Gayle Buck by The Desperate Viscount Read Free Book Online

mirror-polished top boots. Extra whip points were thrust through his lapel and he carried a pair of driving gloves.
    He allowed the porter to take his beaver, but declined to give up his driving coat and the gloves, since he expected to be leaving the house again in short order. Lady Althea never left him to kick his heels for more than a quarter hour, for she understood that he would not allow his horses to stand any longer. On two occasions, the viscount had been known to leave a polite but terse message that he would appoint another afternoon more convenient for her for driving. Lady Althea had learned to her chagrin, carefully hidden but never forgotten, that she could not command the viscount’s anticipation of her grand entrance while his cattle grew restless.
    Lord St. John waited in the front parlor. He noticed without particular interest that the furnishings had been changed. He did wonder, however fleetingly, why he had been shown into the formal room when before he had always been received in the lady’s private sitting room. He shrugged, thinking it but another conceit of his betrothed.
    The seeming puzzle was solved when the door opened and Lady Althea entered the room. He had not realized until that instant that the blue silk hangings and blue-and-gold striped coverings on the gilded furniture would prove to be the perfect foil for her dazzling beauty. Lord St. John smiled, for he was no stranger to his lady’s vanity.
    Lady Althea offered her hand to him, the touch of her slim fingers cool on his. “My lord.” She returned his smile, hers a bewitching sight to the male of the species.
    Lady Althea had been blessed with unquestioned birth and beauty. The daughter of the Earl of Cowltern, she could look as high as she wished for a husband; but it was her beauty that made her remarkable. She was fortunate to possess a sylphlike figure that was the envy and despair of every other lady in society. Her guinea-gold hair framed a face of classical purity. If there was a lack of spontaneity in her smile or on occasion a hardness in her deep blue eyes, these faults were overlooked in the general concession that Lady Althea was a diamond of the first water.
    Lord St. John was mildly surprised that his betrothed was not dressed to go out driving with him. Lady Althea wore a lovely dimity dress that enhanced her slender femininity and, while he was appreciative of the vision that she presented, he knew that it was not a dress suitable for the seat of a high-perch phaeton.
    It had become an established habit that he should drive his betrothed at least once a week in the park during the fashionable hour and such was his intention for this afternoon. Lady Althea had never concealed that she thoroughly enjoyed the attention that she was thus afforded in being seen with such a notable whip as Viscount Weemswood and it had not mattered to him that she should take advantage of their betrothal to serve her own conceit.
    As Lord St. John straightened from brushing a kiss across her fingers, he said quizzingly, “That is a marvelously fetching gown, but should you not exchange it for one more suitable since you are driving with me today?”
    Lady Althea freed her hand and turned away, presenting her faultless profile to him. She stepped over to the occasional table to reorder the blood-red roses in an already perfect bouquet. “I have changed my mind, my lord.”
    Lord St. John detected a considerable coolness in her tone and her expression. Such was her reserve that he did not believe that she was referring to their driving assignation. He stiffened.
    It had not occurred to him before that his own betrothed might not stand by him. If he had given any thought to Lady Althea at all, he had vaguely assumed that she would join him in his social exile. It was a matter of public record that they were betrothed and the date of their nuptials had already been announced. It was inconceivable that either party could gracefully exit the