Forbidden Nights With The Viscount. Julia Justiss

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       Chapter One

      A month later, from her seat in the open carriage in front of the hustings in the market town of Chellingham, Lady Margaret Roberts smiled out at the crowd. ‘You will all turn out for the election tomorrow, won’t you? I’d be most grateful if you’d vote for my cousin, Mr Armsburn! I assure you, he will do his very best to serve your interests in Parliament.’

      ‘If he promises to send you back every time he needs a vote, it’s his!’ one of the men next to the carriage declared.

      ‘Aye, and mine, too, for such a pretty smile,’ the man beside him shouted.

      ‘Thank you, gentleman,’ she replied, blowing each of them a kiss. The crowd’s roar of approval made her laugh and blow another.

      Ah, how she loved this! The excitement of the milling crowds, the rising anticipation on election day as the votes were given, knowing that the winner would take his place in Parliament and help forge the destiny of the nation. The thought that she might in some small way have a part in the making of history was a thrill that never faded.

      Since the bitter pain of losing her husband Robbie, resuming the role of her father’s hostess and political assistant had been her chief pleasure in life, the only pursuit that distracted her from grief.

      The love of her life might be gone, but there was still important work to do. Or at least, she told herself so in the loneliness of her solitary bed.

      Pulling herself from her reverie, she looked up—and met a gaze so arresting she instinctively sucked in a breath. Deep-blue eyes—like lapis sparkling in moonlight, she thought disjointedly—held her mesmerised, the pull so strong she felt as if she were being drawn physically closer to him.

      And then she realised they were closer. The owner of those magnificent eyes was making his way through the crowd towards her carriage. At the realisation, her heartbeat accelerated and a shock of anticipation sizzled along her nerves.

      Those fascinating eyes, she noted as he slowly approached, were set in a strong, lean face with a purposeful nose, sharp chin and wide brow over which curled a luxuriant thatch of blue-black hair. The gentleman was tall enough that his broad shoulders, clad in a jacket of Melton green, remained visible as he forced his way through the crowd.

      Just as he drew near enough for her to note the sensual fullness of his lips, he gave her a knowing smile, sending a shiver of sensation over her skin.

      How could he make her feel so naked while she was still fully clothed?

      And then he was before her, smiling still as he extended his hand.

      ‘How could I not wish to shake the hand of so lovely a lady?’ he asked, his deep voice vibrating in her ears like a caress. And though she normally drew back from physical contact when there were so many pressing close, she found herself offering her hand.

      His grip was as strong and assured as she’d known it would be. Waves of sensation danced up her arm as he clasped her fingers, and for a moment, she could hardly breathe. If she were given to melodrama, she might have swooned.

      Taking a deep breath, she shook her head, trying to recover her equilibrium. ‘I hope you will be equally amicable about according your vote to Mr Armsburn?’ she asked, pleased her voice held a calm she was far from feeling.

      His smile faded. ‘I hate to disoblige a lady, but I’m afraid I’m here to support Mr Reynolds.’

      ‘The radical Mr Reynolds? Oh, dear!’ she exclaimed, her disappointment greater than it should have been. ‘I fear our politics will not be in agreement, then, Mr—’

      Before the gentleman could answer, a tide of men washed out of the tavern across the street. ‘Free beer, free men, free vote!’ they chanted, pushing into the square. From the corner, a group of men wearing the green armbands of her cousin’s supporters surged forward. ‘Tories for justice!’ they cried, shoving against the free-vote supporters. Several of the tussling men fell back against her horse, causing the gelding to rear up and fight the traces. Alarmed, she tugged on the reins, but the panicked animal fought the bit.

      The gentleman jumped forward to seize the bridle, settling the nervous horse back on his feet. ‘You should get away in case this turns ugly,’ he advised. Making liberal use of his cane to clear a path, he led the horse and carriage through the throng and on to a side street.

      ‘There’s a quiet inn down Farmer’s Lane,’ he told her when they’d turned the corner. ‘I’ll see you safely there, then locate your cousin.’

      She opened her lips to assure him she’d be fine on her own, but in truth, the sudden rancour of the crowd, the shouts and sounds of scuffling still reaching them from the square, disturbed her more than she wished to admit. ‘I would appreciate that,’ she said instead.

      Within a few moments, they reached the inn, the gentlemen sent the horse and carriage off with an ostler and offered her his arm into the establishment. ‘A private parlour for Lady Margaret, and some cheese and ale,’ he told the innkeeper who hurried to greet them.

      ‘At once, sir, my lady!’ the proprietor said, ushering them to a small room off the busy taproom.

      Once she was inside, shielded from the view of the curious, the gentleman bowed. ‘It is Lady Margaret, isn’t it?’

      ‘Yes. But I don’t believe we have been introduced, have we? I’m sure I would have remembered you.’ No woman under ninety with eyes in her head and any sense of appreciation for the male of the species could have met this man and forgotten him.

      ‘We’ve not been formally presented—a lapse I am delighted to rectify. But the Borough of Chellingham has long been in the pocket of the Marquess of Witlow, so what other lovely lady could be canvassing for his candidate than his daughter, the celebrated Lady Margaret?’

      ‘Oh, dear! That makes me sound rather...notorious.’

      He shook his head. ‘Admired and respected—even by your opponents. I don’t believe the squabbles outside will escalate into actual violence, but with “free beer” and elections, one can’t be sure. Promise me you’ll remain here until your cousin can fetch you. Though I cannot help but feel a man lucky to have so lovely a canvasser working on his behalf should take better care of her.’

      ‘How can I thank you for your kindness—and to a supporter of your opponent?’ she asked. ‘Won’t you at least allow me to offer you a glass of ale? I hate to admit it, but I would feel easier if I had some company while I...calm my nerves.’

      That might have been overstating the case—but for once, Maggie didn’t mind imposing on the gentleman’s obvious sense of chivalry, if it meant she could command his company СКАЧАТЬ