Lizzie Tempest Ruins A Viscount (Felmont Brides Series Book 1) by Maggie Jagger

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  For the next week, the viscount spent the mornings sleeping. Lizzie knew he spent the nights with Angel Anston to keep his friend company while Molly rested. Fever meant the invalid had troubled nights, suffering bouts of delirium, although Lizzie was relieved to know the terrible pain no longer tormented him.

  The viscount’s midnight visits to her were of short duration. To her shame, her husband managed to rouse her to pleasure, though he did not linger at his lustful activity.

  But this night he had not knocked on her door. She lay awake waiting. Sexual congress was addicting and she had caught the sickness. Her mother had been afflicted the same way. Every vice indulged with her husband. They had both died horribly, she couldn’t bear to think of them.

  Lizzie could not sleep. She ventured down the street to Edward Anston’s bedroom, just to see her husband, just to hear his voice. She did not fear he had gone to indulge himself in the fleshpots of London. She had become quite used to being a convenient body on which he relieved his desires. He had not asked her to do anything hideous, and she doubted her ability to deny him anything he desired to do with her. She began to trust that there’d be no other, even though no one who knew the Felmont family would agree.

  The viscount greeted her with a smile, a triumphant gleam in his eye. The dimple at the corner of his mouth flashed before he composed his face to a more dignified expression. He crossed to the door and led her inside, closing it quietly.

  “How is Edward?” she whispered. It would never do to have her husband think she had missed him at midnight. The arm around her shoulders brought her to his side as he drew her towards the hearth.

  “Bad night. Thank you for coming. Angel has been off his head, he’s just fallen asleep.” He pulled her to sit on his knee on the chair beside the fire.

  He kissed her on the top of her lace cap. “I missed you.”

  Lizzie raised her face. Her husband gave a delighted low rumble and kissed her lips. She touched his lean cheek, felt the stubble on his jaw and rasped it with her fingertips. The scent of soap from the Priory and his own scent wafted pleasantly to her nose. She sighed aloud before she could stop it.

  He gave her a hug which almost stopped her breath. “I shall not ask if you missed me, Lizzie.” He paused, she could feel him laugh deep in his chest, though not a sound came out. “I hope you don’t make a habit of visiting men in the middle of the night?”

  “Not unless they are ill,” she replied. She had lived in her stepfather’s bedroom at the end.

  “Where shall we go shopping today, dear heart?” He held her with one arm while he caressed her back with the other. “I have heard of a man who sells plants from China, wonderful exotics. Shall we go and have a look at them?”

  “Yes, I’d like that.” She raised her face for another kiss. A giggle escaped her, she was filled with desire for him and love. She felt carefree, and not afraid at all.

  Angel Anston gave a cry of anguish. “Damned fornicating devils!” he cried in full voice. Lizzie had never heard him shout with such power. “Fornicators!”

  She cringed with guilt. Her husband rose with her to place her in the chair. “Not calling us names, my love. Sit tight. Angel has been like this for hours.”

  He went to stand by the bed. “They have gone, Angel. All of them have gone. I have her, she is safe. Not injured. You saved her.”

  The wounded man lay still, listening to her husband’s soothing voice. “Safe?” he whispered in his angelic voice.

  “Yes, she is safe.” The viscount wet a cloth and placed it on Angel Anston’s forehead.

  Lizzie ventured over.

  “Don’t get too close, Lizzie. Poor Molly has a black eye. Angel lashed out suddenly. We tried tying him up but it made his nightmares worse. It’s better like this.”

  She put her arm around his waist. He tucked her head under his chin and walked her to the door. “Back to bed with you. Is a footman waiting to escort you back?”

  She nodded and scrunched her toes in her shoes.

  “Don’t cry, Lizzie, Angel won’t die. He is getting better every day.” Dace held her close to kiss her wet cheek and offer his handkerchief.

  For the rest of the night, she slept with it clutched in her hand. In the morning, she awoke with tender feelings in her bosom. That way should lead to disaster, but she had fallen over a cliff and could not climb back up to sanity.

  She loved a Felmont! Any woman who ever tried it, ended up with a broken heart or a fatal disease.

  Her husband saved women, just like Edward Anston. He was brave and heroic. Edward trusted him. The simple truth was that Dace had survived years with a man who killed anyone who harmed women. But Felmonts didn’t harm women on purpose. She knew them well. They loved women and stopped at nothing to obtain the object of their desire. They loved the chase and the dance of love for as long as it lasted, and then they moved on to the next conquest. Marriage rarely suited them. They adored women who were not bound by propriety, who led them a merry dance and kept them intrigued by their daring. Women like her mother, not like her.