Seducing the Viscount by Alexandra Ivy

his expression guarded.
    â€œWas my mother merely a meaningless body in your bed, or did you care for her at all?”
    There was a long, painful silence. Long enough that Ian steeled himself to be ignored. It would not be the first occasion his father had offered a cold rebuff.
    Then, without warning, his father gave a slow nod of his head. “Actually, I loved her very much, Ian.”
    Ian released a breath he did not even know that he was holding. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick with a genuine gratitude. “It’s stupid that it matters. . . .”
    â€œBut it does?”
    â€œYes. Yes, it does.”
    â€œThen know that she will always hold a place in my heart.”
    With his soft words delivered, Norrington slipped from the room and closed the door behind him.
    Left on his own, Ian moved to pour himself another shot of whiskey.
    During his journey to Surrey, his greatest fear had been expiring of boredom. There were few things more tedious than spending day after day in the country, especially when he was to be stuck in the marble mausoleum called Rosehill.
    And not even the anticipation of uncovering his father’s sins could offer more than a vague hope for entertainment.
    Boredom . . .
    His crack of laughter echoed through the silent room.

Chapter 7
    Despite her best efforts, Mercy found herself lingering in the library long after she should have been in bed.
    It was perfectly absurd.
    Ian Breckford might have made an appearance at dinner and even have stayed long enough to play a game of chess with his aunt before bolting for the village pub, but as far as Mercy was concerned he might as well have been half a world away.
    Never in her life had she ever been quite so thoroughly ignored. There had not been a word, or a touch, or even a glance the entire night. Which meant that it had to be intentional. No one could so assiduously avoid another without a great deal of effort.
    Still, she found herself ridiculously hurt when she at last conceded defeat and climbed the stairs to her chambers.
    Did the aggravating man fear she might force herself upon him at the dinner table? For heaven’s sake, he had already made it obvious he did not consider her worthy to capture his jaded attentions. Did he have to rub her nose in his indifference?
    Once in her rooms, she changed into the sensible night rail that was beginning to fray about the hem and brushed her hair into a tidy braid. Then, rather than climbing into her bed, she studied her reflection in the mirror.
    In the flickering candlelight she could make out the pale oval of her face and the dark slant of her eyes. Nothing remarkable, of course. But surely not hideous, either.
    So why was she continually overlooked, disregarded, or outright rejected by gentlemen?
    What the devil was the matter with her?
    Ignoring the knowledge that her father would be deeply disapproving of her display of vanity, Mercy continued to search her reflection for her fatal flaw, nearly missing the soft tap on her door as she remained lost in her broodings.
    There was no mistaking, however, when the door was abruptly pushed open to reveal the gentleman currently plaguing her thoughts.
    â€œIan.” She awkwardly surged to her feet, her gaze widening at the sight of his disheveled appearance.
    Sometime during the evening he had lost his cravat as well as his elegant jacket and waistcoat. Now he was attired in nothing more than a thin linen shirt that revealed a disturbing amount of his wide, smooth chest and a pair of breeches that clung to the hard muscles of his thighs with an unnerving precision.
    Her stomach clenched with a giddy awareness as she lifted her gaze to take in the tousled raven curls and the shadowed line of his jaw.
    He looked raw and dangerous and utterly delectable.
    â€œI saw the light beneath your door. . . .”
    â€œFor heaven’s sake come in or out before anyone notices you,” she interrupted, annoyed by her