty good kisser, as she seemed to want me to carry on.” His cheeks heated again.

Mallon steeled himself to say what must be said. “I’ve little doubt she does want you to kiss her, Hugo, and a great many things besides.” Mallon gave his nephew a pointed look. “I’m guessing you’re referring to the countess.”

Hugo nodded vigorously, his color deepening.

“You must remember she’s a woman of experience.”

Hugo tugged at his collar, his eyes growing wide. “She’s been married before, so she’ll know what’s what, I suppose.” His expression veered from wonderment to fright and settled somewhere in the realm of awe.

Mallon inwardly cursed himself. Hugo, he should have realized, had never slept with a woman. Goodness only knew what fantasies were now being kindled.

“Let me be plain, Hugo. The countess may only be a few years your senior, but she will have enjoyed…vastly different experiences.” Mallon meant to offer warning, but Hugo was sitting on the edge of his seat, apparently eager to hear more.

Mallon cleared his throat, taking a sterner tone. “I suspect she has a number of men among her acquaintance.”

“Golly!” Hugo appeared to be finding it hard to catch his breath. “And of all those male admirers, she’s keen on me!” He rose unsteadily. “I know that a woman only lets you kiss her when she’s pretty serious, but it hadn’t occurred to me how far the countess must love me. To choose me above all those other chaps, I mean.”

He appeared to be in a daze. “So much to think about, and I haven’t even acquired a ring. Better take myself to the jewelers in Exeter, unless mother has a ring she might give me for the purpose...” He was mumbling to himself now, considering the logistics of the proposal.

Mallon watched, incredulous, as his nephew made his way to the door.

“Thank you, Uncle. Without your counsel, I mightn’t have realized. I’ll make sure to waste no time.”

As the door clicked shut behind young Hugo, Mallon let forth a torrent of curses. So much for his handling the matter with delicacy. He’d achieved nothing but to set his nephew further on the path to ruin. The notion of him living happily ever after with Geneviève was laughable.

He could see it now, the marriage ending in scandal and everlasting doubt over the children’s bloodline. He’d never permit it!

Geneviève was a law unto herself. She’d say anything—do anything—to get what she wanted. Last night had only confirmed that. Believing that her plans to ensnare Hugo had been foiled, she’d thrown herself at the second most enticing option.

Mallon took up his glass of whisky. Savoring the aroma, he battled the temptation to gulp it down. It was hard for him to think about Geneviève without growing angry.

Harder still to think of her without growing hard!

When she’d stepped out of the bath, he’d been transfixed.

Sweet Jesus and all the angels!

If he never lay with another woman again, he’d at least have that memory to take to his grave.

Of course, she’d not meant what she said. Her—loving him! He doubted she could love anyone. Her look of perplexity when he’d shied away from her had been acting, hadn’t it? And the way her eyes had pleaded as she’d looked up from where he’d dropped her to the floor?

Mallon sank his head into his hands.

How big a fool had he been?

Hell’s teeth! How could he have been so blind!

The thought of her with Hugo riled him not just for the unsuitability of the match. He knew bloody well why he couldn’t bear the thought of it. He didn’t want to imagine Geneviève with another man, with Hugo or with anyone else; and there was only one reason for that!

The revelation of it struck him like the lightning upon Saul on the road to Damascus. God help him, he was utterly, burningly, blindingly infatuated with her. He wanted to explore what was growing between them, to know everything about her, to have her all to himself.

Through the heat of the Afghan desert and the blazing summers of Constantinople, he’d lived in perpetual winter. Returning to Dartmoor, he’d told himself it would be enough to undertake the duties of his title. And yet, he was tired of being alone, of proclaiming he needed no one.

Mallon passed his whisky from one hand to the other. His tongue ached for the ginger fire of the alcohol and its sweet oblivion. He need only bring it to his lips.

Hell and damnation!

Resolutely, Mallon placed the glass on a side table. Whatever the countess was—harlot adventuress or cold-hearted actress—he wanted her. All the love he’d told himself he didn’t need had only been waiting for the right woman.

It had taken all this time to find her. One way or another, he’d discover a way to make her his, and he’d make her love him back, however long that took.

He’d prove to her that she didn’t need to pretend. That the connection between them was something real, and was strong enough to bind them, if she’d but give him the chance to show her.