Page 5 of The Viscount's Code
A strange sensationthat he was being watched tugged on Anthony’s spine as he held his hand out to help his mother down from the carriage on the front drive of the stately Newfield Manor which rose before him.
He knew how proud the Emburys were of their country home, which was currently working to his advantage as Lady Embury was keen to invite visitors to show it off.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” his mother asked wistfully, following his gaze.
“So is Whitehall Manor, Mother,” he said, and she nodded, although her face was drawn. A forced smile emerged, however, when a voice cut through the fresh spring air of the day.
“Lady Whitehall! So good to see you.”
Lady Embury was standing at the top of the stairs, her arms open to welcome them. Anthony’s mother took his elbow, and he led her up to greet their hosts. Anthony nodded at his own welcome before stepping back, and soon noted Lord Embury standing behind them in the entrance. His bearded jowls were set into a scowl as he looked from Anthony to his mother and back again, and Anthony stiffened in response, although he refused to allow the man to see how he affected him.
“Lord Embury,” he said, reaching a hand out, and the man was too well-bred to refuse as he took it in a quick, firm shake.
“Thank you for inviting us, my lord,” Anthony said, but the earl simply nodded, which Anthony took as confirmation that he’d had no choice in the matter.
Anthony looked around for a glimpse of the ladies Hope and Faith, but they seemed suspiciously absent.
“My daughters are also looking forward to welcoming you,” Lady Embury said as though she had read his thoughts, although a quick glance at her husband suggested that perhaps he hadn’t been interested in having them greet Anthony and his mother. “They are currently taking their luncheon. Are you hungry yourselves?”
“Not at the moment,” Anthony’s mother said. “Perhaps we will retire to our rooms for a rest before we dine.”
“Very well,” Lady Embury said, lifting her arm out to motion to the few servants who had gathered behind them, prepared for their arrival. “My staff will look after you. Why do we not meet in the drawing room tonight at seven o’clock? Until then, please feel free to make the estate your own.”
“Thank you,” Anthony’s mother said, and, while he was currently famished, he had no choice but to follow her lead. She seemed rather peaked, and once he saw her settled, he decided to take himself on a tour of the house, even though he had been in residence but a month before when Lord and Lady Embury had hosted a ball to begin the summer season.
He was walking through the great hall, colorful sunbeams reaching through the mosaic of stained-glass windows above, when he heard soft notes of music filtering through the rooms. Was it one of the ladies, he wondered? He told himself that he should walk the other way and not be drawn to it like a rat to the pied piper, but there was something so hauntingly beautiful about the music that his feet seemed to have a mind of their own as they followed the notes through the hall.
The closer he walked to the back of the house, the louder the music became, and the clearer he could hear the sweet melodic voice that accompanied it.
He finally stopped in the doorway of a music room, and there, sitting across from him at the pianoforte, was the enchanting figure of Lady Hope. Her back was to him, and he knew he should likely make his presence known instead of standing there staring at her like a voyeur, but he was too caught in her spell that continued to weave around him with every note she played and every word she sang.
“Dawn breaks and sweet birds sing, a symphony of joy on the wind.”
Anthony had no idea how long he stood there, as a longing deep within him urged him to open his mouth and join her, but it had been so long since he had played or sang any type of music, a gift his father had passed down to him, that he wondered if he would even remember how.
Then she stopped so abruptly that he jolted upright, and it seemed as though his soul was settling itself back into his body.
He froze, unsure if he should make his escape before alerting her to his presence, but when she turned her head to the side as though sensing him, he knew it was too late.
“Lord Whitehall?” she said, standing so quickly that her stool began tipping over behind her. Anthony started across the room to catch it, but as he attempted to make it in time, he tripped over his own feet and went flying toward her instead.
“Oh, no!” Hope cried, and instead of backing away and allowing him to fall, she reached out as though to catch him. Between her own attempt and his last-minute ability to right himself, they both remained standing, but had somehow become locked in an embrace.
When he finally regained his bearings, Anthony looked down, only to find her face inches away from his, her eyes boring into him, her lips rosy, pert, and upturned.
The perfect gift – and one that he must refuse.
“Apologies,” he murmured gruffly, and while he knew he should step back, while he’d had the resolve to keep from kissing her, he didn’t seem to have it within him to move away from her.
She kept her hands lightly on his arms, and Anthony didn’t think he had ever been so warm and comfortable in his life.
That was, until he heard a throat clearing from the doorway and he whipped his head around to find Lady Faith standing there, arms crossed, hip against the edge of the door.
“Well, well,” she said. “If it isn’t Lord Whitehall. I do suggest you take your hands off my sister.”
CHAPTER3
Goodness, what was she doing?
