The Dangerous Viscount by Miranda Neville

“I feared it might be a mistake but Mrs. Pynchon assured me it was the latest thing. I knew I should have consulted Chantal first but she was in such a bad mood last time I asked for her advice on a hat.”
    “Never mind her moods. Next time, take her word over the milliner’s.”
    “Is it that bad?”
    For a moment Diana strove for tact, but some things were beyond her abilities. “It looks like a pineapple top in a dish of raspberries.”
    “That is exactly what Robert said.”
    “Forget my maid, listen to your husband. Clearly he has a better grasp of fashion than you.”
    “That’s the saddest thing I ever heard. Is Blakeney here?”
    “No, he’s gone to Leicestershire for a week’s cubbing.”
    “Lord, the sports never stop. Are you sure you want to marry him?”
    “He’s worth it.”
    Marianne leaned in confidentially. “I only ask because if you decided you couldn’t bear the hours listening to him rhapsodize about the nobility of dead foxes, you might want to consider this new viscount everyone’s talking about.”
    “Oh?” Diana murmured, only half attending. Compton was getting closer. She willed him to notice the red velvet bandeau entwined with black pearls and adorned with a diamond spray. Chantal had assured her the effect was scintillating and not at all vulgar. Chantal was never wrong.
    “He only just inherited. Apparently he has a large estate and a really big coal mine.”
    Diana owned shares in a couple of mines and their product was far prettier. She patted her diamond necklace.
    “And,” Marianne continued, “he’s quite nice-looking and very well dressed. Tall. Better still, Susan Bellamy says he’s conversable. He had her whole group in stitches with his comments on the antics of the ministry. She said she laughed so much she hardly noticed the spectacles.”
    “What did you say he was called?” Diana asked sharply.
    “I don’t think I did. Iverley. Viscount Iverley. No one ever saw the old one who was an uncle of some sort. Lived in the north and was said to be a mad recluse.”
    This could not be true. Not even an enormous coal mine could make the levelheaded, if taste-deficient,Marianne describe Sebastian Iverley as well dressed. Not to mention those powers of conversation with strangers. Of course, Sebastian had spoken quite easily with her but that was different.
    Wasn’t it?
    It couldn’t be him. Some other nephew had inherited the peerage. Another tall nephew. With spectacles. Poor eyesight must run in the family.
    She looked up through a gap in the crowd and with a sense of inevitability she saw him, a tall man in beautifully tailored black evening clothes, a red embroidered waistcoat, and a new haircut. The steel-rimmed spectacles had been replaced with a striking pair carved from tortoiseshell. Yet without a doubt this vision of masculine elegance was Sebastian Iverley.
    He threaded his way in her direction with a smile on his face.
    Marianne sighed. “Look at the breadth of those shoulders. And his legs! I love a man with good legs. And I’ve never really thought of it before, but spectacles draw attention to a well-sculpted face. He has the most beautiful cheekbones. And a lovely smile. Very shapely lips.”
    She was right about the lips. Diana had noticed them before. More than noticed them. A glow kindled in her chest. Was it possible this transformation had been undertaken on her behalf? That was something, she had to admit, that impressed a woman.
    He was quite close now. She drew herself up, preparing a welcoming smile for the man who, the last time they met, had kissed her.
    He bowed. “Lady Gee,” he said.
    And walked straight past Diana without noticing her.
    “And Lady Felicia,” he continued. “I am so pleased to see you again. It’s been many weeks since those enjoyable days we spent together at Mandeville.”
    Georgina positively simpered. “My dear Lord Iverley, as we must now remember to call you. What a delightful surprise. Those were