For the Love of the Viscount (The Noble Hearts Series Book 1) Read online

  Pretty and petulant, she would make a man’s life flat out miserable. He whistled as he continued on his way home, not having felt this cheerful in a long time.

  ***

  The next afternoon he pulled up in front of the Pomeroy townhouse and was admitted by their butler. He no sooner requested Lady Elise than Lord Pomeroy came barreling down the corridor. “Lord St. George, just the man I wanted to see.” He held out his hand which Simon took, a bit uneasy at the man’s enthusiastic greeting.

  Pomeroy slapped him on the back. “Come on down to my study, boy. Let’s have something a bit stronger than what you’re going to get at Townsend’s place.”

  Apparently the man knew he was escorting Elise this afternoon and most likely that he’d taken her on a ride the prior afternoon. He shoved away the uneasy feeling since this had been their plan. He would pretend to have an interest in her to keep away any serious suitors. Then when the Season was over, he would wish her well, go on his merry way, and she would be off the hook with looking for a husband.

  So why did he feel as though he was being scrutinized as a potential son-in-law? A position he no intention of ever seeking.

  Pomeroy pointed to a chair. “It will be a while before my daughter makes an appearance; you know how the ladies are.” He grinned and almost bounced over to the sideboard. Simon could easily see where Elise got her good nature. Pomeroy poured two glasses of brandy and handed one to Simon, settling in the chair across from him.

  “Daughters are a wonderful thing.” Pomeroy took a sip of brandy. “Wouldn’t trade any one of them for the world.” He looked off into the distance and took another sip, then leaned forward as if offering a secret. “But they are deuced expensive, my boy. Damned deuced expensive.” He shook his head and took another sip.

  He mused for a minute or two, then pointed his finger. “One day you will find out. I always thought boys would be flattening my pockets, what with University, drinking, gambling, mistresses, that sort of thing.” He studied his empty glass as if confused why there wasn’t any liquor left.

  Putting the glass aside, he said, “St. George. A viscount, correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Pomeroy nodded as if pleased. “Elise has a nice dowry, you know. Very nice. Cheaper than keeping her in gowns and folderols for a lifetime, though.”

  Simon was in the process of taking a drink when that statement came out of his host’s mouth. He coughed, barely able to keep from spewing the liquor all over himself. Rather than dismissing the man’s remarks, he had to pretend interest if they were to fool everyone about their attachment.

  “Good to hear, my lord.” Bloody hell, where was Elise? If she took much longer, he feared Pomeroy would lock the study door and whip out a marriage contract.

  “There you are.” Elise entered the room and Simon almost choked once again. She wore a white and yellow striped afternoon gown. Her hair was pulled back in some type of a top knot, with a yellow ribbon tied around her hair. A yellow and white bonnet swung from her fingers.

  The neckline of the gown was low enough to make his mouth water. She brought sunshine into the room with her. Not just with her outfit, but with the bright smile that did strange things to his insides. He felt like an idiot when Pomeroy coughed as Simon just kept staring at her. He jumped up, forgetting he held a glass of liquid. It crashed to the floor, but luckily none of the liquid splashed on him.

  Elise giggled that deep laugh that drove him crazy, as it had the night before. It would be best if they removed themselves before he made a complete cake of himself in front of her father. He turned to the man. “If you will excuse us, my lord.”

  Humor in his eyes, Pomeroy waved him off. “Have a good time.”

  Simon helped Elise into the gig and they were on their way. The day was perfect, and the nice weather had him thinking about taking her on a picnic sometime soon. He could have his cook fix a basket of his favorite things. There was a perfect spot just outside of London where they could spend the afternoon, eating and chatting away.

  Since he’d learned of her interests, there were several books he wanted to share with her. Maybe an afternoon at the art gallery would be pleasant, as well.

  Then he brought himself up short.

  What the devil was he thinking? This was no real courtship. He only had to hold other men at bay until the end of the Season, which was only necessary at pubic outings. Based on the flowers he’d seen in the drawing room as Lord Pomeroy had escorted him down the corridor, he hadn’t done a decent job of it the night before. Hopefully, a few were for her sisters.

  He hoped bringing Elise with him to Lady Townsend’s might help him with her machinations. He would help Elise, and she, in turn, would help him. This could be a very productive association. Yes, that’s what it was. An association, nothing more.

  The room was already filled with three young ladies and two gentlemen when they arrived. Lady Townsend was too well mannered to show disdain that he’d brought Elise with him, but unfortunately her daughter was not.

  Miss Abbott narrowed her eyes at Elise and then greeted him with a bright smile. “It was so nice of you to come, Lord St. George.” She nudged the woman alongside her, almost shoving her off the settee. The poor flustered guest rose and moved to another chair. “Please sit here, my lord. It will be so much easier to converse.”

  ***

  Elise did a fine job of holding her grin at Miss Abbott’s maneuver. She sat on a deep green and white striped armless settee next to a gentleman she did not know. But then, with the scant time she’d spent in polite society, there were very few men she did know.

  He placed the teacup balanced on his knee onto the small table in front of him. “May I introduce myself?” He stood and bowed. “The Earl of Warwick at your service.”

  Elise offered her hand. “How do you do, my lord. I am Lady Elise Smith, daughter of Lord Pomeroy.”

  He regained his seat and leaned a little too close. “I can’t believe I’ve never met you before now.”

  She leaned back. “I don’t go about in society much.”

  He offered her a seductive smile. “Ah, yes. Apparently not. You, I would never forget. I know your sisters, lovely girls, but they never mentioned they were hiding the most beautiful one at home.” He gazed into her eyes, with what she was sure he thought a seductive look, but it only made her giggle.

  The sound of someone clearing his throat caught Elise and Warwick’s attention. Simon sat glaring at Elise, ignoring Miss Abbott who chattered on and on. Whatever was wrong? He looked ready to throttle someone. She turned to look over her shoulder, but there was no one behind her who would warrant that sort of glare.

  A footman stood in front of her, holding out a tray with cups of tea and small plates of pastries. “My lady?”

  Grateful to have a way to distract her from Lord Warwick’s attention, she accepted a cup, glancing once again at Simon to see him still glaring at her. She raised her eyebrows in question, and he nodded in Warwick’s direction. Before she could decipher what he was trying to say to her, Warwick turned his back to the group and moved in closer, virtually sealing them off from Simon and the rest of the room.

  “Why have you not given us the pleasure of your company before now, Lady Elise?”

  “I prefer other activities.” She took a sip of her tea, reminding herself why she did not venture into Society much. The man was getting on her nerves, and she had the urge to dump the cup of tea into his lap.

  “Such as?” He studied her with an intensity that disturbed her. She’d always seen humor and teasing in Simon’s eyes. Not so in this man. This man made her decidedly uncomfortable.

  It took her a moment to remember what they were talking about. She moved back slightly but felt herself slipping off the settee, so she stayed where she was. “I enjoy poetry readings and intellectual gatherings.”

  “Ah, a bluestocking.” He grinned and somehow she felt as though he was laughing at her. She decided at that moment that s
he didn’t like Lord Warwick very much. He reached out and took her hand. “Perhaps I may attend one of your intellectual gatherings.” She tried to tug her hand back, but he was not allowing her to do that.

  Even though she rarely ventured out on morning calls, she knew his behavior was inappropriate. Her only recourse was to dump the tea in his lap.

  “Lady Elise.” At the sound of her name, she looked past Warwick, pulling her hand free with just enough force that she jerked backward. With arms flailing, she slid off the settee, landing on her bottom, her skirts sliding up to her knees. The teacup in her hand flew into the air, splashing the liquid on both her and Warwick.

  A hush fell over the room, so her “Ouch” was clearly heard by all. Before Warwick could even reach down for her, Simon was by her side, pushing down her gown and pulling her to her feet.

  He held her around the waist and turned toward Lady Townsend and Miss Abbott. “I am so sorry, ladies, but I feel I must escort Lady Elise home. She seems to have hurt herself.”

  Elise didn’t know whether to elbow Simon in the middle or stomp on Warwick’s foot. Before she could do either or say a word, he had whisked her out of the room. “My carriage, please.”

  “Lord St. George.” Miss Abbott hurried from the room. “I meant to give you this.” She handed him a cream-colored envelope.

  He bowed. “Thank you, Miss Abbott. I bid you a pleasant afternoon.” He took Elise’s arm and they left the house. The carriage was just pulling up when they descended the steps.

  Once they settled in, Simon snapped the reins. “What was Warwick about?” He stared straight ahead, his lips tight.

  Elise drew herself up. “Just one minute. I did not hurt myself, as you blurted out to one and all, and furthermore, I did not need for you to race across the room and rescue me.”

  Ignoring her indignation, he continued, “From what I saw, Warwick was out of line.”

  “Perhaps he was. In my short acquaintance with him, I discovered I don’t care for Lord Warwick. He was most forward.”

  “Did you discourage him?”

  Whatever was Simon about? “Pardon me, my lord, but are you accusing me of something?” Why did he have her feeling as though she’d done something wrong? And who was he to question her anyway?

  “No. No, I’m not accusing you of anything. I just wondered how you ended up on the floor with your skirts above your knees in front of a room full of people.”

  Elise’s mouth dropped open and heat rose from her middle. “I fell, my lord. And the reason I fell was because you called my name. Lord Warwick, who was holding my hand against my wishes, let go as I tugged once more, and it threw me off balance. Therefore, I slid from the silk-covered settee.” She took in a deep breath. “However, please explain to me how it is that I owe you an account of my behavior.”

  Simon pulled the gig over to a shady spot on the road and turned to her. “I am sorry. I don’t mean to be so imperious. It’s just that Warwick has a reputation with the ladies, and I was concerned that he upset you in some way.”

  She smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles from her gown, then rested her hands in her lap. “He did upset me. However, I feel I had the situation under control.” She stuck her finger into his chest. “And tell me, my lord, why were you coughing and nodding, and calling my name? Wasn’t the lovely Miss Abbott keeping you busy enough?”

  “Her chattering would drive a man to desperate measures. Which was why I wanted you to attend with me. If I am to keep men away from you, I believe part of the bargain should be you keeping the marriage-minded mamas and daughters away from me.” He snapped the reins once more.

  “Very well,” she huffed. “We will now help each other.”

  Chapter Three

  The following Thursday night, Simon left his horse, Diamond, at the mews behind the Pomeroy townhouse and climbed the stairs to Elise’s home. On the way back from Lady Townsend’s afternoon call, Elise had told him she was holding one of her soirees and would not be available to attend the musicale at the Ellison home with him this evening.

  Since he had listened with blistered ears to more than one Ellison musicale, he was only too happy to pass along his regrets. It had been a last minute decision to see what Elise’s “intellectual gatherings” were all about.

  He smiled at the now familiar man at the door who directed him to the drawing room. The room was already filled with a number of men and women who were involved in a lively debate. Elise stood at the center of a small knot of people, her arms waving around, her face flushed, her eyes sparkling, as she spoke to the group.

  Standing there at the doorway, he watched her in her own environment. This was not the young lady who stumbled through a dance and felt unsure of herself in Society. This woman knew her place in the world. Her audience listened with rapt attention. She turned to offer a comment to a man in front of her and glanced in his direction. She stopped, and her mouth dropped open. Two people in her group turned to regard him. An older man viewed him through his quizzing glass.

  She said something to the woman next to her and moved toward him, her hand outstretched. “Lord St. George, how nice of you to join us.”

  He bent over her hand and kissed it, holding onto it a little too long to be proper. Her face flushed as she tugged it away from him. “Let me introduce you to my guests.” She placed her hand on his arm and led him to the group she’d just left. Waving at the people in her group she said, “Miss Henrietta Gordon, Mrs. Jules James, Professor Marvin Lesh, Mr. Joseph Barnes, and Lord Westin, may I present to you the Viscount St. George.”

  Simon took the ladies’ hands and bowed over them, then nodded at the gentlemen. “I am pleased to meet all of you.”

  The man with the quizzing glass—who turned out to be Lord Westin—said, “Never saw you before at these things, St. George. From what I hear, you’re more of the social set than the rest of us are.”

  “Lady Elise was kind enough to invite me, and I am pleased to be able to join you.”

  Elise’s raised eyebrow was her only reaction to his blatant lie. He had not been invited, most likely since she never thought he would come, but after turning down the invitation to the musicale, he found himself at a loss as to what to do with his evening. Almost as if drawn by an invisible force, he’d found himself riding directly to her home.

  After a few minutes of conversation about the latest political ploy by the Whigs, Elise dragged him to another group and made introductions. Those guests were discussing the recently released book, Prometheus Unbound, by Shelley. Having not even heard of the book, he kept his mouth shut so as not to show his deficiencies. Elise had quite a bit to say about the tome. Simon was impressed.

  Very impressed.

  The next group debated the recent discovery of the Venus de Milo on the island of Melos and whether it was authentic. He watched in wonder as again, Elise had an opinion that everyone in the group listened to quite carefully. By the time she announced a light supper would be served, Simon’s head was about to burst.

  He had never felt so uninformed in his life. As a young man, he had enjoyed his studies at University, and unlike most men of his class, he actually attended lectures and entered into debates with some of the professors who held sessions in their homes in the evenings. Being here tonight brought back those memories and how much he missed them.

  Thinking all these people were so well informed and came together on a regular basis to discuss and debate the important issues of the day left him feeling quite jealous that he had not known of their existence.

  The guests filled their plates with a variety of foods from the table. Roast duck, creamed trout, pickled celery, apple tarts, and lemon jelly made for an array of tastes. Once he filled plates for himself and Elise, he joined her at a table small enough for just the two of them.

  A footman poured wine and placed pots of tea on the tables scattered throughout the room.

  Elise shook out her serviette and placed it on her lap. “What brings yo
u here tonight, my lord?”

  He grinned at her. “Ah, perhaps you did not hear me say I had been invited by the illustrious hostess, Lady Elise Smith?”

  “Funny, somehow that slipped my mind.” She took a bite of duck and licked her lips. Simon’s blood all headed south. “I thought you had a musicale to attend this evening.”

  He wiped his mouth, wishing Elise would do the same and stop licking her lips. “I have attended Ellison musicales for several years and I fear they get no better.”

  “And you thought my little gathering would be of more interest?”

  Of more interest? He could not remember the last time he had been so intellectually stimulated. This “little gathering” of hers made him realize how much time he’d spent discussing inane things with simpering debutantes and boring matrons. The wasted hours spent playing cards at his clubs and arguing over the best horseflesh at Tattersalls.

  “Yes. I must admit I find your friends and their conversations quite fascinating. I can say I thoroughly enjoyed myself.”

  “Indeed? You do not condemn me as a bluestocking?” She tilted her head and gave him a saucy smile.

  How could he tell this innocent woman that seeing her in this setting, with the excitement in her eyes as she spoke, had him wanting to throw her over his shoulder and find the nearest bed? A bluestocking, indeed. She was everything the silly women of the ton were not.

  And that scared the hell out of him.

  ***

  Elise did not like that Simon had enjoyed himself so much. She wanted to continue to think of him as a typical gentleman interested in Society and all the things men of the ton did with their time. Relegating him to that part of her life made their association banal. Now he seemed more real, more not-so-easy to dismiss. For some reason, that disturbed her.

  “How often do you hold these gatherings?”

  Elise placed her fork alongside her plate. “Once a month, but then in addition to that, most of us get together every couple of weeks to attend a lecture or a poetry reading.”