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“Who or what has put that scowl on your face?” Thomas asked, coming over to Graham.
He smoothed his expression into what he hoped was a serene countenance. “I thought you were occupied paying court to Miss Middleton.”
Thomas smiled broadly. “She is a lovely creature to be sure, but it was only a dance. Alas she is not for me.”
Graham arched a brow. “Too witty?”
Thomas scoffed. “That is not even the half of it, I fear she is even better read than I am and that my friend will not do. My wife will hang onto my sleeves, enraptured by my words. I fear Miss Middleton was hardly entranced with my retelling of the story of Hades and Persephone. The damn chit even corrected me at a few points.”
Graham smiled, absurdly pleased, a state he was not willing to closely examine.
Thomas leaned in closer. “And the word about is that her family is broke.”
Graham’s gaze cut toward where she stood by the refreshment table with her sister. They were both glaring at their mother who now sat with a couple other ladies on chaise longue watching the dancers. His father had taken a young lady to the dance floor, but the viscountess did not look miserable. In truth she looked positively bored. Graham gritted his teeth. His father wore his heart on his sleeve for her while she appeared at best indifferent to his presence.
“Is that Viscount Worsley?” Thomas asked. “I am astonished he could be parted from his gambling hell.”
“He is recently married.”
Thomas’s jaw slackened. “Viscount Worsley married? I would more believe you saw a flying pig.”
He chuckled understanding his friend’s astonishment. The Viscount was known for his profligacy and wildness. The man owned one of the most notorious gambling and fighting club. “You should believe it. The news was all about Town only a few weeks ago.”
“What is he doing here? I still owe his club several hundred pounds,” Thomas muttered, tugging at his cravat, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
“They were visiting his wife’s relatives in the area whe
n their carriage damaged a wheel. They’ve put up here for the night while repairs are done.”
Graham had been pleased to invite Worsley and his lovely wife, who had been thrilled to know of the soiree, to stay. “Lord Worsley said they will be moving on tomorrow. If you want to fall at his feet and beg for debt forgiveness, tomorrow morning would be the time.”
A glance at Thomas revealed one of his hands pressed to his chest and his mouth parted in amazement. “Is that rather pretty creature his wife?”
Graham smiled. “That is his viscountess, yes.”
A ravishing lady indeed with her midnight black hair piled high in a riot of curls atop her head, and her voluptuous figure draped in a silken dark green gown. Worsley led his wife to the dancefloor, and the way they peered at each other was almost embarrassing to observe. The man had a reputation of being wild and rakish where the ton had given him the moniker ‘the wicked Viscount’. Even when the newssheet had broken the news of his marriage, the headline had screamed: The Sins of Viscount Worsley, for it had astonished them a man of such profligacy had married a vicar’s daughter. To see him now staring at his wife with such lascivious adoration filled Graham with a sense of longing. What would it be like to invest such feelings and attention into one person?
He allowed his gaze to stray to Miss Middleton. Graham stiffened. She was scampering out of the ballroom, casting determined glances at her mother and his father. The minx!
“Excuse me,” he muttered to Thomas, and hurried after her without being too obvious. The last thing he wanted was for the guests to speculate on their joint disappearances.
He caught up to her just as she entered the library and shut the door behind her. Opening it silently, he closed it with a snick and leaned against the door. She sat in his father’s chair and opened the top drawer, rifling the content.
“Up to more mischief I see,” he murmured. “This I believe calls for some sort of punishment.”
Graham admired her composure. She did not scream even though her alarm was evident.
Lowering the hand pressed over her chest, she said, “You!”
“Yes, me. Must we always meet like this, hmm?”
She closed the drawer and narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you follow me?”
“Of course.”
“And whatever did you mean by ‘this calls for punishment’. Surely you jest.”
Abandoning her scheme, Miss Middleton stood and sauntered toward him. Her scent of lavender and something mouthwatering and elusive assailed his senses. Sweet Mercy. “Were you not reneging on our agreement?”
