Page 7 of In Want of a Viscount
Rook had known the servant for ages, but the man remained as formal as ever—and was well aware that Rook knew exactly where to find the grand drawing room. Still, he responded, “Lead the way.”
A few steps in, he added, “I assume everyone’s here.”
“Yes, m’lord.”
“Including the Americans?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s your impression of them?”
“I have none, sir.”
“Come now, Keating, you must have formed some opinion. Brash? Arrogant? Boastful?”
Keating stopped to face him. “The gent reminds me of a puppy, sir, full of boundless energy and eager to please.”
Eager to get his hands on their money. “And the young woman?”
“Watchful. I don’t think she quite trusts us.”
“The British in general or the Chessmen in particular?”
“I’m not entirely sure.”
He’d have thought she’d have been zealous about pleasing as well if she wished to court success regarding her hunt for a husband. “Well, I’m certain the wives will put her at ease and reassure her that she has nothing to fear.”
“I expect you’re correct, sir.”
“I usually am.”
With a slight shift in his lips that almost passed for a smile, Keating continued his trek down the wide hallway, and Rook dutifully followed. King, being the Duke of Kingsland, usually handled such affairs with a great deal of formality and aplomb, as befit his title. Rook respected rituals and had nothing against adhering to them.
The butler preceded him into the drawing room, and Rook had only a second to notice that everyone within was gathered together talking. King without his wife, Penelope, who was no doubt off ensuring something or other was being correctly done. Knight and Regina. Bishop and Marguerite. A tall, hefty fellow with reddish-blond hair. The American no doubt. A petite woman with auburn hair salted with a few strands of silver. His sister.
Keating cleared his throat. “Your Grace, Lord Wyeth has arrived.” He then discreetly departed as everyone turned to give Rook their attention.
The husband hunter was somewhat older than he’d expected, experience in those eyes that assessed him. Based on the creases along her brow, he’d have thought she’d have long ago married and would have had several children by now. Obviously, she’d had no luck snagging a man. Her straight firm mouth thatexpressed disapproval might have played a role in her spinsterhood. The judgment in her blue eyes made him want to squirm. “My apologies for my tardiness.”
“Nothing to worry over,” King said, stepping forward. “We’ve been discussing the weather. Allow me the honor of introducing—”
His words came to an abrupt halt as light but brisk footfalls sounded, echoing along the hallway and growing louder until they filled the parlor and came to a sudden halt.
“Forgive the delay,” Penelope announced.
Rook turned to greet King’s lovely and efficient wife, but the words that tumbled through his mind refused to be uttered.
Because standing beside King’s duchess was the Lady of Sighs.
Chapter 3
Good Lord. It washim. The man from the Elysium. Only it couldn’t be because the Duchess of Kingsland was introducing him as John Castleton, Viscount Wyeth. Certainly, a lord wouldn’t work at a place that engaged in fulfilling a woman’s fantasies. Wouldn’t work at all from what she understood. They considered themselves a privileged lot and avoided any sort of occupation.
Did he have a twin? A twin who looked exactly like him but wouldn’t inherit, who wasn’t given an allowance, who had to earn his own coin, make his way in the world?
Or perhaps it was simply that every now and then, nature forgot when it created someone and it created them again, in another time and place. A duplicate. She’d read about them in German folklore. Doppelgangers.
But if he was either a twin or a replica, if they’d never met, then why had his eyes briefly widened with recognition? His nostrils had flared, like he’d remembered her scent, was possibly trying to draw more of her fragrance into his lungs. Only he couldn’t be the man who had knelt beside her and carried her so skillfully into the realm of pleasure.
