Page 6 of Avoiding the Merry Viscount
The house felt oddly quiet, almost hushed. Despite Lydia’s attempts at stealth, her footsteps echoed more loudly than usual. She moved down the corridor, checking each room she passed until she found what could only be Clint’s study. There was a heavy oak door and masculine furnishings visible through the gap.
As she approached, she could hear voices from within—his familiar baritone and what sounded like a female voice, though she couldn’t make out the words through the heavy oak door that stood slightly ajar. Perhaps his housekeeper was attending to some matter. Shewould wait until the woman departed.
But as she drew closer, the voices became clearer, and what she heard made her blood turn to ice.
“That’s it,” Clint’s voice, thick and breathless in a way she’d never heard before, though there was something familiar about the tone that made her stomach clench. “Just like that. You know exactly what I like.”
A woman’s voice responded with what could only be described as a moan of pleasure, followed by wet, rhythmic sounds that Lydia’s innocent mind struggled to identify even as her traitorous body somehow understood their meaning.
Her heart froze in her chest and tears welled in the corners of her eyes. Surely she was mistaken. Surely the man she’d known for years who had told her how much he wished to marry her, and to be with her forever, he would never—
“Much better than that inexperienced little mouse I’m to marry,” Clint continued, his voice rough with pleasure. “You know how to use that mouth for its proper purpose.”
The words hit Lydia like a physical blow. Her hands flew to her mouth to stifle her gasp, but she couldn’t leave without facing him. Her shaking fingers pressed against the door, pushing it open just enough for her to see inside.
What she witnessed would burn itself into her mind for years to come. Clint stood behind his desk, his breeches unfastened and pushed down, his head thrown back in obvious pleasure. Before him, on her knees on the expensive Persian carpet, was a pretty young blonde maid.
The girl’s head moved rhythmically, and the sounds they were making left no doubt as to what was occurring. Lydia’s limited understanding of such matters suddenly became horrifyingly clear.
“But don’t worry, kitten. I may need the innocent chit’s dowry, but I’ll still put this mouth of yours—and more—to work regularly.”
Clint’s words destroyed Lydia’s heart completely. She released a small cry, unable to stop herself.
At that moment, the maid’s eyes opened, seeing Lydia through the crack in the door. Terror filled the young woman’s gaze, and she tried to pull away, but Clint’s hands tightened in her hair.
“Don’t you dare stop!” he snarled, and then his gaze followed the maid’s to the door. When his eyes met Lydia’s, instead of showing shame or surprise, a slow, cruel smile spread across his face.
“Well, well,” he purred, never loosening his grip on the maid as he rocked himself into her mouth. “Look who’s decided to pay an improper visit. How delightfully scandalous of you, my dear. Perhaps you will prove to be a bit more lively than I thought.”
Lydia’s vision blurred as tears of rage and humiliation filled her eyes. She stumbled backward from the door, her whole body shaking as her supposed betrothed continued to take his pleasure from another woman right in front of her.
“Don’t run away now, sweet Lydia. This is your education. Best you learn what men require.” His breathing grew more labored, speaking in short bursts as his hips increased in speed. “And accept that I’ll always need more than you. I shall employ women in our home who please me, so you might as well become friendly with them. Because warming your bed shall never keep me satisfied.”
Lydia should have punched him square in the nose, or clawed at his lying face. She should have told him what a vile bastard he was. But instead, her body had a mind of its own and she turned and ran away from the scene.
Her feet carried her through the corridors without conscious thought, back through the maze of passages until she found the servants’ entrance. She burst through the door and into the street, running until her stays cut into her ribs and her lungs burned, finally stopping several blocks away to press herself against a lamppost as great, heaving sobs wracked her body.
How could she have been so foolish? How could she have believed his pretty words, his tender touches, meant anything beyond his desire to secure her dowry? That’s all she was to him—a sum in a ledger book.
And one of many women’s bodies to use. How many others had there been? How many would there be once Lydia became his wife?
The memory of his satisfied smile as he watched her discover his true nature made her stomach turn. He had taken pleasure in her shock and pain, and demonstrated exactly how little he thought of her.
This was the man she’d intended to marry. The man she’d considered allowing greater intimacies. The man she’d believed herself to… love? She had never thought herself to be in love with him.
And she realized what a fool she had been. She had been so caught up in his words and the intensity of the climax she felt that it had overtaken all of her good sense. She knew better, and she had allowed herself to fall into the trap of a handsome man with a wicked hand, and mistaken the whole matter for some kind of deeper affection. Affection that, if she’d thought with her head instead of the place between her thighs, she’d have already known wasn’t love.
His plot would have worked if she hadn’t discovered his true nature. Lydia would have been trapped at his side forever. So perhaps she owed a debt of gratitude to the maid on her knees with Clint’s cock in her mouth.
Lydia wiped her eyes and continued back toward her home.
By the time she reached her family’s townhouse, she had composed herself enough to slip inside through the servants’ entrance. She reentered the main corridor and listened for the indication that her parents still had guests. There was no way that she could face anyone else. It would be impossible enough to face her father and find a way to explain to him why he must call off the betrothal.
She continued through the house and found her father in his study, reviewing correspondence, her mother seated nearby with her embroidery.
“Papa?” Lydia’s voice came out smaller than she intended. “Mama? Might I speak with you both? It’s… it’s rather urgent.”
Her parents looked up with immediate concern. Her mother set aside her needlework while her father gestured to a chair.
