Return of the Viscount by Gayle Callen Read Free Book Online Page A

sooner left the formal gardens when she pulled up short in surprise. Lord Blackthorne, limping along with the aid of his cane, had come to a stop when he saw her. For a moment, they stared at each other beneath a glorious sun. Though he was still dressed plainly, conservatively, nothing could hide the very maleness of him. He made her far too aware of him as a man—as her husband. She couldn’t help feeling that he wanted to look at her in a more thorough manner but stopped himself. She was used to the admiration of men, but this seemed . . . different, brazen, dark, with maybe a touch of possession.
    She thought of Nell calling him handsome. It seemed too tame a word for him. He was too unfashionably . . . large. He wasn’t wearing a coat, only his shirtsleeves and a waistcoat above his trousers, a simple cravat tied at his throat. Now she could see that he needed no padding in his clothing, that he was broad through the shoulders, even barrel-chested, yet narrow through the hips. She felt herself blushing, remembering how she’d protested when he looked at her in the same manner.
    He briefly doffed his hat. “Good morning, Lady Blackthorne.”
    â€œGood morning, Lord Blackthorne. I am surprised to find you exercising your leg. Should it not be healing?”
    â€œYour concern is appreciated, madam, but the leg will stiffen if I don’t use it. The stronger it gets, the less I’ll need to use the cane.”
    â€œBut . . . the shrapnel?”
    He shrugged. “The doctors say the pieces of metal might work themselves out on their own, or they might not. I’ll just have to become used to whatever the outcome.”
    She hesitated, wishing she could say she preferred to be alone but knowing she couldn’t. “I am walking toward the stables, if you’d like to join me.”
    He nodded. She expected to slow her pace to accommodate him, but he moved along briskly. He had obviously been in fine physical condition before the wound, and that must stand him in good stead.
    â€œYou are going riding?” he asked.
    â€œNo, I walk every morning. The stables are simply one stop on my way. Did you plan to ride?”
    â€œI did enough of that yesterday. It made my leg quite stiff.”
    Another awkward silence grew between them. She looked into the distance, at the green rolling hills, the occasional cottage.
    â€œI love this land,” she found herself saying. “I wasn’t born here, and we did not spend much time here at all until Oliver returned to go to Eton, when Mother and I came with him. But there is something about the place of our ancestors that calls you to do your best to maintain it.” But not Oliver, she thought with a twinge of sadness.
    â€œI understand,” he said. “I have been improving my estate to bring it back to what it once was.”
    She gave him a curious glance but didn’t feel she could question him.
    He accompanied her from building to building, and she realized ruefully that in less then twenty-four hours, the news of his arrival had spread far and wide. People turned out in droves to see Lord Blackthorne, and many boldly introduced themselves. What would happen when she had the marriage invalidated? There would be a scandal, of course, but her servants knew they had not spent the night together. And Cecilia didn’t care what other people thought, she told herself.
    Lord Blackthorne proved a knowledgeable man about every position on the estate; if only she could discuss things like this with Oliver. As she answered various questions the staff asked about a grain shipment to London, or which cattle had been selected to be delivered by train to market, she felt the uncomfortable stare of her husband. He watched her like a falcon watched a rabbit, intently, single-mindedly, and it was like an itch she couldn’t reach, couldn’t scratch. By midmorning, she wished he would just go away so she