Anabelle Bryant - Society's Most Scandalous Viscount

The horse nickered as if to indicate Kell had come full circle in his thinking. True enough the singular incident drove him to Brighton in the first place.

When Kell was younger he’d wished, hoped, prayed for parents who took the slightest interest in his affairs. Parents who would attend his graduation, acknowledge his accomplishments— he’d scored double firsts at Oxford in a bid for their approval —but that was not to be. He’d learned independence and self-sufficiency at the ripe age of twelve, experienced a whore’s pleasure at thirteen after winning an unseemly wager in the back room of a St. Giles gaming hell. He’d frequented every place a lofty aristocrat shouldn’t and hardened his heart along the way, somehow maintaining a barely respectable presence in society while simultaneously seeking pleasure and pursuing challenges whenever the opportunity presented itself.

The elite viewed him as privileged, the heir to a fortune, a title, and moniker that would serve him through life, but the opposite proved true. Any monies set aside for his future gathered dust in the bank. Kell made his way by intelligent wager and shrewd investment, amassing his fortune by ingenuity and design, beholden to none. And his title? His familial ties to the Duke of Acholl? Perhaps it had aided his path at times, but never let it be said Kellaway depended on his relations. He’d learned all too quickly he was of no true importance aside from his legitimacy. With a caustic scoff, he tossed the brush aside and discarded the bitter memory.

“I can’t fathom what she’ll ask of me now, though only a fool would trust the verity of her request.” He grasped Nyx by the bridle and lowered the Arabian’s head before he retrieved the crimson ribbon from his pocket and double knotted the length in the horse’s mane. Releasing the leather strap he rubbed a palm over Nyx’s muzzle, leaning in to rest his head against the horse’s neck. He’d gather strength from the animal. He’d draw endurance.

But instead of his mind combating the numerous conflicts his mother might impose once he entered the house, Kell’s thoughts returned to the kiss he’d shared in the cottage and the mysterious beauty who had startled him into unexpected emotion: a depth of reaction for which he had no label. He lost himself in the sensual pleasures of women whenever he needed release, but this seemed different. This was rare and unsettling, and perhaps a shade dangerous to his well-guarded heart.

It hardly mattered. In the daylight he had grown less sure that he would see her again. But who was she? A simple miss who lived in Brighton? She couldn’t be. Nothing about her appeared common. Not the multiple shades of gold in her flowing hair or the tide of emotions in her turquoise eyes. He recalled her scent, the sweet softness of her skin and the delicate curve of her waist beneath his palms, and his blood heated with desire. He could find joy in a woman of such tempting beauty. He could forget for a time all the wrongs, and just breathe.

Something whispered to his soul that there was much more to discover. Their kiss had been powerful and delicate. Exquisite and impactful. A longing for more of her attention pulled at him as surely as a compass needle seeks north. He never developed attachment; a good tumble with an assortment of women composed of all particularities created his past, yet for some unidentifiable reason the mermaid’s kiss lived in him still, unresolved and impatient. He almost chuckled at the irony. Like most of his emotions, the lack of a resolution haunted.

Another part of him, arrogant male pride perhaps, prodded that he merely needed to lay with any woman to exorcise his idle interest. A smarter man would seek a brothel with haste, but he ignored the notion. He’d come to Brighton to settle his affairs, not be towed under by further instigations.

A loud yowl disrupted his ruminations and he lifted his head to eye an overfed tabby in the corner of the stable, its back laid level to the ground, its body collapsed as if ready to pounce on an unsuspecting rodent. There was always room for an adept mouser in the stable although the feline hunter reminded him too much of how he’d soon become prey to his mother’s request. As long as this new guest didn’t bother Nyx, Kell had no objection to the intruder.

He offered the Arabian a final rub and set out on the gravel walk leading away from the house. Let Bitters handle his mother. The thought provoked a wry smile. Kell needed a release and without a comely female to exhaust his energy, he may as well pierce a few targets and hone his skill. He’d gather what he needed from the shed and return for Nyx. One never knew when a precise shot would prove necessary.

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