A Cinderella for the Viscount
highlight_author
Liz Tyner
highlight_reads
15.5K
highlight_chapters
26
Chapter One
The night was a success, in spite of his beloved aunt’s pianoforte song, which she’d composed just for the occasion. The supposedly short piece had been the opening music and had lasted just shy of one hour—or that was how long it had felt to Devlin.
Now the guests gathered for the La Boulanger. His mother always ended her events with a dance easier for tired feet.
Devlin stood at the edge of the room, knowing the wide circle of dancers would likely take up most of the area. He noticed Miss Albright standing at the other side. One woman he’d not partnered. She seemed content to stand behind everyone. Almost hiding near the curtains by the window.
Their eyes met as he caught her stifling a yawn and her cheeks coloured. He acknowledged her with a nod to say he understood and took no offence, before he glanced around the room so she would not feel singled out.
He should have spoken with her during the soirée, but he’d just not seen her earlier—which seemed impossible. Perhaps she’d arrived late. Or maybe she’d spent the evening wandering in the gardens.
Now she touched her necklace, pulled it to the side, then returned it to the position where it had originally rested at the top of an extremely demure bodice. She stared off into the distance, absently rubbing a ring, a bauble that overwhelmed her finger. Not what he would have chosen for her. Not what she would have selected for herself, he wagered.
He imagined she was thinking of a man now and whoever the man was—he wasn’t in attendance. Possibly the one who’d given her the jewel.
Priscilla Tremaine twirled by Devlin, covering him in a cloud of perfume and interrupting his perusal of Miss Albright. Priscilla danced with her beau, Baron Bomford. The Baron took her hand as he stumbled, chuckled loudly and then almost tripped over his own boots. Priscilla laughed, her bosom quivering. Her partner paid more attention to Priscilla’s chest than he did his feet.
Devlin put his glass on the table, his attention riveted on the couple as they finished their rotation around the room.
The dance needed to end sooner rather than later. Priscilla and the Baron were likely to embarrass themselves. Bomford was hearing a different song from the one the musicians played.
Then Bomford turned in the wrong direction and Priscilla reached out to correct him, shoving him into the steps. The Baron jumped a few feet to catch his balance, but stumbled, his arm splayed towards Miss Albright.
Miss Albright caught his sleeve, trying to keep him upright, but he took another step, reached with his free arm and grabbed a side table, pulling a scarf which covered the tabletop.
A lamp on the table wobbled, its flame flickering. Devlin couldn’t hear the music or comprehend anything else in the room but the flame inside the glass globe, the oil and the dislodged fabric under the base.
Then the table stopped moving. Devlin’s shoulders relaxed. The lamp rested completely immobile. Safe. The oil inside burning softly.
Everyone in the room watched Priscilla and her partner, including the musicians. The room echoed with silence.
The Baron noticed everyone had ceased talking. ‘My apologishes.’ He took a handkerchief from his pocket, mopped his brow, then took a reverse step, bumped into the table, reached out his arm and this time knocked the lamp askew. It rolled off the table and Miss Albright’s skirts fluttered as she stepped aside.
Devlin saw all the flammable fabrics. The scarf from the table. The curtains. Miss Albright’s skirt. The lit wick. All too close to Miss Albright.
He darted forward as the globe shattered, its glass collapsing into shards. The bowl of the lamp cracked, oil leaking into a puddle. Flames flickered at the wick, which would be easily extinguished with a stamp of his boot. Not yet igniting the oil.
Then Bomford turned, grabbing a glass from Lord Wilberton’s hand. ‘No,’ Devlin shouted, lunging as he spoke. But it was too late. The Baron flung the alcohol in the glass on to the flames, splashing wide of the curtain, across the oil and over the wick, and sending the now-burning oil on to Miss Albright.
Devlin was already across the room when the liquid splattered across the flame and reached Miss Albright’s skirt, igniting the flicker into a flash.
He knew what was about to happen before the flame began to take the light silk that covered her body. In two strides he had ripped the curtain from the rod, tackled Miss Albright and threw himself forward. He thrust the heavy fabric around Miss Albright to extinguish the fire. He wound the material tightly, forcing her into the wall, suffocating the flames, and slid her down to the floor. One of her arms splayed out. The other wrapped around his neck and her fingers grasped a handful of his hair. He pressed the curtain even closer, using his body as a shield, ignoring the other guests, only minimally aware of the people behind him.
He found himself in an awkward position in a hushed room, one knee on the floor, his hands holding curtains firm around Miss Albright’s skirts as she kept one hand clasped on his hair and her other hand reaching out to steady herself against the wall. The smell of burnt silk hit his nostrils and the side of his face pressed into an amazingly soft bit of femininity with a heartbeat close to his ear. He took in a breath and let the scent of her skin replace the singed cloth.
For an instant, he was frozen. He held too much in his arms, and emotion overtook him. He could feel life in his hands and the seconds before could have changed so much.
‘Did you put her out?’ His mother’s voice rang in his other ear. He preferred listening to the racing heart, but he pulled away, Miss Albright still clutching his hair. Their gazes locked, a second that lingered, then she released him.
‘The fire’s gone.’ He again tucked the curtain firmly around her, took her hand and put it on the fabric to hold it in place, then helped her stand. He made sure the burned spots displaying an appealing bit of beribboned chemise were covered.
‘Oh, my. My dear.’ His mother brushed past Devlin and took charge of the accident. ‘Are you hurt, Miss Albright?’
Devlin’s eyes connected with Miss Albright’s still-dazed ones.
‘I’m fine. But I don’t know...’ she whispered, wincing. She touched the curtain, slim fingers trying to arrange the cloth into a skirt.
No one seemed to know what to do next.
His body took over again and he sidestepped around his mother and slipped an arm under Miss Albright’s knees and slid his other at her back. He watched her eyes, making sure the pain on her face didn’t increase, and lifted her with all the gentleness he could muster. She gasped and now her arm rested loosely around his shoulder. He heard a second gasp which might have been his mother’s, or her mother’s. ‘I’ll take her to the sofa in the library so you ladies can care for her and I’ll have the physician summoned.’
His face rested against her tresses and the strands brushed his cheek. The smell of freshly laundered clothing overrode the scorched scent and she wore a soft flowery perfume.
‘Are you injured?’ He spoke no louder than a whisper as he wove through the stunned observers.
‘Yes. I think...not much.’ The now husky timbre of her voice reassured a pleasant spot in him.
He put the guests behind him and shortened his stride as he reached the library. ‘If you have need of anything...’ his lips touched her hair ‘...be sure to let me know. It will be taken care of.’
He tensed his body so he could lower her on to the sofa without jostling her more than necessary.
Two ball gowns fluttered around him and he knew the mothers were on either side.
‘I’ll reassure the guests.’ He kept his eyes on the sofa while he straightened his cravat.
Miss Albright looked at him as her mother stepped up to her and his mother pushed at his chest to nudge him further from the room. He felt a second determined prod.
He left, his steps swift to return to the guests with a reassuring expression on his lips. But he could still feel her in his arms.
Devlin opened his eyes in the darkness and twisted his head on his pillow. He pressed at the support behind his head. Sleep was impossible.
Before she’d retired, his mother had whispered, averting her eyes, that their guest had a few small burns on her...leg.
So, they were to be having visitors for the next two days while his mother reassured herself that Miss Albright recovered nicely. It simply would not do for the girl to be jostled in a carriage.
He slung the covers from his body. Stood. Pulled on the trousers he’d tossed over a chair and the shirt he’d worn earlier, ignoring the waistcoat.
He needed a cigar and a splash of brandy. Or maybe more than a splash. He kept thinking about Miss Albright.
The rug cushioned his bare feet and he glanced down the deserted, meandering hall, feeling alone in the house.
Devlin navigated the hallways easily in the dark, running a fingertip along the wall for direction as he found the library.
The door stood open and he saw the flickering light. His heartbeats increased as he imagined Miss Albright sitting inside. He needed to reassure himself she was fine.
Disappointment plunged into him when he stepped into the room. Instead of Miss Albright, his cousin, Payton, sat on the sofa, reading a book, brandy in one hand and a swirl of smoke at his head.
‘Can’t sleep?’ Devlin asked.
Payton stifled a cough and quickly pulled himself into a dignified pose. He placed the book on the table at his side, as if he didn’t know who the novel belonged to.
‘Bit of a cramp in my leg. Had to get comfortable.’ He put his hand over the title of the story. ‘Best toddle off to bed now. Thank you for inviting me to spend the night. B’lieve I shall.’ He stood, stretched wide and grunted a manly groan.
Devlin reached for the cigar box, helping himself. ‘You can’t leave behind half a glass and half a cigar. Finish your reading and I’ll try to amuse myself by annoying you. Mother will be so impressed you’re reading the same stories she does.’
Payton examined the cover. ‘I picked it up by mistake, thinking it was another of your father’s books of pirate stories. Bloodthirsty men.’ He mimicked a seafaring growl. ‘Yes. Pirates. I’m sure I’ll find one in it somewhere. Need to make certain I’ve not missed one.’
His cousin plopped down, took the book again and glanced over the top of it while he reached for the glass. ‘Please stay. In case I catch on fire. But if I do happen to get myself aglow—do not graciously—’ he stared at the ceiling ‘—lift me gallantly into your arms to rescue me.’
‘I won’t.’
Payton sniffed. ‘I say, if Baron Bomford had managed to get a bit of a burn, you’d have let him walk to the physician.’
‘Yes, but she has a much better shape than he does.’
‘So does a sow.’ Payton frowned. ‘Everyone talked about her after you whisked her from the gathering. She has a beloved, so don’t get any ideas that her gratitude would stretch far. If it weren’t for her father being in trade, she’s the type of woman that a mother wishes for her son to settle with.’ His exaggerated half-cough, half-choke filled the room. ‘I’ll wager she has her embroidery needles named.’
Devlin lit a cigar, using the candle. ‘You’ve got your decanters named.’
Payton gave a brief shrug. ‘Makes it easier for the servants.’
‘So, what does her father do?’
‘Sells silver wares, mainly. Shiny trinkets, too. Jewellery. But Father says if you’ve seen one of the shops, you’ve seen them all.’
Devlin nodded. His mother had mentioned the family a few days before, but he’d not paid close attention. ‘Thankfully Miss Albright seems relatively unscathed from the soirée.’
‘Everyone counted the evening as a success. The ladies swooned.’ His cousin’s lip curled up at the side, his hand rose in a wave and his voice became high pitched. ‘Did you see what big strong arms Devlin has? He can set my skirts on fire any time he wants.’ He returned to the pages of the book again, shaking his head. ‘Was blasted embarrassing to listen to all the babbling about you. Those ladies spoke improperly. I was shocked.’
‘Jealous?’ Devlin sat, then, with his foot, he hooked the upholstered footrest and moved it into place so he could prop his feet on the woven fabric.
Payton spoke under his breath. ‘No. I’ve my hands full enough now.’ Again, he stared over the top of the novel at Devlin. ‘I don’t have to let someone else start the flames for me. Once they get sight of me, they melt.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘I suppose you have been keeping her a secret because you know that she’d never notice you if I am in the room.’
‘I’d never met her before the soirée. Mrs Albright happened to be at Hatchard’s a fortnight before and Mother remembered her from a childhood friendship and invited the family. They’re related to someone in the peerage whom Mother knows well. I can’t remember who.’
Devlin grimaced. ‘I hope Miss Albright doesn’t now regret that fate put her mother on the same path as mine.’ Then he reflected. ‘Miss Albright must use some special pomade on her hair or something. She smelled rather like a jonquil.’
‘Jonquils don’t smell. Do they?’
‘They do. The red ones.’
‘Jonquils aren’t red.’
‘The pink ones, then. You know—’ he waved his hand ‘—the ones with the little petals.’
‘Primroses.’
‘I don’t know. A thistle bloom or something. Nice. Flowery.’
‘You’re thinking with your thistle.’ Payton stared at the print. ‘So, will you be going with us tomorrow, or will you be staying here, alone, hoping for a miss to mistake you for your handsome younger cousin?’
Devlin paused. ‘I don’t have a handsome younger cousin.’
‘Sad. To be losing your sight at twenty-eight.’ Payton paused. ‘So, are you going with us to Cosgrove’s hunting box? We’ll all be stalking our prey—at the card table.’
‘Yes. But I may be late joining you. I must reassure myself our guest is doing well. She had a most attractive derrière. Damn—she smelled good, too. A perfect female.’
He heard the stout snort and raised his head to Payton, but Payton stared at him, open-mouthed.
He heard a feminine voice and turned his head to the doorway.
‘I would not say those are the qualities of a perfect woman, Viscount Montfort.’ Miss Albright stood at the entrance. Even in the dimness he could still see the last of the lingering grimace on her face. He’d judged her too delicate and too winsome to give such a healthy blast of disapproval.
‘Oh, Miss Al...bright.’ He stood.
‘Thank you for saving my life and sniffing my hair.’ She stayed in the doorway. ‘It’s rose-scented. I like roses.’
‘Roses are pleasant,’ he said. ‘Way better than jonquils.’
Payton stood as well, tossing down a healthy swig of brandy, snuffing out his cigar, then giving a most elaborate bow to Miss Albright.
‘Don’t hurt him,’ Payton spoke to the woman as she walked into the room. ‘It’s not his fault he’s daft. He’s never recovered from the thumping I gave him when he was ten and I was only eight. Almost did him in.’
He slipped to the doorway and, as he stood behind her, he raised his brows, gave an exaggerated wink, put one lone finger over his closed lips, grinned and went out, still carrying the romantic novel.
She limped into the room.
‘Do we need to send for the physician again?’ Devlin asked, not taking his gaze from her.
‘Absolutely not. My most attractive derrière—thank you, I think—hurts. I cannot sleep. Your mother told me earlier to make myself at home and I could have a maid bring me something to read if I woke in the night. I did not wish to wake a maid. I presumed this was the library. And I could have sworn your mother said smoking was not allowed in this side of the house.’ She fanned a hand in front of her face. ‘I must have misheard.’
‘It’s only allowed in the wee hours of the night and only for a short duration. A rule my father instituted and only the males are aware of the concession. Generally.’
But he couldn’t keep his mind off her injury. ‘I hope you recover quickly.’ He waved an arm to the side of the sofa Payton had just vacated. ‘Would you prefer to—?’
‘Stand.’ She limped inside the room. ‘But please sit.’
He took a step to reach for the pull, but caught himself before he asked if she would like a maid present. Her hair billowed about in the candlelight. The borrowed dressing gown she wore was much too large for her and appeared as if it might slip from her shoulders at any second. Her bare feet poked out from the hem. The maid could sleep. He put out his cigar. If Miss Albright needed anything, he would happily fetch it for her.
He took a candle and lit the one nearest the bookcase before returning the light to its place. ‘And in case you’re wondering, my hair smells of acorns. My cousin Payton’s valet has been using it on him since he was born and Payton swears the mixture will keep the hair growing freely.’
He took two steps, stopping beside her, yet leaving a comfortable distance. ‘See?’
She moved forward, touched the sleeve of his shirt and leaned in, sniffing. ‘That’s a different scent.’
He held himself proud. Imported.
‘Did your cousin swear by it or swear at it?’
He studied the wide eyes which had a devilish glint. ‘I do regret the accident, but it doesn’t seem to have impaired you in any way. Particularly your sense of humour.’
‘Other than a distinct inability to feel comfortable sitting.’ She shrugged and smiled—the brightest one he’d seen from her. ‘Or a distinct inability to feel comfortable anywhere.’
She glanced at an empty chair and he imagined he saw longing in her face. He could not sit down in her presence. It would be unthinkable.
‘I have huge gratitude for you rescuing me,’ she continued. ‘But only a most proper kind. I do appreciate your help. And the pomade doesn’t really smell bad. Just woodsy. Autumnal.’
‘I regret the fire and wish it had been me instead of you, but to hold such a lovely lady was a boon for me.’
Her cheeks grew a little pink and she tucked her head, seeming embarrassed. ‘You’ve had many boons in your life?’
‘Only the necessary amount, I would say.’ Then he frowned. ‘But embracing you was something I will never forget.’ He’d spoken the words easily enough. He’d just slipped into the light-hearted banter he might speak with friends he’d known for a long time. Perhaps it was because of the lateness, or the way she’d remained in his mind from the first moments before the fire until now.
The moment he’d rushed across the room, he’d felt his own life was threatened and it had seemed necessary to his survival to protect her. He supposed it must have been because she was in his home. A primitive response and one he was thankful for.
Then he appraised her, shoving all the nonsensical words he spoke so easily from his mind, even though with her they didn’t seem meaningless. Miss Albright seemed to enter his senses more quickly and deeply than any of the acquaintances or friendships he’d had in the past.
Perhaps it was her seriousness, something he usually avoided. Only on her, it didn’t appear critical or condescending or even truly serious, just thoughtful and aware.
‘Though I would have preferred our meeting under better circumstances in safer surroundings.’
The words jabbed at him, almost like a lie might attack his conscience. It was true he would have done anything in his power to prevent the accident, but he felt a sliver of fear that if it hadn’t happened, he might have foolishly missed the chance to speak with her.
‘I won’t forget it either,’ she said. ‘And I do thank you. I’m fortunate you were there.’ She shuddered. ‘It could have been so much worse. My parents are so relieved you reacted as you did. Father believes you saved my life. He said he’d just not been able to comprehend what was happening and then it was all over.’
‘Let’s forget about the evening and just remember this part of it. How could I not be intrigued by a woman who makes me think of—toasted roses?’ He wanted to put her in a better humour and not only for her. For himself as well. When she smiled, it made everything else fade into oblivion but her face.
She grimaced. ‘Your eyes followed Priscilla’s every step.’ She met his upraised brows and raised her own. ‘Or perhaps it wasn’t her steps you were watching.’
So, Miss Albright had observed him. ‘Priscilla has lovely eyes.’
‘She has very big, plump ones,’ she said.
He nodded. ‘Eyes are important features for a person to have.’ He locked his gaze with hers. ‘Your eyes are beautiful beyond measure.’
She bit her lip, studying him, her cheeks flushing again.
‘You may take that as a sincere and respectful compliment, as it was meant so. All of my observations about you are meant as appreciation of your womanliness and not to impinge on your respectability.’ He ended the words with a slight, respectful bow for emphasis. ‘And perhaps some normal preening male jealousy. You did seem aware of someone else and I cannot imagine you not having a sweetheart.’
She interlaced her fingertips and let out another whoosh of air, this one a reflection of the awe in her eyes. ‘Mr Ambrose Tenney. He is my beloved. The way that little lock of hair keeps tumbling over his eyebrow. He even has a dimple.’ Touching her cheek, she breathed out. ‘And his hands—so elegant. We are to be married.’
He held out his own hand, examining it while he turned it up and then reversed direction. ‘You can’t possibly expect me to believe you’ve accepted marriage based on this Tenney’s hands.’
He stretched his arm, staring. ‘Blast it. I will never be able to wed or even dare ask a woman to be my wife.’
She raised her brows. ‘What?’
He reached her in direction, showing her. ‘I will never be able to compete with Mr Tenney. I have been marred.’ He wiggled the smallest digit. ‘Little finger.’
She took his fingertips in her own and his body started warming. The room was dim—too dim to be proper and they had been through a considerable adventure. She made him feel stronger than he ever had before, yet he’d never felt so weak.
She bent over his hands, examining them. ‘Yours are...adequate, even if the one is out of alignment with the rest of them.’
Her lips turned up. ‘I’m jesting with you when I use the word adequate. You saved me. Right now, I find them capable and competent. The best in the world. And the crooked one is distinguished. One might say elegant. Definitely distinct enough to make others jealous.’
‘I would not go that far.’ Inside he beamed. Miss Albright could dispense flattery if she wished.
‘My cousin and I were playing king of the castle and the encounter became frenzied. I pushed him off the hill and he planned to take me with him, and that was all he could grab. I wasn’t going off the mound.’
‘Maybe you should have relented. Lost the game to save pain.’ She tapped the little finger.
His hands were not the part of his body her touch affected.
‘In hindsight, I could have let him tug me to the bottom and landed on him. So, for his sake, perhaps it was for the best. I would have used him as a cushion,’ he said. But he understood something else about himself in that instance. The pain hadn’t really hurt and he’d wanted to win. He would have repeated the incident just as he had initially done it. A clear victory. His father claimed nothing else mattered in a battle but a decisive win.
She glanced up, running her fingers over his knuckles, the touch so light he wasn’t sure he imagined it. ‘His hands aren’t the only thing I admire about Mr Tenney. He’s a barrister and will make a name for himself. He is so ambitious. That is one of the things I like most about him. That he’s constantly striving to become more successful. I should like you to meet him some day, Viscount Montfort.’
Everything she’d just said singed him. He had no desire to meet Tenney. ‘Whatever you wish,’ he said. ‘Except my given name is Devlin Bryan and I’d prefer to think we know each other well enough for you to call me Devlin as my friends do.’
‘It would be an honour.’ Her face bloomed as if he’d just given her a bouquet. ‘And I would be pleased if you would call me Rachael.’
Then she turned. Leaving. Bidding him goodnight. Limping to the doorway.
‘Rachael.’ His words stopped her. ‘You did not select a book. Please stay longer. We’ve shared such an adventure that I feel I have known you for ever. A few moments more of your time would be a treasure—that is—if you aren’t in pain.’
