Page 2 of A Wallflower to Win the Viscount

‘Let’s start again, shall we?’ He spoke in a precise manner so he could get her full attention. ‘I am Lucian Montclair, Viscount Westhaven.’ He tried not to wince when he said his title and then waited for her response, which should finally be the information he wanted. Instead it continued to be a smile.

‘Yes, I know. Edward said the old viscount’s son had inherited the house and might be moving in, which is why I told Hamish he wasn’t to come over here anymore. Unless he’s invited, of course.’

Lucian sighed, doubting he had ever met a more frustrating woman, and had to resist the temptation to shout at her What the hell is your name?

‘Oh, I’m being rude, aren’t I?’

Finally, he was going to get an answer to his question.

‘I was so sorry to hear of your father’s passing.’

No, it would seem not.

‘I never actually met him as I only moved into my aunt Clemmie’s house—Clementine was her real name, Miss Clementine Fairburn, but I called her Aunt Clemmie—a few months ago, and by then I believe your father was confined to his estate with ill health. I used to visit my aunt a lot when he was still alive, but I’m afraid, even though they were neighbours, my aunt and your father were not on the best of terms, and they tended to have nothing to do with each other.’

That did not surprise him in the slightest and was undoubtedly a blessing. This young woman’s apparently sweet, innocent and trusting nature made her exactly the sort to pique his father’s predatory interests. He was particularly drawn to pretty blondes, particularly when they were as curvaceous as this one was. She would not have remained naive for long once she’d attracted the attentions of that lascivious old monster.

‘Edward said you have been living in America.’ She angled her head slightly, indicating this was a question, not a statement.

‘Yes,’ he answered, having no intention of going into detail regarding the various places he’d been living since he fled this house with the determination to put as much distance between himself and his father as he could. ‘But you still have not told me your name.’ He looked down at her hand and could see no ring. ‘Miss…?’

‘I’m Miss Primrose Fairburn. Your neighbour.’ She gave a small curtsy, and another of those dimpled smiles emerged.

‘Do you live next door with your family? Your aunt? Your parents?’

‘No. I inherited the house from Aunt Clemmie when, sadly, she passed away.’ She blinked a few times, her long dark eyelashes fluttering, then lifted up her chin. ‘Thanks to my dear aunt, I am a woman of independent means.’

‘And a woman who keeps a goose. As a pet?’ He looked down at the preoccupied fowl, still pecking at the ground. Presumably it was a pet. A bird destined for the pot was unlikely to be adorned with a colourful ribbon or have a name.

‘Geese.’

‘Geese?’

‘Yes, I’ve got four geese. You’ve already met Hamish.’ She pointed unnecessarily at the bird. ‘There’s also Duchess Fluffington, although I just call her Fluff, sometimes Fluffy, Lady Prudence Peckworth, or Pecky for short, and Little Lord Honk.’

Her smile grew even wider, as if he would find these names endearing. He didn’t. Instead, he wondered how much noise four geese would make and whether it would affect his ability to make a quick sale of his house.

‘Well, Miss Fairburn, I believe it is time you and your pet goose returned to your own property.’

‘Oh, yes, sorry.’ She looked down at the bird. ‘Come on, Hamish. It’s time to go home.’

The bird gave no reaction.

‘Don’t you have a stick or something to make him move?’

Her big blue eyes grew even larger, and she stared up at him, mouth open, as if he’d suggested something heinous, like beating the bird senseless or wringing its neck.

‘Isn’t that what geese herders do?’ Why he felt the need to explain himself he did not know. He’d eaten goose on more than one occasion, had not invited this particular goose into this garden and had no reason to apologise. ‘Don’t they wave a stick to make them move?’

‘I find gentle coercion works much better. It might take a bit longer, but no one is at risk of getting hurt.’

Lucian could point out that gentle coercion had not worked so far.

She continued to coo to the oblivious bird. It looked like this was going to take a very long time, and Lucian had more important things to do today than pander to the demands of an overindulged goose.

‘Right. I’m sure you know best,’ he said, doubting that very much. ‘But in future, would you please keep your animals on your side of the wall. An estate agent will soon be showing people around this townhouse, and I don’t believe a goose in the garden will add to the property’s desirability.’

‘You plan to sell, do you?’ She turned her attention from the goose back to him. ‘But it’s such a lovely house, and it’s got a wonderful garden, and this is a really nice neighbourhood. I love living here.’