Capturing the Viscount (Rakes and Roses Book 1) Read online

  Laura had grown into herself the last few years, and the result was stunning. Even Astoria, who had been the toast of the town in her day, could not begin to match the looks her daughter now possessed. Laura's eyes were her mother's, a vivid emerald green that shone with warmth and vitality. The two women's noses were almost exactly alike as well, softly sloping and rather small. But where Astoria's lips were in the same vein as her nose, Laura's were full and shaped into a wide, captivating cupid's bow. The expressive features on her elfin face, combined with a wealth of thick blonde hair and a trim figure, were sure to lead the ton's young bucks on a merry chase.

  Astoria wasn't worried about Laura's ability to handle the fops and poetry-spouting puppies who would line up for her attentions. It was the other kind of man that Lady Parrington suspected would take a shine to her daughter's assets: the older, experienced gentlemen, the rakes, the scoundrels, the carousing bachelors that had no intention of marrying an innocent, vivacious girl like Laura.

  Astoria masked her thoughts and smiled. Laura was so very excited, and Astoria didn't want to ruin her night. "You'd best go get ready or we will be more than fashionably late."

  Laura pressed a kiss to her mother's smooth cheek. “I'll be ready in no time. Oh, and I have to tell Jonathan to load my Dag in the carriage compartment. I must document such a momentous-"

  "Oh, no you don't." Lady Parrington's stern voice rose. "You are leaving that thing at home. If someone were to see you working that contraption at the ball, they'd have conniptions. I'd have conniptions."

  "But Mama-" Laura's voice turned wheedling.

  "No. No "buts" about it. Your father should never have let you purchase that thing in the first place. It's practically illegal."

  "Well," Laura muttered under her breath, "It's not 'practically illegal.' It is illegal. But no one really cares..."

  "What are you muttering about?" Astoria demanded.

  Laura sighed. "Nothing. I won't work my "contraption" at the ball tonight. And it's a camera, mama. A Daguerreotype camera," she stated, warming to her subject. "You know what it is, so stop calling it a contraption. Mark my words, in a few years, everyone will have one, and I will be lauded as a forerunner of fashionable artistic expre-"

  "Oh, for Heaven's sake, just go put your dress on. And leave the camera at home." Astoria's eyes bored pointedly into Laura's.

  She held her mother's gaze stubbornly for a moment, then sniffed and swept from the room as haughtily as a deposed princess.

  Laura's delight in the possibilities of the night to come was infectious, and soon, Lady Parrington was laughing along with her daughter as they trundled along the streets of Mayfair to the Rothstone's residence. Astoria had chosen the Rothstone ball strategically because the Duchess of Rothstone was one of her closest friends and had assured her that Laura's come-out would be the talk of the town. Lady Parrington also suspected that Lady Rothstone was hoping an introduction between her elder son and Laura would be auspicious. Astoria had to admit, she wouldn't mind that outcome, despite Lady Rothstone's son's age. What was it? Twenty six? Twenty seven? Something like that. He was going to be a duke, however. Even without that title, Remington Rothstone had a slew of lesser ones to compensate before his father left him the ducal seat, including the title of Viscount, which was impressive in its own right. Yes, Laura would do well as a duchess. Perhaps Astoria should consult with Lady Rothstone, known to her as Penelope, as to how to further Laura and Remington's acquaintance.

  "You look lovely, tonight, Mama," Laura commented earnestly, her gaze sweeping her mother's deep purple gown and matching shawl.

  "Why, thank you, Laura. But I sincerely doubt anyone is going to be looking at me with you in the vicinity. You will steal the show, my dear."

  It was perfectly true. Laura's gown of emerald satin made her eyes and skin glow with an ethereal radiance and offset her natural rosy lips. The gown displayed her figure lovingly, hugging closely to her curves and hollows. An emerald teardrop necklace that hung in both the front and back with matching earrings finished the ensemble. Her hair had been done up in a mass of twists and coils, while a few stubborn tendrils has escaped onto her brow and neck to lay in soft twirls.

  Having lived in the country up until now, Laura had never given much thought to what was said of her or which village boy had developed a tendre for her. She had been much more interested in the gadgets and inventions her father would bring home from his travels for the Home Office. The Earl of Manchester had agreed to several diplomatic missions for his country when Laura was growing up, and he doted on his daughter when he returned from those missions, bringing her all sorts of "contraptions," as Astoria called them. The latest one, this "Dag" camera that Laura carted around with her, had been spotted by Laura at a local gypsy bazaar last year. Never having been able to resist his daughter's pleas, the Earl had purchased it for her and taught her how to use it. Unfortunately, this particular contraption happened to be under strict patent, and no one could know that Laura owned one, much less knew how to use it. Therefore, Laura was not allowed to use it in front of anyone, which so far had proved an easy edict to abide by, being on their country estate where hardly anyone ever wandered onto. Laura had reams of photographs of everything from plant life to clouds to mountains to herself, when she was able to sit still that long.

  However, now it was time for Laura's season in London, and Astoria wasn't going to let that nonsense hurt Laura's chances of being accepted into society and finding a husband. She worried that sometimes Laura was too wrapped up in her world of curiosity to notice that her own life was being set in motion.

  But tonight, it seemed as if Laura had forgotten all about her oddities and was as eager as any girl to step into the world of glittering people and dancing and socializing. Their carriage pulled up to the front steps of the Rothstone's mansion after waiting for nearly twenty minutes in line. Astoria stepped out first to give Laura a sense of ease. The footman in dark blue and yellow livery who handed Laura down after her ruined that, however. He was simply struck speechless. Laura smiled and said good evening politely, to which the footman stammered and flushed, finally retreating into his duties, choosing to bow rather than attempt further speech.

  Astoria sighed. And it has begun.

  Laura paused to murmur something to their own footman who had just alighted from the carriage. Laura giggled and Jonathan smiled back, long past being affected by Laura's looks. Astoria knew Laura was probably making a self-deprecating comment with someone familiar to ease the awkwardness she felt. Poor girl. This was only the beginning.

  Laura's heart beat a staccato as she walked slowly through the double doors of the ballroom that had been thrown open to welcome guests into the enormous candlelit chamber. She looked this way and that, trying to take in everything she saw. The crystal chandeliers above the dance floor hovered like shimmering ghosts, providing light from their display of candles. Hundreds of people in beautiful, costly clothes and diamonds drifted inside the ballroom, forming groups, dissembling, then joining up with others again. The mood was jovial and animated, and Laura was lit with a sense of exhilaration as she took in the scene.

  She was secretly quite afraid of not being accepted by these elite persons and feared making a terrible mistake at her first outing in society, even though she knew exactly what to do. But eventually her eagerness won out over the anxiety and she forced herself to relax and enjoy the moment. As people began to notice the young woman who had entered the room, the atmosphere became charged. The men closest to her immediately stopped and stared, while the women were engaged by a fierce curiosity as to who this newcomer was. Laura smiled warmly and nodded to those women whose eyes she met, and, to her relief, they generally smiled back. Mayhap she would find some friends in this big, bold place after all.

  Laura was led by her mother over to the receiving line, where she was presented to the Duke and Duchess of Rothstone. She remembered Lady Rothstone from her visits to the estate and was relieved
that it took no time at all to renew her acquaintance with them. The Duke and Duchess made a handsome couple, and their kindness was well known throughout the ton. Laura remembered their unexpected warmth from her childhood.

  Lady Rothstone looked her over approvingly and smiled at Lady Parrington. "Well, Astoria, we certainly have things to discuss. Expect me as soon as I can get away from this dratted line."

  Astoria smiled knowingly. "I would like that very much, Penny."

  Remington Rothstone counted the minutes until he could leave. He marked each one with a healthy drink from the glass of bourbon in his hand as he leaned against a column in the far corner of the ballroom. His mother's balls wouldn't have been torturesome in themselves, but lately, Lady Rothstone had become alarmingly intent on introducing him to what had to be every girl of marriageable age on England's shores. And normally, Rem didn't mind socializing with the crowd of young bucks and misses who floundered their way through society. He had enjoyed the repartee, the way the women fairly swooned when he looked at them with genuine interest in what they said.

  However, he had realized in recent years that every conversation had become the same to him. He knew how every single interaction would play out. No one had anything particularly new or interesting to impart. No one could seem to break the mold that was expected of them and capture his waning desire to stay in their company.

  Not that he liked outrageous people who made spectacles of themselves or the women who thought to provoke his interest by being tastelessly obvious in their physicality. Years ago, he had even thought to wed one of the respectable, modest gels who graced the ballrooms of the ton- until he began to realize that not one of them could hold his interest for more than a few moments. Which was why, this season, he was determined to avoid as many balls as possible and amuse himself elsewhere with the close circle of friends that had come to the exact same conclusions as he about society- that it was a colossal waste of time all around.

  "And the monotony begins," a voice to his right chimed grimly.

  Rem raised his glass in acknowledgment, surprised to see his friend Tristan at this event. Tristan Treadstone had the title of Marquess of Treadstone, and Remington had known him since his days at Eton's. "What brings you here? I thought you'd sworn off these types of things. I'd hoped to see you at White's later."

  "Well, I could ask the same of you, but obviously, you're here because it's your mother's event, and you have to dance with at least five wallflowers before she'll let you leave." He chuckled at his friend's dour expression, confirming his assessment. "And I happen to be here because my cousin needed an escort. Thankfully, she's meeting her friends here and leaving with them directly after to attend a house party, so my obligation is ended." Tris eyed Remington's glass longingly. "Family. The bane of our existence, eh?"

  "Can't disagree with you there," Rem replied, although it was without conviction. He loved his mother dearly and would do almost anything to ensure her happiness- even dance with a few wallflowers. He actually liked dancing with the wallflowers better because of the unholy temptation to say ridiculous things and cause them to blush and laugh uninhibitedly, as the more refined society misses would never do with their affected ennui. He did not mind playing the charmer now and then to bring a spot of light to a shy girl's dreary night. Still, the chore seemed more arduous than amusing tonight.

  "I'll leave you to it then," Tris announced, thumping him on the back with a mocking smile. "See you at White's, ol’ boy."

  Rem glared retribution as his friend sauntered away, then schooled his expression into a polite façade of a smile as a pair of young women in pastels wandered past him, arm in arm, whispering and giggling. Rem sighed. He should have begged off ages ago, as he actually had a valid excuse for being elsewhere tonight. The charity he sponsored was hosting a fundraising event across town that he would have enjoyed immensely. The Society for Romany Inclusion (which he on the board of) was putting on a fair that boasted some of the best gypsy traders and showmen in England. Rem was sure that the people there were enjoying delicious treats and feats of daring and mystique, all in the name of encouraging members of parliament to vote for a bill that would allow Romany people to receive legitimate business licenses to sell their wares across the country.

  Many of the Romany tribal leaders that Rem had worked with on a regular basis for the cause were supposed to be there, and he hated that he wouldn’t be there to discuss how the efforts were progressing. Plus, they respected him more than most of the other “gadjis” who supported the society. Much of it had to do with his fluency in their language, as well as his time spent among various tribes that had passed through his lands at one time or another. He had come to anticipate the time he spent with the wily gypsies and had been looking forward to seeing the fruition of the event that he had helped in planning for months now.

  Yet his mother hadn’t been persuaded to host her event any other night. He looked along the wall adjacent to him, trying to muster the enthusiasm required for making conversation with a girl who might be too shy to respond at all.

  That was when he saw her.

  It was just a glimpse, really, before she was swallowed up by a throng of admirers that bordered on frenzied. She was dressed in a gown of lustrous green and her lovely head was topped with a mass of gleaming gold, making him reminiscent of some sort of mystical flower beginning to bloom. Her beauty was astounding, but it was the expression on her face that had arrested him. He began to move toward the crowd on the other side of the ballroom, heedless of the polite greetings that came his way. Her face had shown the most absolute joy he had ever seen. It was not the calculated cunning of an ingénue who knew her appeal, but the innocent delight of a young woman who truly was pleasantly surprised with the amount of acceptance she was finding.

  He had never seen her before, that much he knew. He had to find out who she was. Now. It was a feeling of urgency that had never come over him before in regards to a woman. Perhaps it was a moment of insanity. But whatever it was, he couldn't seem to help giving himself over to it.

  By the time he reached the knot of people surrounding her, it had grown even bigger in proportion. He began wading through, muscling his way past both men and women who chattered and called for her attention. "Miss Parrington," he heard over and over. He even recognized some of the hopefuls from his days at Eton. So it wasn't just youngsters. Men his age had fallen for her as well. Grayson Fennimore, Trent Arberley, Daniel Craigerton, Matthew Stanley...All good men he had used to run around town with a few years ago.

  And then the peculiar feeling started to fade somewhat when he began to realize that he was acting like a green fool, shoving people just to become some chit's worshipper among the dozens of others. As the realization washed over him, clearing his mind, Rem abruptly stopped moving and let the crowd jostle him out of its midst, a frown staining his brow. He faded towards the wall, hoping against hope that no one had seen him behaving like a puling nitwit over some girl.

  What had he been thinking? Had he gone positively mad? Running a hand through his hair and then subsequently trying to flatten it into place again, Rem seethed over the vision he must have presented while dancing to some virginal school-girl's tune. He forced her image from his mind in disgust and straightened away from the wall, anger at his own actions making him determined to mentally prepare for what was surely going to be the most bothersome ball of them all.

  Forty minutes later, Rem felt he had done his duty by dancing with four young ladies and chatting with six more. It was definitely time to leave. He wanted to get out of there, find a quiet game of cards at Whites, and drink enough liquor to drown out the memory of that moment of stupidity. The Romany fair would probably still be going late into the night, but he couldn’t imagine himself enjoying it anymore. He had purposely never looked towards where he knew her to be since then, as if acknowledging her presence would bring a permanent mark of shame to his face for everyone to see. Rem exited the ballroom in resolut
e strides and ordered his carriage to be brought round to the back. He would never get out the front way with the mass of conveyances still clogging the street by the main entrance.

  The hallways towards the back of the house weren't lit with as many lamps as the front rooms where guests were expected to traverse. All the same, he stopped dead in his tracks as a flicker of emerald swished out of sight ahead of him. Puzzled, he advanced towards the turn the bright swatch of fabric had disappeared around. He poked his head around the corner and became even more intrigued.

  It was the girl in the green dress, the one everyone, including himself, was making fools of themselves for. Her skirts swirled around her hips and thighs as she furtively hurried along the passage, tossing glances back every now and then. Thankfully, it was too dark for her to make out the edge of his face from where he watched. Where was she headed? To meet a lover, perhaps? She had certainly made fast work of the fops at the ball. It was entirely possible she was meeting someone to conduct an assignation.

  The thought didn't appeal to him at all, though he had no right to judge her and certainly no claim on her, as he hadn't even made her acquaintance. Her hair shone dull gold in the lamplight as she paused before a door to her right, which he happened to know was an entrance to the conservatory. She cautiously stepped through and shut it quietly behind her.

  He really shouldn't get involved. He shouldn't care what she was doing in the conservatory, even though it was his family's house. But, try as he might, he couldn't stop himself from following. He had to know what she was up to. From the gossip he had overheard at the ball, it was her come-out, the first London society event she had ever attended. Rather bold of her to go skulking around with a lover at her come-out ball. Even he wouldn't have attempted it. Oh, alright, maybe he would have, but not some country chit barely out of the schoolroom.