woman can possibly be.
There was no point in making a scene, but she couldn’t resist whispering through clenched teeth, “You ought not to have used my real maiden name when you introduced me. For all the Wimblys knew, I might have been anyone. You could have told them we met on the boat home from India.”
Why hadn’t she thought to construct a workable alias and school him on it ahead of time? Too distracted by her new wardrobe and glimpses of Greydon Quinn without one, she supposed.
“How could I give you a false name?” He cast her a puzzled frown. “The ton is really a very small world, even abroad. There may be someone here who already knows you. We’d fool no one.”
“We certainly won’t now.” Her strained smile hurt her face. “You’re right about Lady Wimbly. She’s not the sort to keep a secret. The whole ton will know we’re larking about the Continent together.”
“And?”
“What do you think will happen to me when it’s noised about that we are not really married?”
“Oh.”
“A light dawns.” Men never had to worry about their reputations. In fact, his would probably be enhanced by the peccadillo. There was no justice in the world.
“Let me get you a cup of tea,” Quinn said as he settled her on a chair near the window. “That’s the ticket.”
As if tea would help.
As soon as he was gone, she stood and looked out the window. Her mother would hear about it. People who’d avoided the dowager countess since she fell into poverty would make a beeline to their humble town house door to make sure she knew what her daughter was up to on the Continent.
Things couldn’t be worse.
“Viola Preston, is that you?”
She was wrong. She recognized that voice. Things were definitely worse.
She pasted a smile on her face and turned around, extending her hand to him. “Neville, how nice to see you. Or are you Lord Sudbury by now?”
“No, and I may never be.” Neville kissed the back of her hand and smiled the devastating smile that had once overturned her world. “My uncle the marquis has married again. His nurse, no less, and gotten the woman with child to boot.” His smile turned wicked and Viola’s belly did a flip out of old habit. “Of course, the events may have occurred in a somewhat different order, but if the brat is a boy, I shall have to remain simple Neville Beauchamp.”
He hadn’t changed a bit. And he was anything but simple. He’d certainly complicated her life to shreds. Tall, well-favored, his curly blond hair rampant over his golden head, Neville was as strikingly handsome as the day he’d seduced her out of her maidenhead.
He leaned toward her and whispered, “Who’d have thought the randy old goat still had it in him?”
Her lips twitched in spite of herself. Neville was always amusing, always dancing on the wrong side of respectable. It was part of his charm.
“What are you doing in Paris?” she asked.
“I’m the ambassador’s secretary. Lord Cowley’s right hand, as it were.” He leaned a hand on the wall behind her, trapping her with his body and lowered his voice. “You look marvelous, Viola. More lovely than I remembered. And I remember quite a lot.”
“Neville, please.” Her cheeks were so hot, she knew her face must be scarlet.
“Where are you staying? We must meet. I can get away tomorrow afternoon if—”
“Here you are, love.” Quinn appeared behind Neville and stepped around him smoothly, shouldering him out of the way. He handed a cup of tea to Viola.
“Pardon me, old boy.” He turned back to Neville who stutterstepped back a pace. “Didn’t see you there.”
Quinn put a possessive arm around Viola’s waist and bared his teeth at Neville. No one would mistake the expression for a smile. “Who’s this, darling?”
Viola swallowed hard and hoped her voice wouldn’t quaver. “You were right. I did meet someone I know here. Neville Beauchamp. Neville, may I present—”
“Lord Ashford.” He extended his
There was no point in making a scene, but she couldn’t resist whispering through clenched teeth, “You ought not to have used my real maiden name when you introduced me. For all the Wimblys knew, I might have been anyone. You could have told them we met on the boat home from India.”
Why hadn’t she thought to construct a workable alias and school him on it ahead of time? Too distracted by her new wardrobe and glimpses of Greydon Quinn without one, she supposed.
“How could I give you a false name?” He cast her a puzzled frown. “The ton is really a very small world, even abroad. There may be someone here who already knows you. We’d fool no one.”
“We certainly won’t now.” Her strained smile hurt her face. “You’re right about Lady Wimbly. She’s not the sort to keep a secret. The whole ton will know we’re larking about the Continent together.”
“And?”
“What do you think will happen to me when it’s noised about that we are not really married?”
“Oh.”
“A light dawns.” Men never had to worry about their reputations. In fact, his would probably be enhanced by the peccadillo. There was no justice in the world.
“Let me get you a cup of tea,” Quinn said as he settled her on a chair near the window. “That’s the ticket.”
As if tea would help.
As soon as he was gone, she stood and looked out the window. Her mother would hear about it. People who’d avoided the dowager countess since she fell into poverty would make a beeline to their humble town house door to make sure she knew what her daughter was up to on the Continent.
Things couldn’t be worse.
“Viola Preston, is that you?”
She was wrong. She recognized that voice. Things were definitely worse.
She pasted a smile on her face and turned around, extending her hand to him. “Neville, how nice to see you. Or are you Lord Sudbury by now?”
“No, and I may never be.” Neville kissed the back of her hand and smiled the devastating smile that had once overturned her world. “My uncle the marquis has married again. His nurse, no less, and gotten the woman with child to boot.” His smile turned wicked and Viola’s belly did a flip out of old habit. “Of course, the events may have occurred in a somewhat different order, but if the brat is a boy, I shall have to remain simple Neville Beauchamp.”
He hadn’t changed a bit. And he was anything but simple. He’d certainly complicated her life to shreds. Tall, well-favored, his curly blond hair rampant over his golden head, Neville was as strikingly handsome as the day he’d seduced her out of her maidenhead.
He leaned toward her and whispered, “Who’d have thought the randy old goat still had it in him?”
Her lips twitched in spite of herself. Neville was always amusing, always dancing on the wrong side of respectable. It was part of his charm.
“What are you doing in Paris?” she asked.
“I’m the ambassador’s secretary. Lord Cowley’s right hand, as it were.” He leaned a hand on the wall behind her, trapping her with his body and lowered his voice. “You look marvelous, Viola. More lovely than I remembered. And I remember quite a lot.”
“Neville, please.” Her cheeks were so hot, she knew her face must be scarlet.
“Where are you staying? We must meet. I can get away tomorrow afternoon if—”
“Here you are, love.” Quinn appeared behind Neville and stepped around him smoothly, shouldering him out of the way. He handed a cup of tea to Viola.
“Pardon me, old boy.” He turned back to Neville who stutterstepped back a pace. “Didn’t see you there.”
Quinn put a possessive arm around Viola’s waist and bared his teeth at Neville. No one would mistake the expression for a smile. “Who’s this, darling?”
Viola swallowed hard and hoped her voice wouldn’t quaver. “You were right. I did meet someone I know here. Neville Beauchamp. Neville, may I present—”
“Lord Ashford.” He extended his
Similar Books
