Page 5 of A Wallflower to Win the Viscount

‘Did he try to seduce you?’ This question, asked by Alice in all seriousness, caused Primrose to laugh.

‘Well, no one’s tried to seduce me before, so I can’t be certain, but I doubt that was what was happening. In every book I’ve read where a rake tries to seduce a damsel, he always talks in a sultry manner, looks deep into her eyes and tells her she’s beautiful. He doesn’t order her to get out of his garden and insist she keep her pets off his property.’

Both friends released sighs of relief.

‘But he did have an unusual effect on me,’ she added. ‘When we were talking, my mind went all fuzzy, and I found it hard to think. My heart kept doing odd things, beating fast but suddenly seeming to stop. I felt so hot, even though it’s not an especially warm day. And it wasn’t just my cheeks that were blushing. It was as if my entire body was burning. Then there was a peculiar tingling and throbbing sensation in the oddest of places.’

Her friends said nothing, just stared at her with matching wide-eyed expressions.

‘I know. It took me by surprise as well. Who would have thought any man could affect me like that? But I suppose Mr Darwin is right. Deep down we’re all just animals. They always react in a peculiar manner when in the presence of an ideal mate.’

‘No!’ her friends exclaimed in unison, and Primrose knew she had done it again. She’d said the wrong thing. But at least she knew her friends would not tease her the way Cousin Jasper did or reprimand her like the countess.

‘We are not animals,’ Alice said quietly, while the lines on Margaret’s brow became even more furrowed.

‘Well, we are really, aren’t we?’ she said, looking from one friend to the other. ‘According to Mr Darwin, we’re only a few evolutionary stages away from swinging in the trees.’

Her friends’ faces became even more pinched, as if someone was hurting them.

‘Primrose, dear, I do urge caution,’ Margaret said hurriedly. ‘Ignore anything you might have read about Mr Darwin’s theory of evolution. Forget anything he might or might not have said about us being animals. For your own protection, always remember you are a virtuous young lady and should remain that way.’

Primrose was rarely disappointed in her friends, but this advice—be cautious, be a virtuous young lady, always remember you are not an animal despite what Mr Darwin says—was not that different from the advice she had been given by the countess, minus the bit about Mr Darwin, who the countess was unlikely to have ever heard of.

But it hardly mattered, did it? No matter what effect he had on her, the viscount had made it very clear that, like every other man she had ever met, he did not see her in that way, so there was absolutely no need for caution.

Chapter Two

Lucian returned to his father’s house feeling slightly less agitated than he had been since his arrival back in England. The visit to the solicitor had been extremely productive. The man had arranged for an estate agent to be present, who had assured Lucian that as townhouses in Kensington rarely came on the market, and there were a lot of newly wealthy people desperate to move into such a prestigious area, he would have no difficulty in finding a buyer willing to pay a high price for the privilege of living so close to members of the aristocracy.

Lucian did not care how much he got for the house. He just wanted to get rid of it, but as the estate agent was paid on commission, he was happy for the man to achieve a good price.

All in all, that meant he would soon be free to leave the country. Pouring himself a brandy to mark the good news, he looked out onto the back garden and was pleased to see not a goose in sight, nor any pretty blonde young women.

Just to make sure, he walked out onto the terrace, looked around, then huffed out a sigh of frustration. No geese, but an odd-looking cat had taken up residence on one of the wrought iron chairs. A chair on which someone had placed a red velvet cushion. Possibly the animal-loving gardener, Edward.

He stared at the cat. The cat’s green eyes stared back at him. It was the strangest creature Lucian had ever seen. Part ginger, part white, part tabby, with several mismatched grey and white stripes, it gave every appearance of being put together by a patchwork-quiltmaker with very little skill. But its face was the messiest part, mainly grey, but lines of black and ginger appeared to have dribbled down from the top of its head to its chin.

The cat uncurled itself, stood up and gave a luxurious stretch, revealing four paws of different colours at the end of four mismatched legs, then curled up again as if, now that it had checked out the interloper, it intended to go back to sleep.

Lucian had no doubt as to who its owner was. It seemed Miss Fairburn had not grasped there were to be no exceptions to his no-animal rule. He picked up the cat and instead of being outraged by Lucian’s intention to eject it from the property, the feline actually snuggled into his arms and began purring.

‘You are not wanted here,’ he informed the animal, who purred even louder and snuggled closer.

‘You can stop that right now.’

He strode through the house, out of the front door, down the street and up the path to his neighbour’s door, where he picked up the brass lion-head door-knocker and pounded on it, hard.

A footman opened the door, looked at Lucian, then at the purring cat curled up in his arms. ‘Miss Fairburn is in the garden, my lord,’ he said, knowing exactly why a man would be standing on the doorstep holding a multicoloured cat.

He followed the footman through the house, which couldn’t be more different to his father’s. The design was much the same, the marble entrance was an exact replica as was the wrought iron stairway. But that was where the similarity ended. Miss Fairburn’s hallway was full of lush green plants and vases of flowers, all giving off a summery perfume.

They strode through to the drawing room, which was as feminine as his father’s house was masculine, with floral pink-and-green silk wallpaper along with paintings of pastoral scenes and gilded mirrors adorning the walls. More vases of flowers were scattered around on the small tables and sideboards, along with an array of ornaments, and instead of large leather furniture, each chair and settee was delicate and covered in a similar fabric to the walls.

The footman led him out through the French doors into the garden, where he found Miss Fairburn feeding a goat.

A goat.

He’d thought geese were bad enough. What on earth was she doing with a goat in an affluent area like this? And how much noise did goats make? Was it more or less than the noise of a gaggle of geese?