KISSING THE VISCOUNT
“I am not a child!” Cynthia screamed, pushing with all her might at his hands.
Nick’s fingers flexed and tightened. “You’re childish enough to do something stupidly reckless, so I’d say you’re childish enough to be turned over my knee.”
“You just try it.”
His gaze flicked to her straining arms. When he spoke again, he leaned close, his voice dropping to stroke over her skin. “You think I wouldn’t?”
Nick’s eyes narrowed. He looked at his right hand as it slowly tightened to a vise on her wrist.
“Nick…”
His gaze slid to her lips. And then his mouth descended.
For a brief moment she didn’t understand what part this played in their argument. And then her body reported to her mind what was really happening. Nick was kissing her. Just as she’d hoped. Oh, sweet mercy…
She’d imagined this a thousand times and a thousand more. She’d thought Nick’s lips would brush softly, a gentle taste, a breath of love across her cheek. She’d never once considered he would kiss as if he were needy. As rough as James, even. But better than those stolen kisses with James Munro. Infinitely better…
Books by Victoria Dahl
TO TEMPT A SCOTSMAN
A RAKE’S GUIDE TO PLEASURE
ONE WEEK AS LOVERS
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
One Week As Lovers
VICTORIA DAHL
ZEBRA BOOKS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
This book is for my editor, John.
Thank you.
Acknowledgments
First, thank you to my readers. I can’t tell you how much it means to hear from you. I hope you enjoy Lancaster as much as I have.
Thank you to my boys for being so wonderful. I couldn’t be more proud. And to my husband, who truly believes in me. You’re the best and I couldn’t do it without you.
As always, thanks to my agent, Amy, for being an ally and a friend.
And boundless appreciation to my critique partner and friend, Jennifer. You understand me, and that’s priceless. We’re living the dream!
I also want to acknowledge Thomas Campbell for providing the bit of “maudlin poetry” quoted by Lancaster on the beach. Your words fit Lancaster’s mood perfectly.
Last but not least…Thank you to my editor, John. In a moment of uncertainty, your words meant so much.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 1
London, Spring 1846
Nicholas Cantry, Viscount Lancaster—known to friends, family, and every single person in the ton for his unerring charm and constant good humor—was furious. His vision blurred faintly at the edges, and his teeth ached from the pressure of being clenched together, but as he made his way through the crowd of the waning dinner party, people still offered him smiles. If they thought anything at all, perhaps they wondered if he had a touch of dyspepsia. Certainly, they didn’t suspect him of anger.
He was, after all, an ornament. A pleasant way to pass the time. A fairly harmless fortune hunter. And that was the way he liked it. No one ever looked past his humor and goodwill. No one looked deeper. He could hardly regret a reputation he’d taken pains to cultivate.
But finding his fiancée spreading her legs for another man had ruffled even Lancaster’s carefully groomed façade. The hateful things she’d screamed at him hadn’t helped his temper. Neither had the knowledge that he could not simply turn and walk away.
“My good Viscount Lancaster!” a voice trilled from his left. Lancaster stopped in his tracks, spun toward the petite matron, and bowed in one fluid motion.
“Lady Avalon,” he murmured over her offered hand. “A light in my dismal evening.”
“Oh, pah.” She giggled, and smacked him in the shoulder with her oversized fan.
“Lady Avalon, I had no idea you’d returned from the country so early. Fleeing an ill-thought affair, are you?”
“Lancaster, you are scandalous.”
“Only occasionally. You are acquainted with Mr. Brandiss?” He gestured toward their host and resisted an urge to massage the tight pain from the back of his neck.
“Oh, yes. Mr. Brandiss may be a merchant, but he’s as much a gentleman as any peer of the realm.” She leaned a little closer. “I’ve also met Miss Brandiss. What a beautiful bride you’ve chosen, Lancaster.”
Beautiful, yes. And treacherous. And surprisingly loud when backed into a corner.
But he only inclined his head in modest agreement.
“Lovely,” Lady Avalon continued, “and a very smart alliance. I told everyone you would do quite well, and you have.”
“Yes, Miss Brandiss was willing to overlook my fearsome face and thread-worn title for a chance to get her delicate hands on my apple orchards. They’re quite profitable.”
“Ha! If you’d had a fortune, young man, you’d have reigned as the bachelor king for a decade. It takes a barrel of charm to be seen as a decent catch even in your straits. Very impressive, Viscount. Mr. Brandiss is a stickler when it comes to his little Imogene.”
“Quite,” Lancaster managed to grind out past a smile. “Now if you’d be kind enough to excuse me…”
“Oh, yes! I’m sure you’d like to get back to that darling fiancée of yours.”
He turned, but not quickly enough to avoid another whack of her fan. The whalebone cracked against his arm, and Lancaster imagined his nerves as taut wires, popping with just that sound as they snapped apart.
Darling fiancée indeed. He’d thought her darling enough until a few moments ago. He’d thought her demure and shy and as pretty as she was intelligent.
“Demure,” he growled as he moved out of the crowded hall and closer to the front door. He’d made it past the densest of the crowd, but he wasn’t free yet. Mr. Brandiss himself stood