Page 46 of The Lady's Guide to Marrying a Viscount
“Golly!” Hugo appeared to be finding it hard to catch his breath. “And of all those male admirers, she’s keen on me!” He rose unsteadily. “I know that a woman only lets you kiss her when she’s pretty serious, but it hadn’t occurred to me how far the countess must love me. To choose me above all those other chaps, I mean.”
He appeared to be in a daze. “So much to think about, and I haven’t even acquired a ring. Better take myself to the jewelers in Exeter, unless mother has a ring she might give me for the purpose...” He was mumbling to himself now, considering the logistics of the proposal.
Mallon watched, incredulous, as his nephew made his way to the door.
“Thank you, Uncle. Without your counsel, I mightn’t have realized. I’ll make sure to waste no time.”
As the door clicked shut behind young Hugo, Mallon let forth a torrent of curses. So much for his handling the matter with delicacy. He’d achieved nothing but to set his nephew further on the path to ruin. The notion of him living happily ever after with Geneviève was laughable.
He could see it now, the marriage ending in scandaland everlasting doubt over the children’s bloodline. He’d never permit it!
Geneviève was a law unto herself. She’d say anything—do anything—to get what she wanted. Last night had only confirmed that. Believing that her plans to ensnare Hugo had been foiled, she’d thrown herself at the second most enticing option.
Mallon took up his glass of whisky. Savoring the aroma, he battled the temptation to gulp it down. It was hard for him to think about Geneviève without growing angry.
Harder still to think of her without growing hard!
When she’d stepped out of the bath, he’d been transfixed.
Sweet Jesus and all the angels!
If he never lay with another woman again, he’d at least have that memory to take to his grave.
Of course, she’d not meant what she said. Her—loving him! He doubted she could love anyone. Her look of perplexity when he’d shied away from her had been acting, hadn’t it? And the way her eyes had pleaded as she’d looked up from where he’d dropped her to the floor?
Mallon sank his head into his hands.
How big a fool had he been?
Hell’s teeth! How could he have been so blind!
The thought of her with Hugo riled him not just for the unsuitability of the match. He knew bloody well why he couldn’t bear the thought of it. He didn’t want to imagine Genevièvewith another man, with Hugo or with anyone else; and there was only one reason for that!
The revelation of it struck him like the lightning upon Saul on the road to Damascus. God help him, he was utterly, burningly, blindingly infatuated with her. He wanted to explore what was growing between them, to know everything about her, to have her all to himself.
Through the heat of the Afghan desert and the blazing summers of Constantinople, he’d lived in perpetual winter. Returning to Dartmoor, he’d told himself it would be enough to undertake the duties of his title. And yet, he was tired of being alone, of proclaiming he needed no one.
Mallon passed his whisky from one hand to the other. His tongue ached for the ginger fire of the alcohol and its sweet oblivion. He need only bring it to his lips.
Hell and damnation!
Resolutely, Mallon placed the glass on a side table. Whatever the countess was—harlot adventuress or cold-hearted actress—he wanted her. All the love he’d told himself he didn’t need had only been waiting for the right woman.
It had taken all this time to find her. One way or another, he’d discover a way to make her his, and he’d make her love him back, however long that took.
He’d prove to her that she didn’t need to pretend. That the connection between them was something real, and was strong enough to bind them, if she’d but give him the chance to show her.
CHAPTER 21
As Mallon enteredthe corridor leading to Geneviève’s room, he happened upon her maid, loitering as if unsure of herself.
“Excusez-moi, my lord.” She bobbed a curtsey, pressing herself to the wall as he drew near. She appeared unnerved, unwilling to meet his eyes. In her hand, quite clearly, she held a lilac envelope, and he could read the name upon it without difficulty—that of Hugo!
“A note from your mistress?” It was a statement more than a question.
The girl tried to hide the thing behind her back, but Mallon was not to be deflected.
“Permit me to take it for you.”
