Page 94 of Lyon of Least Resistance

“N-no, but I wonder if she knows her own heart. An infatuation should not be mistaken for love.”

“I’m sure your interference is well intentioned,” he said, his voice firm, “but it is interference nonetheless. I think my sister can tell the difference between a mere fancy and genuine affection, even if you cannot.”

Cordelia caught her breath, and he winced.

“Forgive me,” he said, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

“But you said it nonetheless, which is appropriate, given what I am,” she said bitterly. “It’s what I shall always be—a woman with no understanding of love, who is only capable of selling her body then using the proceeds to purchase herself a titled husband.”

He caught her hand. “Please…it wasn’t my intention to treat you like a doxy.”

“Nevertheless, you just did.”

“James!” a voice called from within, and he frowned.

“Go inside,” Cordelia said. “Your sister and your guests are waiting.”

“Our guests.”

She shook her head. “No, James. They’re the guests of Viscount and Viscountess Bedford. And at present, I feel as if I’m anything but a viscountess.”

He hesitated.

“Go,” Cordelia said. “For the sake of propriety.”

“James!” Georgiana called again.

“I’ll speak to you later,” James said, patting Cordelia’s hand. “Go and join the ladies in the drawing room.”

“As you wish.”

He nodded, then followed the party inside.

Cordelia waited until his footsteps had faded. Then she glanced around the garden. If only she could remain outside, away from these people. James was ashamed of her, Georgiana loathed her, and the rest of the party—even the countess—would despise her if they knew what she was.

You may have a few more obstacles to overcome, but that’s half the enjoyment—overcoming them together. And overcome them you will, my dear.

Recalling the countess’s words, Cordelia dabbed her eyes, then slipped inside the building, making her way to the drawing room. She turned a corner in the hallway and collided with a solid object.

“Oh!” she cried out as a pair of hands grasped her upper arms. Then she glanced up into a familiar pair of pale-blue eyes.

“You ought to watch where you’re going, m’dear.”

“Yes, th-thank you, Sir Iain.”

“No trouble at all, Viscountess Bedford,” he said, grinning, and Cordelia’s stomach churned at the stench of cologne. “Or should I call you Dahlia?”

“I-I don’t know what you—”

“Come, come, my sweet little flower,” he said, pulling her close. “I’d recognize those tits anywhere, even if they’re not bared to me.”

“You shouldn’t speak in such a manner, Sir Iain,” Cordelia said. “It’s most unseemly for…”

“For what, m’dear? For a man to refer to a whore’s tits, or for a whore to masquerade as a viscountess?”

She tried to step back, but he tightened his grip.

“Let me go,” she said. “Someone might see.”