Mischief and Mistletoe - Stacy Reid Page 0,14
father wore his heart on his sleeve for her while she appeared at best indifferent to his presence.
“Is that Viscount Worsley?” Thomas asked. “I am astonished he could be parted from his gambling hell.”
“He is recently married.”
Thomas’s jaw slackened. “Viscount Worsley married? I would more believe you saw a flying pig.”
He chuckled understanding his friend’s astonishment. The Viscount was known for his profligacy and wildness. The man owned one of the most notorious gambling and fighting club. “You should believe it. The news was all about Town only a few weeks ago.”
“What is he doing here? I still owe his club several hundred pounds,” Thomas muttered, tugging at his cravat, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
“They were visiting his wife’s relatives in the area when their carriage damaged a wheel. They’ve put up here for the night while repairs are done.”
Graham had been pleased to invite Worsley and his lovely wife, who had been thrilled to know of the soiree, to stay. “Lord Worsley said they will be moving on tomorrow. If you want to fall at his feet and beg for debt forgiveness, tomorrow morning would be the time.”
A glance at Thomas revealed one of his hands pressed to his chest and his mouth parted in amazement. “Is that rather pretty creature his wife?”
Graham smiled. “That is his viscountess, yes.”
A ravishing lady indeed with her midnight black hair piled high in a riot of curls atop her head, and her voluptuous figure draped in a silken dark green gown. Worsley led his wife to the dancefloor, and the way they peered at each other was almost embarrassing to observe. The man had a reputation of being wild and rakish where the ton had given him the moniker ‘the wicked Viscount’. Even when the newssheet had broken the news of his marriage, the headline had screamed: The Sins of Viscount Worsley, for it had astonished them a man of such profligacy had married a vicar’s daughter. To see him now staring at his wife with such lascivious adoration filled Graham with a sense of longing. What would it be like to invest such feelings and attention into one person?
He allowed his gaze to stray to Miss Middleton. Graham stiffened. She was scampering out of the ballroom, casting determined glances at her mother and his father. The minx!
“Excuse me,” he muttered to Thomas, and hurried after her without being too obvious. The last thing he wanted was for the guests to speculate on their joint disappearances.
He caught up to her just as she entered the library and shut the door behind her. Opening it silently, he closed it with a snick and leaned against the door. She sat in his father’s chair and opened the top drawer, rifling the content.
“Up to more mischief I see,” he murmured. “This I believe calls for some sort of punishment.”
Graham admired her composure. She did not scream even though her alarm was evident.
Lowering the hand pressed over her chest, she said, “You!”
“Yes, me. Must we always meet like this, hmm?”
She closed the drawer and narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you follow me?”
“Of course.”
“And whatever did you mean by ‘this calls for punishment’. Surely you jest.”
Abandoning her scheme, Miss Middleton stood and sauntered toward him. Her scent of lavender and something mouthwatering and elusive assailed his senses. Sweet Mercy. “Were you not reneging on our agreement?”
Delicate brows arched. “I was about to pen a note and you interrupted.”
“A note to our parents.”
A heavy fringe of sooty lashes framed her golden-brown eyes enchantingly. Those lashes now fluttered innocently at him. “Of course not.”
“Liar,” he said with some amusement, irritated with himself to find anything humorous in her reactions. “You were going to send some message that would have them scrambling like puppets to meet each other in some secret place.”
Her face flushed so becomingly. “I’ll never own that was my intention.”
Something suspiciously like amusement colored her tone.
Graham scoffed. “Of course not.” Would she ever stop her meddling ways?
“Your mother remains indifferent to my father, why do you persist in playing the matchmaker?”
“You do not know her like I do. She…mama is not indifferent, I assure you. She has guarded her heart very well after papa’s death, but it comes alive for Lord Deerwood.”
His heart jolted. “You are a romantic.”
“Unapologetically,” she said with a sweet smile.
“Would you honor me with a dance, Miss Middleton?”
The request startled them both.
One hand pressed against her chest, and the more she stared at him the wider her lovely eyes got. “Here?”
“No.”
Amusement softened her lips.