The Devil and the Viscount, page 1
The Devil and the Viscount
Gentlemen of Pleasure, Book 1
Mary Lancaster
© Copyright 2022 by Mary Lancaster
Text by Mary Lancaster
Cover by Dar Albert
Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.
P.O. Box 23
Moreno Valley, CA 92556
ceo@dragonbladepublishing.com
Produced in the United States of America
First Edition April 2022
Kindle Edition
Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.
All Rights Reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Additional Dragonblade books by Author Mary Lancaster
Gentlemen of Pleasure
The Devil and the Viscount (Book 1)
Temptation and the Artist (Book 2)
Sin and the Soldier (Book 3)
Debauchery and the Earl (Book 4)
Pleasure Garden Series
Unmasking the Hero (Book 1)
Unmasking Deception (Book 2)
Unmasking Sin (Book 3)
Unmasking the Duke (Book 4)
Unmasking the Thief (Book 5)
Crime & Passion Series
Mysterious Lover
Letters to a Lover
Dangerous Lover
The Husband Dilemma Series
How to Fool a Duke
Season of Scandal Series
Pursued by the Rake
Abandoned to the Prodigal
Married to the Rogue
Unmasked by her Lover
Imperial Season Series
Vienna Waltz
Vienna Woods
Vienna Dawn
Blackhaven Brides Series
The Wicked Baron
The Wicked Lady
The Wicked Rebel
The Wicked Husband
The Wicked Marquis
The Wicked Governess
The Wicked Spy
The Wicked Gypsy
The Wicked Wife
Wicked Christmas (A Novella)
The Wicked Waif
The Wicked Heir
The Wicked Captain
The Wicked Sister
Unmarriageable Series
The Deserted Heart
The Sinister Heart
The Vulgar Heart
The Broken Heart
The Weary Heart
The Secret Heart
Christmas Heart
The Lyon’s Den Connected World
Fed to the Lyon
De Wolfe Pack: The Series
The Wicked Wolfe
Vienna Wolfe
Also from Mary Lancaster
Madeleine
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Publisher’s Note
Additional Dragonblade books by Author Mary Lancaster
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
About Mary Lancaster
Chapter One
Rollo Darblay’s life was unraveling.
He was very aware of that as he weaved his way to a comfortable-looking sofa in one of the Renwick Hotel’s empty public rooms and set down the brandy bottle and glass on the table beside it. Having sloshed a decent measure into the glass, he folded himself onto the sofa to think.
This involved much focus on his brandy glass and a great deal of scowling. So, it was some time before he noticed the movement in the room and glanced up.
A golden lady shimmered in front of him and froze like a hunted deer before it bolts. As he blinked, the dazzling vision, probably caused by the array of candles behind her, resolved into a young lady wearing a charming evening gown of old gold silk. Her hair was not golden, but a dark blonde. He guessed her age to be just beyond twenty, and though her face lacked the kind of prettiness that usually attracted his roving attention, she was definitely pleasing to the eye. In a refined kind of way. She appeared to have been in the process of sneaking out of the room when he had looked up and caught her.
He grinned and rose to his feet with gratifying steadiness. “Don’t leave on my account, ma’am. Utterly harmless, I assure you.”
The lady unfroze into a much more regal posture, which for some reason aroused his erratic chivalry.
“Have to tell you, though,” he said severely, “you shouldn’t be wandering around here alone.”
Her eyebrows flew up. “My good sir, it is you who should not be here. This is the ladies’ sitting room.”
He blinked, then let out a crack of laughter. “Well, if that doesn’t put the icing on my cake. I beg your pardon, ma’am, but you still shouldn’t hang around here. There’s a party of bosky fellows just across the hall.”
A twinkle of amusement flashed in the lady’s eyes. “Is there?” she marveled.
Which was when Rollo realized one could hear the clank of glasses and bursts of masculine laughter through the door he had left open. Nor was he blind to the irony of warning her against drunks, so he allowed an answering twinkle into his own eyes. “What the deuce is a ladies’ sitting room anyway?”
“A place where ladies who might be traveling alone may sit and enjoy or ignore each other’s company. There is usually a superior maid who sits by the door as chaperone, but I suppose it has grown late.”
He frowned in fresh disapproval. “I hope you are not traveling alone.”
“Indeed not. I am with a very respectable lady who retired early to bed—I think the journey has been too much for her—and I confess I was bored.”
“Know the feeling,” Rollo said sympathetically.
“You do not enjoy your own party?”
“Oh, I wasn’t invited. I just joined them for a while, and they were amiable enough to welcome me. Didn’t help, though.”
“Didn’t help what?” she asked.
Rollo sighed. “Devil of a day. I beg your pardon, deuce of a day. Join me?” He raised his glass.
“Ah, no, thank you. I don’t believe that would be wise.”
“True,” Rollo allowed. “Well, at least sit down, then.”
“I don’t think that would be wise either.”
Rollo considered. “Probably not. I’m not at all the thing, and I’m a trifle foxed besides. Still, if we’re both bored, what harm is there in ten minutes’ talk with the door open?”
“You make a persuasive case,” the lady said gravely, although her eyes danced. Rather fine eyes that were neither green nor blue, but a brilliant combination of the two. Rollo began to like her. “Although since we have not been introduced…”
“Rollo Darblay,” he said at once with a small bow, sincerely hoping she had never heard of him.
If she had, she was too polite to reveal her dismay. She gave the merest dip of a curtsey. “Gina Wallace.”
“Gina is a pretty name.”
“It’s better than Virginia.”
To his relief, she actually sat in the nearest chair—well, balanced somewhat nervously on the edge of it—and Rollo sank back onto the sofa with a sigh.
“What made your day so difficult?” she asked.
He scowled with fresh remembrance. “More than a day. Insoluble problems, Miss Wallace.”
“Does brandy usually help them?”
His eyebrows flew up, and he was surprised into another breath of genuine laughter.
“I’m sorry,” she said with what seemed to be genuine contrition. “I must sound like your mother.”
“Lord, no, my mother would be t
“So, what brought you here to Renwick’s Hotel?”
Nothing he said seemed to shock her, which was both endearing and challenging. So, he opted for the truth. “An assignation, but I might as well have stayed in town.”
“Did she bore you?” Miss Wallace asked.
“Never got the chance to,” Rollo admitted. “She never came. Sent a note she had decided to stay with some other fellow who’s plumper in the pocket than your humble servant. Which is not difficult.”
Her gaze swept over him. “You do not look like a poor man.”
“No, well, that’s part of the problem. Didn’t know how deep the rot went until my father died.”
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “Did he die recently?”
“A month or so ago.” He reached for his glass again and scowled at it. “And every day brings fresh revelations of doom. I came to escape, just for a day or two. Stupid, really, but there it is. What of you, Miss Wallace? Are you traveling to or from town?”
“To.”
“To catch the rest of the Season?”
“Something like that.” A rather sad little smile flickered across her lips and was gone. “Would it surprise you to know I am to be married?”
“Surprises me more you’re not married already. Who’s the lucky fellow?”
“I don’t think I should tell you that until things are formalized.”
Rollo fixed his eyes on her face. “Do you like him?”
“I barely know him. He is…older than I.”
“Does that bother you?”
It was an odd question, so he wasn’t surprised she looked startled. But she still answered. “Yes. It does. Wouldn’t it bother you?”
Rollo gave a crooked smile. “Yes. It does. Why are you marrying him, then? Saving the family fortune?”
“On the contrary. My family aspires to the nobility.”
“Not all it’s cracked up to be,” Rollo warned with a deprecating gesture to his person.
Her eyes widened again. “You are nobility?”
“Viscount. Stunning, is it not? Only recently inherited the title, of course. So, who are your people?”
She looked him in the eye. “Nouveau riche. My father owns cotton mills, with fingers in several other commercial pies.”
Rollo’s gaze fell to his glass, and at last, he knocked back half the contents. “My world looks down on those like you who aspire to nobility, but it doesn’t stop us from seizing your wealth if we can get our greedy, superior mitts on it. I expect your world secretly looks down on us as over-proud wastrels, incapable of shifting for ourselves.”
“Do you?” she asked.
“Do I what?” he asked, having lost his thread in contemplation of another idea.
“Look down on me?”
“Lord, no. Though I confess I’m not keen on the rich cits’ daughters and widows paraded in front of me by my mother.”
“Why not?”
“Well, one is a trifle long in the tooth, and the other some screeching schoolgirl. Don’t misunderstand me—I’m no catch, and I’m sure they’re estimable ladies, but the prospect of being married to either sent me straight to—” He broke off, remembering in the nick of time to whom he was speaking.
“To here,” she finished for him, “and an assignation with someone more congenial.”
He eyed her, a smile lingering on his lips for her understanding. “That was my plan. But like the others, it hasn’t exactly worked out.” His other idea popped back into his head. “Are you really bored, Miss Wallace?”
“Why?”
“Because straight from boredom to an unappealing marriage to please your family is no better for you than for me. And a short walk from the hotel is a pleasure garden.” He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, since his watch had stopped working. “It is Saturday and not quite eleven, so we can even dance at the masked ball.”
Miss Wallace, who had gradually relaxed into her chair as they talked, shot suddenly forward and glared at him. “Certainly not!”
*
The young man had, so far, proved to be both unexpected and entertaining. He had sauntered into the room as if he owned it, totally ignoring her as he threw himself onto the sofa with an oddly boyish grace and proceeded to stare broodingly into his glass.
That was when he had taken her breath away, for there was nothing remotely boyish about his face, which was black-browed and dramatically handsome. In fact, he was the most beautiful male Gina had ever seen. Butterflies had soared in her stomach, both a pleasure and a warning. His dark, glittering eyes had told her he was not sober, and both his air and careless, expensive dress proclaimed him one of those entitled men of fashion she had been warned about.
So, although he had no right to be here, she had no intention of pointing it out. Instead, she had eased to her feet and crept toward the door. And when he had finally glanced up with confusion, she had been taken even further by surprise to glimpse a hint of sadness that amounted to despair.
That was what had frozen her to the spot. And been her undoing. Now he was inviting her to replace his absent mistress. But her outraged refusal did not quite have the effect she had imagined, even when she jumped angrily to her feet.
He only grinned and rose with her. “Don’t get in a miff. I’m not offering to seduce you.”
Heat flamed through her face. Seduced by him? Dear God, what would that entail? “Then what exactly are you offering?” she demanded.
“To escort you through a well-lit path in the gardens and dance,” he said patiently. “If you don’t care for the idea, don’t come, but it would be more fun with you.”
Back-footed again, she stared at him. No one had found her fun since childhood had vanished. “It would? Would you not rather dance with other females who might…” She broke off, blushing even more furiously. Heaven help her, what had she been about to say?
But the viscount’s eyes merely danced with genuine amusement. “Other females who might be prepared to oblige me?” he suggested.
“Sir, you are a very improper person.” Which, stupidly, intrigued rather than frightened her.
“I am,” he allowed. “Going to the devil for years. Ask anyone. But you’ll be quite safe with me. You remind me of my sisters.”
For some reason, that didn’t quite please her either.
“Besides,” he added. “Notion’s gone off me. Nothing like rejection to cool the ardor. Though I suppose I shouldn’t be talking to you like that either.”
“Nor to your sisters,” she warned.
He appeared to think about that. “Don’t think the topic’s ever come up,” he said at last. “Which is probably just as well because you’re quite right.”
“Are you a rake, sir?”
He shrugged. “Lord, I don’t know. I’m told people usually call me a rakehell. I expect that’s worse. Point is, never ruined anyone in my life, and not about to start.”
“My lord, if I go anywhere alone with you, let alone to a pleasure garden ball, I will be ruined without your laying a finger on me.”
“Not if you’re not seen. And that’s the beauty of the Maida balls. They’re masked.”
“Really?” She didn’t mean to sound so intrigued, and it won her an encouraging grin from the reprobate opposite, who took a step closer.
“Really. The hotel will lend us domino cloaks and masks if we ask, and no one will be any the wiser.”
A long-buried yearning for mischief, combined with a romantic notion of masquerade balls, threatened to overcome her natural wariness of a strange man who was a self-confessed rakehell. A rakehell who was already more than a trifle foxed.
And who hid, behind both concentrated scowls and the sparkle of youthful devilry, a profound sadness that spoke to her own. They were both desperate and under pressure to sacrifice themselves for family. Which was no reason to walk stupidly into the lion’s den.
She refocused on his face to find him smiling ruefully down at her. He was intimidatingly tall, yet she had the feeling he didn’t realize it. And in fact, she wasn’t intimidated at all.
“Don’t come if you’d rather not,” he said gently. “I can finish my brandy with you instead or just leave you in peace in your ladies’ sitting room.”
And suddenly the thought of being left alone again with her silly novel and her dread of the future was intolerable.
