Page 9 of Vanquishing the Viscount

Brazen it out.

“So,” she said, lifting her gaze to his and smiling pleasantly, “I see you are recovered from your concussion. I assume you’ve recalled your name?”

His eyes were pure granite as he glared down at her, his face set like stone. Even in anger, his features were incredibly handsome.

Which only made her even more wary of him.

“If there ever was a concussion,” he growled, moving toward her threateningly.

“Of course there was. My brother is—”

“Studying to be a doctor. Yes, so you mentioned. But your diagnosis, whether right or wrong, has cost me dear.”

She lifted her chin higher. “I don’t see how me possibly saving your life could have been more than a minor inconvenience.”

“Then please, let me explain.”

But she was not to hear his explanation, for at that moment the sound of raised voices came from the passageway outside the schoolroom door.

Could tonight get any worse? She recognized Charles’s voice and that of his father. In a heartbeat, they would be in the room and discover her in a state of dishabille—and alone with a man.

She’d be turned out before breakfast and would have to return to Tresham in shame and humiliation.

Swift as a striking snake, her companion caught her by the elbow and dragged her behind the long schoolroom curtains.

Not a moment too soon. She heard the door open, and when she peeped through the crack between the heavy drapes, she saw Charles and Mr. Keane enter the room.

Her captor held her about the waist with one arm while his free hand pressed against her lips. Not that she needed any warning to make not a sound. She was no more desirous of being caught in a compromising position with him than he was with her.

How fortunate that she and he were enemies. She was experiencing the same heady excitement she’d felt when Elias placed his hands on her waist. Only now, the feeling was somehow heightened by the precariousness of their situation.

She forced her limbs into rigidity and held her breath, silently praying neither Mr. Keane nor his son came anywhere near the window. The last thing she wanted was to be forcibly leg-shackled to the abominable man who held her.

Mr. Keane was saying angrily, “I’ve been watching you flirt with every woman under the age of forty tonight. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you making eyes at Miss Hibbert, as well. I’ve told you before, it’s high time you stopped frittering your life away and settled down to either a useful occupation or a home and family. Remember, no lady of quality will take you if they discover you’ve been interfering with the servants.”

Charles huffed and said, “Why do you have to bring up that old chestnut again? I’ve told you time and again I wasn’t the father of that slut’s babe, no matter how much she begged and wept and told you I was. It was a convincing display, but a false one, and I’m certain the culprit was an itinerant farm laborer. I have better taste than to lie with a servant.”

Mr. Keane exhaled heavily. “Even so, Charles, we can’t risk gossip. Several of our friends have mentioned the rumor to me tonight, and I’ve put them off as best I could, but your behavior seems to confirm rather than deny the gossip about you.”

Emma shivered. Overhearing this private conversation was awful. She shouldn’t be here. Nor should the man who kept her clamped firmly to his side. They should make their presence known before anything more damning was revealed. Regardless of the unpleasant consequences.

She pulled at the arm that held her, but the gentleman’s grip was unyielding. Her hip pressed against his thigh, and she could feel the heat of him seeping through her nightgown, invading her with masculine certainty and allure.

Allure? Great heaven, the man was not that attractive.

No, she was just overwhelmed by the situation. Not overpowered by a compelling masculinity that made her knees weaken and her heart throb painfully.

Absolutely not. She was not susceptible to such things. Not anymore.

This man was clearly her enemy.

Capable of ruining her life.

Far too arrogantly handsome to be trustworthy.

Mr. Keane continued, “You’d have no time for dalliances if you were gainfully occupied, Charles. I know your mama would be only too happy to have you out from under her feet. She finds the children wearying enough as it is, what with Willie’s bad cough and her own weak nerves. And may I advise you not to rely on your Aunt Letitia’s legacy—she’s apt to change her mind at the drop of a hat.”

“Shall I run away to sea, then?” Charles retorted. “Or join the army? Would that satisfy you—that your eldest son should be maimed or killed just because he enjoyed female company and was a distraction to his mother?”