Page 26 of The Lady's Guide to Marrying a Viscount
As his guests assembled for pre-dinner drinks, he located her on the far side of the room, or heard her rather—for her laughter was unmistakable, husky and sensual. His stomach knotted in response and a swellrose in his heart—a strange tugging sensation that urged him closer, drawing him toward her.
Even from behind, he knew her at once. No other woman in the room had so elegant a neck nor hair so luxuriant. She appeared to have recovered from her fright, and from being chilled, with no ill-effects.
Under the chandelier’s candlelight, her gown shimmered. Meanwhile, the diamonds at her ears and neck were obscenely large. If they were real, she was better provided for than he’d realized.
Making his way closer, he saw that she was engaged in speaking to Hugo and to someone Mallon didn’t recognize—a tall fellow with a supercilious air. He’d seen enough of that kind during his army days. Young men with little to recommend them in the way of talent or virtue; men whose egos were fed purely by the blueness of their blood.
This one seemed to be having trouble deciding which part of the countess to devour first—her décolleté or her jewels.
“Damned backwater if you ask me. Don’t know how you stand it.”
Mallon caught the drift of the conversation from several feet away. The impertinent cur had already taken a surfeit of liquor, for his words were slurred.
“Steady on, Slagsby. It’s not as bad as all that.” Hugo’s remonstrations were having not the slightest effect.
“I expect our lovely countess feels the same.” The toad was leaning indecently against her arm.
“Not at all!” Her voice was crystal. She was turning away, attempting to place some inches between them.
“No need to sugar coat it for young de Wolfe’s benefit!” The churl slapped Hugo on the back, then slung his arm about Hugo’s neck. “We used to share everything at school, didn’t we Wolfers. No secrets here. We like to deliver it straight up, eh!” He gave a lecherous wink and guffawed at his wit, causing several other guests to swivel their heads in disapproval.
“We’d best get some food inside you, old chum. ‘Bout time Withers rang the gong.” Hugo staggered under his friend’s arm.
“Or to bed, I’d say.” Mallon drew alongside.
“Ha! Not without my dinner, and I was planning on sitting next to this pretty piece. Two ripe fruits to finish with, eh!” Slagsby’s knees suddenly failed him, obliging Mallon and Hugo to take his full weight.
“Dash it, Slagsby. You’re a disgrace!” Hugo shot Geneviève a look of abject embarrassment.
The color had risen on her cheeks, but she held her poise. Mallon, meanwhile, felt decidedly less composed. The chatter in the room had disguised most of Slagsby’s uncouth comments, but the Reverend Wapshot and his wife had most certainly had an earful.
Under other circumstances, he’d take the oaf outside for a good thrashing. As it was, a subtler approach was required. With a nod to Hugo, Mallon hoisted up Lord Slagsby and, ignoring hisprotests, they dragged him away.
“Very decent of you.Don’t know what got into him, although he always was a trifle boisterous—at school, you know.” Hugo dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief. Slagsby had passed out halfway up the stairs, turning into a deadweight. It had taken enormous effort to drag him to his bed.
“Not your fault, Hugo. Though you might want to reassess your friendship.” Mallon did his best to keep his temper.
His own opinion of Lord Slagsby remained unwavering. The man was an ill-mannered, lecherous drunk and a gambler; removing his jacket, a handful of betting slips had fluttered to the floor. Mallon feared Hugo was too impressionable. Men like Slagsby tainted everything they touched. Hugo appeared a decent young man, but he was green enough to be led astray. Mallon knew that path and was in no hurry to see his nephew make similar mistakes.
Another duty I’ve been remiss in fulfilling.
Mallon knew he owed it to his brother to have a care for his only son.
I might have no hope of happiness in a woman’s arms but I’ll do my best to see Hugo well-settled.
Returning downstairs, they were ushered immediately into the dining room, Marguerite directing Mallon to lead in both Reverend Wapshot’s elderly mother and aunt, while Hugo offered his arm to the countess.
The meal was interminable. Seated at the head of the table and flanked on either side, Mallon had little choice but to apply himself to the courtesies of dinner-talk, butit was no easy task. Both ladies were hard of hearing and had interest only in the food before them.
His gaze wandered to the opposite end, where Hugo held court, Geneviève to his right and his mother upon his left. There, the conversation appeared to be flowing in a lively manner. How had he not seen it before? There was an attraction between them. The countess had touched his arm five times in as many minutes while Hugo was hardly eating at all, his attention all upon his companion.
Marguerite looked well contented. The countess was Hugo’s senior by perhaps seven years. Not the norm by any stretch of the imagination.
Mallon chewed upon a forkful of trout. He’d initially thought the sauce not at all bad, but it appeared flavorless now. He made an effort to swallow and took a mouthful of wine. Even that—a fine vintage he’d chosen himself from the well-stocked cellar—had lost its zest.
It was a relief, at last, for Marguerite to call them through to the salon, which had been cleared for dancing.
“Cigars and port will be available in the anteroom, but no gentleman is to partake until he’s had a turnabout the room to the satisfaction of our ladies.” She rose from her seat, ushering her guests.
