Anabelle Bryant - Society's Most Scandalous Viscount

Continuing her stroll, she nodded in friendly greeting to the workers who set the field for an upcoming fair. In London, introductions and etiquette erected strict division between classes. Here in Brighton societal boundaries existed but with an ease uncommon to the formalities of the city. She swung the basket on her arm with a bit of a flourish. How wonderful to be someone other than herself, Angelica Curtis, daughter of righteous Lord Egan Curtis, Earl of Morton, naysayer of modern thinking, and slave to practicality and his zealous passion for religion. The contradiction of characteristics left her bereft of an acceptable role as daughter or a clear route to her future. Her father wanted many things, all of them convoluted.

Winding through an arc in the roadway she started at a rider’s approach. The horse, a behemoth animal, thundered the roadway dust into billowing clouds as its fierce hooves pounded the dirt. Atop the animal, a finely dressed, fair-haired man fixed his unwavering focus on her in a manner bespeaking he’d already made her acquaintance or perhaps that he wished she’d move out of the way. She’d never seen the man before and surely would have remembered his mount. The cultivated creature echoed the underlying grace of the rider, their bodies moving in perfect unison, more noticeable now as they slowed. Upon closer inspection she noted the gentleman wore casual clothing, a white linen shirt and buckskin trousers, not the formal wear of a lord. His hair was overlong, unbound and splayed down his back, wind-whipped. Her heart gave another leap. He appeared refined, yet barbaric, if such a combination existed.

He couldn’t mean to stop, could he? She barely edged the side of the road, leaving a wide berth for any passerby. Still she watched his procession—the animal fascinating, the distinctive gentleman captivating in kind—and allowed herself the luxury of gawking for no other reason than her anonymity. No one knew her, and she intended to keep it that way. A giddy bubble of laughter accompanied her wanton choice to soak in an eyeful. She may as well throw caution to the wind.

The rider slowed to cast a discerning glance in her direction. Angelica sensed he would make eye contact with abandoned propriety, but he continued past and she was perplexed that a note of disappointment dampened her awareness. She could only attribute it to her determination to experience all avenues of adventure before falling in line with her father’s view of the future.

Her steps had stalled considerably, so she picked up the pace, noticing belatedly that the thunder of hooves now approached from behind. Had the gentleman doubled back or did someone else travel near? Her ears were alert to the opportunity, her curiosity mixed with daring. This road was usually quiet and the sound could not be mistaken.

A looming shadow grew over her shoulder, cast on the dirt road ahead as if an ebony knight poised to advance within a giant’s chess set. The sleek outline of the animal was a remarkable vignette of distinguished horseflesh.

She cast a glimpse to the left, the horse less than a yard away and gaining, though she adopted an expression of complete calm as if being set upon by a dashing hero astride a mythical beast was an everyday occurrence. She kept her chin high and straightened her posture, prepared to continue toward town without alarm, unable to stop herself from stealing another glance.

As if worked by magic the rider threw a defined, well-muscled leg over the edge of the saddle and stood beside her in a lethal example of boundless arrogance and elegant grace. Two clicks from his tongue and the horse galloped ahead where it slowed to a trot and set their pace instead of the reverse. It took a moment before she caught her breath.

“My lady.”

The tone of the gentleman’s voice sent a frisson of prickling sensation swirling within her, kicking her heart into a gallop as fierce as the animal’s and as wild as the notion he’d doubled back and stopped to speak directly to her . Yet he didn’t say more and while she assessed his chiseled profile, prepared for whatever unexpected and unusual events of the morning were yet to unfold, his face broke into a lopsided grin of pure wickedness.

Chapter Three

The devil had a sense of humor. How else could Kell explain this happenstance? Oh, the lady was no mermaid. Even covered by the thin skirt of her gown, he could tell her legs went on forever, and as he fell in beside her, shortening his stride to keep pace, he took in every nuance of her appearance, his piqued interest evident in the reaction of a distinct part of his lower anatomy.

She could almost look him in the eye. An untouched beauty was a clever find, but one with height proved a rare treasure. Hair, as golden and lush as he imagined, cascaded down the line of her back in a waterfall of waves and curls kept at bay by a thick ribbon of no particular color. She stood taller than most women, yet remained delicately built, slim aside from ample breasts so high and full his hands grew restless. The slight curve of her hips was visible beneath the slope of her gown. It reminded him of the gauzy nightdress that had silhouetted her round bottom in the moonlight.

His cock remembered too.

Her face was one of classic features with high cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes beneath long lashes, and mesmeric irises the greenest blue he’d ever seen, glistening as if they consisted of ocean water teased by the sunlight, alive and turbulent with thoughts and emotions. She hadn’t said a word in response to his intrusion, although he noted a flicker of unease in her face as she raised her gaze. Still she didn’t object to his sudden interruption to her day. Last evening she’d also lacked proper guard of her personal safety.

Good thing he’d happened along.

When she made an abrupt stop, he missed a step, lost in his personal reverie. Abbreviating his momentum, he pivoted to walk backwards while she continued forward.

“My lord.”

She spoke with inflection on the second word, the utterance more exclamation than greeting. One slender brow rose like an arrow to the sky before she turned to view the road ahead with a bewitching swish of skirts.

His smile threatened to emerge at her feisty response. Though at first glance she appeared refined, this was no high-born lady. Or perhaps she’d abandoned her pedigree in lieu of a fiery tongue. That idea prompted another smile and this time he allowed it freedom. “May I be of service? Have you lost your way?” He darted a look left and right for added effect.

“So you’re a rescuer of unaccompanied women?” She eyed his hair, open collar, and lack of cravat with cynical condemnation, and while she didn’t pause to allow his answer, the tilt of her eyebrows expressed volumes. “And here I assumed you a loose-moraled bounder breaking the dawn on a magnificent animal won in a low-profile gaming hell where bored aristocrats waste time and money.” Her eyes moved to Nyx who trotted several yards in front of them.

When he didn’t respond to her setdown, a peal of merry laughter, brighter than the sun, grabbed his attention and all at once he was focused on her mouth, her lips extremely kissable. “You have it all wrong, although I bow to your opinion of uppers.” He’d be damned to admit his title now. Not when their verbal sparring ignited his curiosity, a trait that had been in danger of death by boredom since leaving London.

She slanted him a look of disbelief.

“Do you reside in Brighton?” He flipped a glance to Nyx and back again, determined not to let the lady out of sight.

“I live nowhere in particular and certainly not here.”

Her facetious reply warned she was in no mood for conversation, his company as welcome as a mosquito’s, though he swore a glint of amusement danced in her eyes to convince him the sting of her words hid a spark of inquisitive interest. He considered returning the lamp key, but years at the gaming tables had taught him never to tip his hand. Everything presented a gamble in one way or another. It was how one played through that proved exceptional skill.