Page 38 of A Wallflower to Win the Viscount

He raked his hands through his hair. What the hell was he thinking? Nothing he had done was forgivable, and to even try and find a justification for his moral failings just showed how close he’d come to the line his father had all-too-frequently crossed.

He resumed his restless circuit of the room.

She was an innocent young woman. He’d known that when he’d taken her in his arms. She’d had no experience and no idea what she was doing or where their kiss was heading.

He came to another halt in the middle of the room.

And yet, despite her innocence, despite her lack of experience, it had been a kiss unlike any he had experienced, and it had stirred a response in him stronger than he had felt before.

Once his lips had touched hers, a powerful narcotic had seemingly entered his bloodstream, heightening his senses. Her dangerously addictive lips had tasted sweeter than any nectar. Her heady, intoxicating feminine scent had surrounded him, leaving him feverish with desire. Her soft body had ignited a fierce fire within him, driving out all ability to think and reason.

Never before had a woman’s kiss disarmed him in such a manner. Never before had he lost control so quickly and so easily. And this disconcerting state had been caused by a woman he could not want and knew he could not have.

His hands gripped into tight fists, the nails digging into his flesh. Primrose Fairburn was not for him.

That tender-hearted, unconventional woman with her mad menagerie of stray animals was not for him. She was a chaste young lady and needed to stay just as she was. She should not be corrupted by the likes of him.

And the only way that was going to happen was if he never saw her again.

He looked around the despised drawing room, the place where his cossetted life had ended so abruptly and with such cruel finality.

Getting away from this house and putting as much distance between himself and Primrose as possible, that was what he would focus on now. He would find a suitable charity, make the necessary arrangements with his solicitor to transfer over the deeds to his father’s house, and then he would be gone, back to America, away from Primrose, away from temptation.

It was a perfect solution, but there was only one snag. First, he had to find an appropriate charity, one that provided support and sanctuary for women such as those his father had used and abandoned.

He once again commenced moving about, forcing his mind to remain focused on this problem and not to stray back to thoughts of Primrose or his own gnawing guilt.

The charity had to be one that did not judge the women it helped. No one had ever judged his father or held him to account for his destructive behaviour. The women who were the true victims were often described as fallen and seen as the ones who had sinned. Even the illegitimate children of men such as his father were often expected to carry the so-called shame of their mothers, the men being able to walk away without consequences, their reputations unblemished, their consciences untouched.

He would have no dealings with any charity that treated the women and children with anything less than respect. But how to find such a charity? He looked in the direction of Primrose’s house.

No, asking Primrose was a very bad idea.

Beatrice. That was the answer. She seemed to know everyone and everything. Instead of finding a husband for Primrose, she could help him find a suitable charity.

He called for the footman, instructed him to ready the carriage and was soon on his way to visit his cousin’s wife, pleased to be taking action and doing something other than pointlessly pacing around that cursed house.

The carriage pulled up in front of the gleaming façade of the recently built Savoy Hotel. Lucian climbed out of the carriage and the frock-coated doorman greeted him with a bow. He strode through the entrance, putting the noise of the busy streets behind him as he entered the quiet interior, and headed straight for the reception desk.

‘Viscount Westhaven to see Lord and Lady Caldwell,’ he told the hotel manager.

Using the hotel’s modern telephone system, the man placed a call through to their room.

‘They will be down immediately,’ he informed Lucian. ‘Perhaps you’d like to wait in the tearoom, my lord?’

Lucian nodded and went through to the adjoining restaurant, where a waiter showed him to a table beside one of the large windows overlooking the Thames. He took his seat and, trying to contain his restless energy, waited for Reginald and his wife.

It wasn’t long before they appeared. Beatrice rushed over to the table, her husband following in her wake, worry creasing her brow.

The waiter held out her chair, and she continued to look in concern at Lucian.

‘I’m so pleased you came to tell us the news so quickly,’ she said as soon as the waiter departed. ‘We’ve been so worried.’

News? What was she talking about? Unless his cousin had a sixth sense, she could not possibly know of his plans for the house or of what had just occurred between him and Primrose.

‘What did the solicitor have to say?’ she asked.

Lucian almost laughed with relief. After all that had happened, he’d almost forgotten about their visit to the solicitor.