Page 11 of A Wallflower to Win the Viscount

‘I’m going to take you to a party where you can pluck your first peach or maybe pluck an entire fruit-basket, if you’re anything like your father.’

Lucian had continued to stare at him, unsure why he was now being given a talk on harvesting produce.

‘My boy, you are such an innocent,’ his father had said indulgently, slapping Lucian on the back. ‘Tonight, we’re going to a party that will be stocked with chorus-girls, shopgirls and other tasty little chits, all for the taking. You’ll be able to have any you want, or the whole lot if you’ve got the energy. And if you’re anything like I was at your age, you are sure to do so. All you have to do is tell them you’ve got a title. That’s usually enough to get them to do whatever you want. If that doesn’t work, throw them a trinket or two, or suggest you might keep them in comfort, then whatever you want will be yours.’

He grinned and placed his arm around Lucian in what could have been a fatherly gesture if it was not for the despicable nature of the conversation. ‘And if none of those tricks work, son, then that’s when it really becomes fun. Sometimes you have to use a bit of force before she gives it up, and sometimes quite a lot.’ He laughed as if this was the funniest of jokes. ‘That’s another advantage of having a title. The little strumpets know there’s nothing they can do about it. Even if they think about complaining, they know no one will take their word over that of a viscount.’

Lucian had stared at his father, hardly able to believe what he was hearing, which made the man laugh even louder. ‘You might look shocked now, but once you’ve tasted what’s out there for the taking, you’ll soon be indulging yourself and discovering you want it all, especially the forbidden fruit that’s hardest to pluck.’

Lucian had swallowed and steeled himself to ask a question he suspected his father would not like. ‘Don’t ever you worry about fathering illegitimate children?’

His father had shaken his head slowly, staring at his son as if he had produced an imbecile. ‘If any of the little tarts get knocked-up, that’s their problem, not ours. That’s another advantage of being a viscount. We’re untouchable.’

As Lucian had tried to digest the vileness of what his father was saying to him, memories from his childhood came flooding back. He’d recalled a young woman arriving at the Cheshire estate, a baby wrapped up in her shawl. He’d been told she was a beggar who had been sent on her way and told never to return.

He’d also remembered all those pretty young maids who’d worked at the estate for no more than a few months, all of whom, he had been told, had been dismissed for stealing. These presumably had all been innocent girls his father had taken and then discarded.

But they were not the only women he’d suspected had suffered because his father wanted to pluck forbidden fruit. ‘But what of Mother?’ he had asked.

‘What of her?’ his father had replied, as if not understanding the question.

‘Were you not ever faithful to her?’ he’d asked, knowing the answer.

His father had looked at him as if he was a simpleton. ‘Your mother did her duty, just as I did, and just as you will eventually have to do. You’ll marry a compliant young woman whose family want to elevate her status, and she will know it is her job to produce the heir, that is all. She will know it is not her place to criticise her husband, just as your mother knew she had no right to object to anything I did.’

Lucian had had few memories of his mother, who had died ten years previously. All he’d remembered was a quiet woman who’d always looked as if she was weighed down by immense suffering. On that day he’d learnt why.

The man-to-man talk over, his father had taken him to his first party. Lucian had watched in a state of shock and disgust as the man he had once so greatly admired had circled the young women, like a wolf separating the weakest deer from the pack, as he’d sought out the sweetest and the most innocent. Instead of doing anything to protect those young women from the lascivious ogre, like a coward Lucian had fled the party. He’d returned to this townhouse, packed his bag and, using the generous inheritance he’d received from his maternal grandfather, had bought a steerage passage on the first steamer out of port.

He’d vowed at the time he would never become like his father. He would not prey on the innocent, nor would he marry a débutante to carry on the family name. The title would die with him, and he would not subject any woman to the misery his mother must have endured.

And until yesterday he’d been able to convince himself he was nothing at all like his father. Until he had caught himself lusting after the beautiful, innocent woman living right next door.

He breathed in deeply, exhaled slowly and forced his fists to uncurl. But soon this would be over. Soon he would be free.

He rose from the breakfast table and went through to the drawing room. He took paper, pen and ink from the desk, and with a great deal of relief, wrote a note back to the estate agent telling him later this morning would be ideal for the couple to visit the townhouse.

He passed the note to the butler to ensure its delivery and informed the man it would be his task to show the buyers and estate agent around the house. Then he dressed for the day, did a quick inspection of the house to reassure himself that all was perfect and prepared to leave.

Hopefully, when he came back, the townhouse would have been sold and he’d soon be booking his passage back to America. Not that he had much to return to, having been unable to settle to any place, occupation or woman since he’d left England. But even a life of endless drifting would be better than staying here, and at least in America no one knew his father or the reputation that came with the name Viscount Westhaven.

He was unsure what he was going to do to fill in his time while the buyers were visiting. The clubs to which his father was a member had extended invitations to him to join, but he was loath to been seen anywhere that his father had frequented. Instead, he would just go for a long walk and clear his mind of disturbing thoughts of his father and innocent, untouchable young ladies.

He picked up his gloves and hat and walked back through to the drawing room, to take one last look at the back garden, just to reassure himself that no geese were present, and no cats were luxuriating in the sunshine.

As if determined to torment him, that weird-looking cat immediately appeared on the top of the wall, soundlessly jumped down and took up its position on the outdoor furniture.

Damn. Why hadn’t he removed that velvet cushion? The couple would be here any minute. The last thing he wanted to do right now was take the cat back to Miss Fairburn.

Hopefully the prospective buyers were cat lovers.

With a resigned sigh he pulled on his gloves and looked back at the garden.

‘No. No. No,’ he called out, racing towards the French doors and flinging them open.

Lucian could hardly believe it. That annoying goose, the one with the tartan ribbon, was squeezing itself under the gate. He charged onto the terrace, just as the goose waddled its way towards the pond. A cat was one thing, a goose something entirely different.

‘Go away. You’re not welcome here,’ he yelled out as he stormed down the garden.