Page 19 of A Viscount’s Reluctant Passion

Two hours later, having left urgent instructions with the tailor who both he and Chase patronised, Nash directed the carriage towards Blackwood House. He could not leave London without seeing Miss Wormsley again – especially not after the events of the previous night.

Before the tailor, he had visited his own man of business, and left most specific instructions – instructions which had caused Mr Silverton to raise an eyebrow, and shake his head a little. But Silverton would do as was needed, Nash was sure of it. The man had contacts, and was efficient in every way. By the time Nash returned to London, or before, he hoped, Silverton would have found all of those to whom Winterbourne owed money, and bought up his debts, in Nash’s name.

Nash wanted control of Winterbourne, before the man had a chance for his greed to assert itself, and further dastardly actions resulted. There was so much to do! His head was filled with it, and he pulled out a pencil and the tiny journal he carried to begin listing it all out. By the time the carriage set him down in front of Blackwood House, he had filled two pages with tasks, and was sure that was just the start.

He stepped down, and started – somehow, with all of the busyness of the day, the afternoon had passed, and the summer twilight had set in. It was, perhaps, not the most appropriate time to be making calls, yet he had no choice – he could not bear to leave London without seeing her again, without knowing that she was well.

He went up the steps and rapped the knocker. The butler gave him a rather haughty look, then admitted him.

“Miss Wormsley is in the parlour, Lord Challoner. If you will wait just a moment?”

Nash nodded, and the butler hurried off to announce him, returning immediately to show him through.

Miss Wormsley rose as he entered the room. He went to her, and bowed. Moments later, a maid rushed into the room, and settled in the far corner. Propriety was served, it seemed.

“Miss Wormsley, I must beg your forgiveness for calling at such a time of day, but circumstances drive me.”

She blushed a little, and his heart beat harder – she was beautiful, and he wished, in that instant, to pull her into his arms and kiss her. He forced that thought away, and waited.

“Lord Challoner, you are always welcome to call. As it is not long until dinner will be served, might I invite you to dine with us?”

Nash should, he knew, rush back to Travers House – there was so much still to do. But instead, he heard himself accepting her offer.

“That would be delightful, Miss Wormsley. I have rather momentous news, and would welcome a chance to converse with you.”

“Perhaps we should walk in the gardens then, and talk whilst waiting for dinner. For it has become rather close in here with the summer heat. Ellie can accompany us.” The maid rose and came forward at the mention of her name, and Miss Wormsley turned to her. “Ellie, please go now and tell my sister that we will be one more for dinner, and then let Cook know. Once that is done, come to the garden.”

The maid bobbed a curtsey, and sped from the room. Nash offered Miss Wormsley his arm, and led her from the room. They passed down a long hallway, and through a door towards the rear of the house, into a small but beautiful garden area.

The rear part of the property, between the house and the mews behind it, was divided into two parts, which paralleled each other from house to laneway. One side was a kitchen garden, and the servants’ path to the stables and beyond, the other was this charming garden, with artfully constructed hedges, and vine covered follies. The whole seemed far larger than it was, and was filled with the scent of roses, from neat rose-beds and from a tangle of roses that climbed over and almost hid a seat in the small folly.

“This is delightful! I can see why you would wish to enjoy the cooler evening air here.”

She turned a little towards him as they walked, smiling.

“It is beautiful. It is what I like most about my sister’s house. Now, shall we sit, and you can tell me of this momentous news?”

They settled onto the bench, and Nash realised that they were hidden from view. Impulse took him, and before he could consider the wisdom of his actions, he had pulled her into his arms. She came willingly, and turned her face up for his kiss. Heat flooded him, and he was instantly hard – no woman before had ever affected him as she did. He knew he should not, yet he could not prevent himself from bringing his lips to hers, from cupping her cheek in his hand, even as his other hand caressed her shoulder and back. She moaned softly, and her lips parted under his. He deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring, and she responded in kind.

Her hands came up around his neck, and her fingers tangled in his hair at the back of his head, where the rushing of the day had disordered it, then her hands slipped down, over his shoulders, feeling the shape of him. His heart pounded, and he trailed kisses down her neck, and onto the upper slope of her breasts, even as his hand slid up her side to cup her breast. His thumb gently teased her nipple through the fabric of the thin summer gown, and she moaned – a sound of pleasure which drove him mad with desire.

Distantly, there came the sound of the gate between the kitchen garden, and the garden in which they sat.

They jerked apart, both breathing rapidly. His eyes met hers, and he watched her lick those delicious lips. He dragged his eyes away, swallowing. Her voice came – a little shaky, but with no other indication of what had just passed between them.

“Your news, my Lord?”

The maid’s footsteps crunched on the gravel of the path.

“This morning, Miss Wormsley, my brother received a letter – a rather startling letter. To summarise it all, it informed us that our great-uncle, the Duke of Montford, had died after a long illness. What made that startling was the fact that, apparently, through accident and illness, all more direct heirs have also died. My brother is no longer the Marquess of Travers – he is now the Duke of Montford. He is still to be confirmed into the title, of course, but as there are no other heirs, that is a matter of the formalities only. But, as if that was not enough, it seems that the Marquessate of Travers was created with a most unusual clause in its letters patent. A clause which means that, upon his confirmation as Duke, I will become the Marquess of Travers.”

The maid reached them as he said the last of this, and both she and Miss Wormsley gasped at his words. Miss Wormsley thought for a moment, then her smile widened.

“I congratulate both of you, my Lord, although certainly the death of a relative is not really cause for celebration. This will, I am sure, bring substantial change to your life.”

“It will indeed. That is why I called today. For tomorrow, we both leave for Montford Abbey – for the funeral, the official reading of the Will, and the beginning of what I can only regard as likely months of ‘torture by paperwork’. No matter how much I enjoy estate management, and the organisation which it requires, this will be enormous. Whilst I can guarantee that the affairs of the Marquessate are in good order, I have no idea of the state of the affairs of the Duchy – and my brother will expect me to help him with that. He has never been one to bother with the administrative detail of life.”

“Tomorrow?”