Anabelle Bryant - Society's Most Scandalous Viscount

Bitters would complain.

Damn Bitters.

He behaved more like the master of the house than a servant. Insolent son of a bitch and loyal comrade. Kell chuckled at the man’s admirable irascibility. Aside from Nyx, Bitters was his only friend at the moment—all London companions left behind in a tangle of emotion and misery.

Unwilling to dwell on the unresolved problems simmering with persistence below his veneer of calm, Kell abandoned the terrace and returned to bed, his body begging for a release the alcohol hadn’t provided. The image of an angelic mermaid was vivid in his mind as he privately pursued his pleasure.

Angelica Curtis slipped through the back door of the picturesque cottage she shared with her grandmother and eased the lock closed, careful to set the lamp on the table in a soundless motion and noticing too late she’d lost the key to douse the flame. Fumbling near the cupboard, she located another lamp, borrowed the key and completed the task until she stood in near darkness among the muted rays of slanted moonlight stealing through the narrow kitchen window.

With great care, she approached the backstairs, desperate not to wake her grandmother or the housekeeper with her late-night flight of fancy. These jaunts were the only way to harness her restlessness since she’d invited herself to Brighton. Months earlier, she’d fled London and left behind too many poor decisions to confront in the light of day or middle of the evening. Avoidance seemed the smartest path for the time being.

At the least she wouldn’t unburden her inner turmoil on the only relative who understood her heart. Her grandmother never questioned. Somehow, they shared the same spirit. It had always proven true.

Accomplishing the backstairs without rousing anyone, Angelica moved down the hall on padded feet and slipped into her modest room, closing the door and changing her clothes in a rush to prepare for sleep. It was another foolish decision in a long mental list, to venture outdoors, but how she needed the freedom. To breathe the salt air, gaze at the stars, and watch the rush of waves cleared her mind and soul of the harsh decisions daylight determinedly kept ever present. Somehow at night, things became a little easier.

Tonight she’d walked farther than ever before, across the rocky crag at the beach’s end and along the shoreline adjacent to the private property of some long-nosed aristocrat intent on ruining the landscape with a monstrous house, likely occupied less than two months a year. She’d eyed the estate on her daily walks since appearing on her grandmother’s doorstep, and it always stood empty and dark. And while she didn’t dislike peers, born a lady by way of her father’s lineage, she despised pretentious displays of wealth, as she surmised was the intention of the well-built country manor near the jetty, perched high above the ocean like a king on his throne, glaring down on everyone and everything below it. Tonight, she’d been the recipient of its condescending stare, no matter that it was desolate and silent. Her grandmother’s quaint cottage certainly had imposing company, even though the manor stood unoccupied.

She replaced the brush on the vanity and climbed between the sheets as her thoughts flittered to her father’s most recent letter imploring her to return to London. Not enough time had passed. It was still too fresh, too painful, and she hadn’t experienced sufficient freedom before confining herself to the reality that waited in the city. When she’d boarded her carriage and directed the coachman to Brighton, she’d vowed to live an alternate life. To take more chances, make daring choices and, above all else, experience life in ways that would soon become impermissible. There was no need for anyone to know her real name in Brighton. She would be gone before her identity mattered. And with the intent to stay at her grandmother’s cottage a short time and no longer, what difference could it ever bear on her future?

She’d find a handsome man and grant him a kiss. She’d walk through the market free of a footman or maid. She’d dance on the sand near the ocean’s edge without worry her nightdress became transparent from the mist and her hair tangled into a salty, knotted mess. She’d taste freedom and relish it, fully knowing the experience was fleeting and temporary.

Good heavens, she’d just turned two and twenty. A whole world lay before her, an entire life to lead, or so she’d once believed. Now if she could manage to experience the wonders of spontaneity for a few weeks, she’d have accomplished her goal and would be resolved to a future she had no power to change.

Her deep exhalation was one of compromise and contentedness, the exact prescription needed to cleanse her soul and solidify her will before returning to London. With that reassuring resolution, she fell asleep with ease.

Chapter Two

Brilliant sunlight sliced across Kell’s brow and caused him to wince as he strode through the wicket and down the gravel drive to the stable, a good distance from the house. The after effects of last night’s brandy loitered on the edges of his lucidity. Nothing cleared the mind like a bracing ride and Nyx would be equally anxious for their early morning jaunt. The animal was in tune to his master’s rhythm and routine as if they shared one mind and purpose. Nyx was sired by a historic lineage similar to Kellaway ; possessed an instinctive restlessness, which required frequent exorcising similar to Kellaway ; and exhibited sharp reflexes, exacting skill, and unending endurance similar to Kellaway . The combination of their two spirits would prove lethal someday, but that was the way of things. No one’s tomorrow was guaranteed. One needed to live for the moment.

Reaching the immaculate stable, Kell paused to admire his superior mount. He’d traveled to the Arabian Peninsula to purchase the animal, the journey long and grueling, filled with unexpected events, but it was worth every pound to claim Nyx as his own. With a different language precluding conversation as he traipsed across the barren continent, the horse became his confidant and ally—their mutual respect having intensified over the years.

With an abject note of disconsolation, Kell realized he’d be lonely without the horse. His fondness made their relationship seem more like companionship than owner and animal. Dispelling these thoughts, he picked up the boar’s hair brush and set to the Arabian’s grooming. After a time, as was natural habit, he began a one-sided conversation.

“We’ll have a run on the beach this morning. I’d like a look at the jetty.” He tossed the brush into the box near his feet and gave the horse’s muzzle a quick rub. “I doubt I’ll find any trace of her, but I’ll not be satisfied until I look.” He hoisted the saddle over the blanket spread across the Arabian’s elegant back. Kell was taller than most, standing above six feet, but Nyx was not to be defeated and claimed a height of sixteen hands. Her glossy coat reflected every nuance of light in its blue-black sheen and her thick mane, wild and tousled from between her ears well back into the withers, declared she was a figment of one’s imagination more than an actual being. Nyx snorted as if she granted approval of the morning plan.

“She was a pretty bit of muslin.” He didn’t bother with further explanation or preparation. Once the leather straps were buckled, he grabbed a handful of mane and with a high leap off the grooming box, hoisted into the saddle and settled. The horse hardly sidestepped, waiting for a command.

With a sharp click of the tongue and pressure from his knees, Kell issued his instructions and they exited the stable to follow a dirt road leading away from the coast. There was only one safe access route to the beach from the formidable height of East Cliff and despite impulsive and, at times, reckless ventures on foot down the embankment at the rear of the house, Kell would never risk the same with the Arabian, so they rode at an easy gallop and only slowed as they approached a grassy clearing not far from the main road.