The Naked Viscount by Sally Mackenzie Read Free Book Online Page A

estate celebrating the christening of Dawson’s second child. Winifred considered herself an honorary grandmother as she’d been instrumental in bringing the baron and his wife—the former Lady Grace Belmont—together. But once she got wind that the other aunts were in London—well, she was not going to leave such an important task as selecting the next Viscountess Motton to her sisters.
    It would be damn nice if they’d all leave that task to him, however.
    He leaned back in his chair and chuckled. God, the look on Williams’s face the other day when he’d announced the aunts—minus Aunt Winifred—in this very room. Well, it must have mirrored his. Horror, that’s what he’d felt when he’d seen them all standing behind his butler. He was certain Williams had tried to park the ladies in one of the parlors, but the aunts clearly were having none of that. They’d probably surmised—perhaps rightly—that their loving nephew would have bolted out the back.
    Aunt Gertrude, the oldest at seventy-six, hadn’t waited for the poor fellow to get her name out. “Good Lord, man,” she’d said, pushing past him, “I had your master’s puke all over my shoulder when he was only days old. I don’t think you need to announce me.”
    Cordelia, Dorothea, and Louisa had made various noises of agreement. At least they’d left their pets in the carriage; he hadn’t been treated to that cacophony, too. They’d followed Gertrude like a flock of aggressive geese; Williams had given him a weak, commiserating look and fled.
    He’d been trapped here, behind his desk—he wasn’t quite bold enough to walk out on the aunties. Bold, hmm…brave was probably a better word. He’d be exiled from his house—hell, he’d be exiled from London…from England…if hetried such a trick.
    He’d stood, of course, the moment he’d seen them. He’d heard the baby puke comment before; he very much hoped he could get through the interview without Gertrude dredging up any other distasteful memories of his infancy.
    â€œAunt Gertrude…and Aunt Cordelia, Dorothea, and Louisa, what a, er, pleasant, ah, surprise. Are you in London for the Season?” he’d said.
    â€œWell, we certainly aren’t in London for our health.” Gertrude had coughed and glared at him. “How anyone can bear to live in this filthy place is beyond me. I swear it can’t get any dirtier each time I come up to Town, and each time I’m proven wrong again. How can you stand it?”
    â€œOnly with the strictest fortitude. The soot and noise are not at all what you are used to. I suggest you return to the country posthaste.”
    Dorothea laughed. “Nice try, Edmund. We didn’t come up to see the sights, you know.”
    â€œOr attend all the balls and parties and other frivolous entertainments.” Louisa had looked as though she’d bitten into a lemon. If she had a sense of humor, he hadn’t yet discovered it.
    â€œAh. Then why have you come to Town, ladies?” He knew the answer, but he was hoping he might be mistaken.
    He wasn’t.
    â€œTo find you a wife, of course.” Gertrude’d wrinkled her brow. “You ain’t usually a lobcock, Edmund. Must be all this dirt—it’s clogged up your brain.”
    He’d tried to laugh. He suddenly knew what it must be like to be a fox encircled by hounds. Death—or marriage—was beginning to feel inescapable. “I didn’t know I needed a wife.”
    A colossally stupid thing to say—he’d recognized that the moment the words escaped his lips.
    Gertrude snorted; Cordelia snickered; Dorothea laughed; Louisa merely rolled her eyes.
    â€œYou need an heir, Edmund.” Gertrude had spoken slowly as if she were addressing a complete slow-top. “So, of course, you need a wife.”
    â€œBut I don’t