Page 15 of A Viscount’s Reluctant Passion

Chapter Seven

The door to the library was barely open – an inch or less – when Nash reached it. He put his hand out to push it open, when a muffled sound from within made him hesitate – he would not wish to intrude on an assignation. Then the sound came again – this time clearer. And it sounded to him very much like a woman’s voice – saying ‘NO!’.

A voice that he knew very well.

He stepped through the door, and closed it firmly behind him. Whatever was occurring in the library should not be exposed to public view. Across the room, on a couch near the fire, a man held a woman in a close embrace, his lips locked to hers. But it was immediately clear that the woman, most definitely Miss Beatrice Wormsley, was not a willing participant in the kiss. As Nash stood, frozen in shock for a moment, she desperately tried to turn her head aside, as her hands futilely pushed at the man’s chest.

He snapped out of the shock, and was across the room in moments, one hand grasping the man – Lord Walter Winterbourne, he now saw - by the back of his jacket at the neck, and the other poised to deliver a punishing blow should the man resist.

The cad had been so intent upon his ravishment that he was not aware of Nash’s presence until he found himself half choked by his own cravat. Lord Walter’s hands released Miss Wormsley to scrabble at his throat, as he attempted to turn to see who held him. Miss Wormsley wisely vacated the couch, and removed herself to stand, wide eyed, some distance away.

Nash gave Winterbourne a shake, as a dog might shake a rat it held. The man uttered a gurgling noise of distress. Nash released the pressure on his throat, but still held him firmly. There were, he thought, some benefits to years spent going about the estates with the estate managers and farmers – he was far stronger than Winterbourne.

“You, Winterbourne, are a despicable cad. It was most obvious to me that the lady did not welcome your attentions. What was your intent with such behaviour?”

Winterbourne snarled, and looked to Miss Wormsley as he spoke.

“Like most women, it’s all for show. Surely you’ve heard the gossip – she’s a stableboy’s by-blow, and should be grateful for whatever attentions a man of the aristocracy offers her. If you say anything, I’ll say that she lured me here, seeking to compromise me into marriage. Her reputation will be ruined, unless she marries me. And I am generous enough to even consider doing so.”

Nash narrowed his eyes at the man, and Miss Wormsley gasped at his words.

“I did not! I would not! He said that he wanted to court me, and I did not wish to speak of such things in the middle of the dancing. I was most unsure of my feelings. He suggested that we come here. I was a fool to trust him. I could never, never, marry him, now that I know the truth of his character!”

Nash turned back to Winterbourne, wondering just why the man would have done such a foolish thing as try to ravish the girl, when he had already been trying to court her. Unless… unless he needed the dowry, sooner rather than later. There was one way to test whether this was about money, for money was a resource which Nash had in abundance.

“Winterbourne, you have heard Miss Wormsley’s words. You will respect them. She has no wish for your attentions.”

“She’ll have no choice when I tell them all that she lured me here.”

“Oh, but she will – for you will not mention this interlude to anyone.”

“And why would I not?”

“Because I will write you a draft on my bank, immediately, for two thousand pounds and you will sign an agreement to never speak ill or gossip of any kind about Miss Wormsley.”

Nash ignore Miss Wormsley’s squeak of shock and studied Winterbourne, who still half dangled in his grasp. The man’s eyes were alight with calculation, and greed. So, he did need money. Nash wondered how much. If Winterbourne accepted this payment, he would no doubt seek more later.

It would seem to him an excellent opportunity for extortion. But if he accepted it now, it would buy Nash time to investigate the man’s financial affairs, and buy up his debts. Nash waited. After a moment, Winterbourne growled low in his throat.

“You have my agreement, Lord Challoner. I hope that you are happy with what your money is buying.”

Winterbourne’s eyes had gone to Miss Wormsley as he said those words, and Nash fought his desire to plant the man a facer on the spot. Instead, he spoke softly.

“Miss Wormsley, please see if there is paper and ink in this room.”

She turned, and went to the escritoire which stood near a window, and soon returned with paper, pen, and ink. Nash dropped Winterbourne onto the couch, shoved a side-table in front of him, and instructed him to write. Only once the man had signed his agreement and handed it to Nash, did Nash write out the draft on his bank.

He handed it to Winterbourne, who waved it gently to dry the ink, then folded it, and slipped it into his pocket.

“It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Lord Challoner.”

“It is not a pleasure doing business with you, Winterbourne. Now get out. And straighten your cravat before you do.”

Winterbourne glared, but reached up and adjusted his attire, then left the room without a further word.

Nash turned to Miss Wormsley, who stood but a few steps away, nervously smoothing her gown back into place. Their eyes met, and all else fell away. When he had seen her in Winterbourne’s grasp….

Nash took two large steps forward, and drew her gently into his arms. He had worried that she might push him away, after her experience with Winterbourne, but she did not. Instead, she melted against him, and turned her face up to his. He kissed her, unable to stop himself.