The Kiss of a Viscount (The Daughters of the Aristocracy) by Linda Rae Sande Page A

removed the hand from between her breasts and held it out to him. With it no longer covering the most beautiful cleavage George had seen the entire night, he was able to sneak a glance at the gentle swell of the tops of her rising moons as he brushed his lips over the back of the cream kid glove. He felt his loins tighten and had to swallow in an effort to regain control of himself.
    “Lady Elizabeth ... Carlington,” she responded as she curtsied, not taking back her hand with any kind of haste.
    The sound of a stuttering snore tore George from his reverie, and he dared look to his left. Lord Witherspoon had fallen asleep, no doubt suffering from the same boredom the rest in the House of Lords seemed to be experiencing before the Lord Chancellor finally moved to the next order of business. The boredom drove him back into his daydream.
    With his first sight of Elizabeth, George knew she was her own glorious sun, her smile and auburn hair radiating light and warmth as she moved effortlessly across the ballroom floor. Unfortunately, at the moment he saw her for the first time, her planet was Wellingham. With his butter blond curls, bright blue eyes and once boyish features finally hardening into handsome lines, the young earl was a perfect contrast to Lady Elizabeth’s coloring. Given their families’ status in the ton – her the daughter of a marquess and him the Earl of Trenton – they were a perfect match.
    George found himself wondering when the engagement would be announced.
    And quite suddenly, a curl of jealousy formed within his belly. It was an unfamiliar sensation, one that had him feeling a bit annoyed and a bit off-kilter and just a bit ... possessive. What the hell is wrong with me? he wondered suddenly. I only danced with her . And he planned to send a contribution to her charity, anonymously, if her father wasn’t funding it as George suspected.
    But there had been that wonderful conversation during the supper, and the look in her eyes when he’d rescued her from the duke, and the way she’d said, “George.” A man could do no better than Lady Elizabeth Carlington, he had found himself thinking the night before, just before the second waltz.
    And the Earl of Trenton had apparently come to the same conclusion.
    The thought again rankled George. Why should he allow the earl to court Lady Elizabeth unfettered? I have as much right to court her as any other unmarried man in the ton .
    Well, he did if her father would give his permission. And if she allowed him to, of course.
    George shook himself out of his reverie, so startled by his thoughts of courtship that he had to take a quick glance about the chambers to be sure he hadn’t said something aloud. Court Lady Elizabeth? What could he be thinking? Even if Josephine thought he needed to find a wife, did he really need to right now? Courting meant an eventual engagement which invariably led to marriage which usually resulted in a nursery full of children and a life of never-ending responsibility. He’d prided himself on having successfully avoided the state of matrimony for the nine years during which he could have been legally leg-shackled.
    And who was he to think he could court Lady Elizabeth when the Earl of Trenton seemed ready to ask for her hand? George was merely a viscount. With a net worth maybe a third of the earl’s and an ugly puss for a face ...
    Well, ugly might be a strong word, he amended, remembering that Josephine thought him quite handsome when he smiled.
    But he certainly couldn’t hold a candle to Butter Blond’s fair complexion, blue eyes and those curls that seemed to have all the young ladies of the ton batting their lashes at him. George wondered if they did it in order to create enough wind so that his hair might be blown out of place, forcing him to notice them as he strolled by.
    The Earl of Trenton was the epitome of what the ladies of the ton found most appealing.
    The very first Season that George spent time in London