Page 26 of A Wallflower to Win the Viscount

He removed a pat of butter from the dish and placed it on the edge of his plate.

Once this plan reached its conclusion, he could consign Miss Fairburn firmly to the past. Not only would her animals be gone and this house sold, but he would cease to be tormented by thoughts of her big blue eyes, her golden hair and her lush, tempting lips. Images of her curvaceous body would stop invading his mind at the most inopportune moments.

He pressed down on the butter to spread it on his toast, the excessive pressure of the knife tearing the bread apart, as those tormenting images chose yet another inopportune moment for their invasion.

In disgust he pushed his plate away. There was one unfortunate drawback to this plan, and that was Lucian himself. While his level-headed presence during the matchmaking was essential to ensure a deserving man was found, the more time he spent with Primrose, the more lascivious his thoughts were becoming. Yesterday, when he was sitting beside her, they had strayed into very dangerous territory, and there was every possibility that seeing her again today would elicit further shameful imaginings.

He would just have to hope that this Marchwood was everything Beatrice thought he was, as the sooner Primrose was married off and out of harm’s way, the better off they both would be. Once she was safely married to a man who loved her, he would no longer have to deal with the gnawing dread that deep down, when it came to untouched young women, he was little better than his father.

He took a drink of is coffee, thoughts of his father making it taste bitter in his mouth. Until he’d returned to England and forced to live next door to an attractive, unconventional but decidedly innocent young lady, he’d managed to convince himself he did not share his father’s predilections. He wanted to believe he was not a predator and hated to think Primrose had unknowingly brought out those latent instincts in him.

Every time he thought of her, a carnal longing seemed to be unleashed within him. Yesterday he’d imagined her blond hair tumbling around her naked shoulders. Last night the image that refused to leave his mind was of slowly undoing the buttons down the front of her blouse, pushing it off her shoulders and exposing her full breasts to his gaze, caressing them with his hands, his lips, his tongue, before—

He slammed his cup back on the saucer with more force than required, causing the porcelain to clatter, desperate to end those fantasies before they led where they so often did. Of him losing himself inside her, of her writhing beneath him, begging him to take her, again and again.

This had never happened to him before, so why now? What was it about Primrose that tempted him to go against everything he knew to be wrong?

He was utterly at a loss to explain it. But whatever it was, he would not let it undermine all his beliefs and values. He was not attracted to innocent virgins. Never had been, never would be.

He snorted at his own delusions. What he really meant was he would not be acting on the attraction that was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

If she was married to someone else, then she would surely be beyond temptation.

But he could not be completely selfish. Even though the desire to save himself from temptation was fierce, he would have to remain circumspect. He could not fall into the trap of letting just any man court her.

She was a sweet young woman with such a gentle heart, a compassionate nature and a delightfully quirky way of looking at the world that made her unlike anyone he had met before. She should settle for nothing less than an exemplary man of the highest calibre. One who would respect her unique personality. A man who wanted to foster her strong spirit and encourage her independence of thought, rather than try and quash it and make her conform to societal norms the way Countess Stonely had attempted to do. It was yet to be seen whether this anti-fox-hunting fellow could meet that exacting criteria.

He would make sure Marchwood was a man of substance who was worthy of her, and not just some dandy who made women swoon with his supposed oratory skills. There was every possibility the man used the guise of caring about foxes to ingratiate himself with impressionable ladies.

Lucian, more than most, knew how such men operated. His father had also oozed charm when he needed to. He, too, had been reputed to be handsome and, when he wanted to, could summon up the requisite behaviour to make young women swoon. It was a seductive art perfected over many years of practice.

He took another long sip of his coffee. For that reason, if for no other, it was essential he attend this talk. He was ideally placed to be vigilant so this supposed animal-loving do-gooder did not turn Primrose’s head. Unless, of course, he reminded himself hastily, the man turned out to be worthy of her.

Although Lucian doubted that a great deal. If he was such a catch, if he was as much a paragon of manhood as Beatrice painted him, he would be married by now. So why wasn’t he?

He tapped his mouth thoughtfully, pleased with his own clear-sighted reasoning.

Hidden faults and flaws, that’s what Lucian would be on the lookout for. While the ladies were dazzled by his good looks and charms, Lucian would be taking a much more level-headed approach and finding out just what this rascal was really up to.

Breakfast over, Lucian dressed for the day and, in plenty of time, sent his carriage to fetch Beatrice and Reginald. When it arrived back at his house, he made the short walk to Primrose’s home.

The footman opened the door, his usually impassive face twisted with worry.

‘Is everything all right?’ he asked Alfred. Probably one of the animals was unwell, and Primrose would not be able to attend the talk. Lucian tried not to feel hopeful at that possibility.

‘Miss Fairburn is in the drawing room, and she’s had some disturbing news.’ The footman’s concerned expression grew even more worried as he escorted Lucian down the hallway. Presumably one of the rabbits had an upset stomach, or the goat had laryngitis. Hopefully. Or, even better, the geese were feeling lethargic and had ceased roaming the neighbourhood.

He entered the drawing room, where Primrose was standing, staring out the window. She’d dressed for the occasion in a pale blue confection of a gown, and her hair was once again styled ornately in curls and whatnot on the top of her head.

All for that Marchwood fellow. Lucian grimaced, suspecting the man would not be worth the effort.

She turned to face him, clutching a piece of paper in her hand, her eyes red-rimmed from crying, and her mouth trembling as if she was struggling to hold back more tears.

He rushed towards her and stopped himself just in time before he took her in his arms to provide comfort. Such a gesture would be as unwanted as it was improper, not to mention ill-advised. Even holding her hands in his might be going too far.

But his desire to hold her was not lust. Not entirely. Seeing her like this was like a stab to the heart, as if he was sharing her pain, which was as bewildering as it was overpowering.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, feeling decidedly inadequate.