Louise Allen - The Louise Allen Collection - The Viscount's Betrothal / The Society Catch

For heaven’s sake, Decima, pull yourself together!

The Viscount’s Betrothal

Harlequin ®Historical

THE DANGEROUS MR. RYDER

“Allen’s latest adventure romance is a roller-coaster ride that sweeps readers through Europe and into the relationship between a very proper baroness and a very improper spy. The quick pace and hold-your-breath escape plans turn this love story into a one-night read that will have you cheering for the appealing characters.”

—RT Book Reviews

THE OUTRAGEOUS LADY FELSHAM

“Allen’s daring, sexy and, yes, outrageous spin-off of The Dangerous Mr. Ryder gently borders on erotic romance because of the manner in which she plays out her characters’ fantasies (including a marvelous bear rug!) without ever losing sight of Regency mores.”

—RT Book Reviews

THE SHOCKING LORD STANDON

“Allen continues her collection of novels centering on the ton’s scandalous activities with another delightful and charming Ravenhurst story of love and mayhem.”

—RT Book Reviews

THE PIRATICAL MISS RAVENHURST

“With a cast of dangerous characters, an honorable hero and a courageous young heroine…Allen sets the tone for a lively adventure and immensely entertaining read.

—RT Book Reviews

In a charming breakfast parlour overlooking a sweep of wintry parkland in the county of Nottingham, three people were partaking of the first meal of the day in an atmosphere of quiet refinement and elegance.

Miss Ross placed her slice of toast neatly upon her breakfast plate, wiped her fingers in a ladylike manner with her linen napkin and smiled at her sister-in-law.

‘Over my dead body.’

‘Dessy!’ Charlton spluttered into his morning coffee. Decima felt dizzy, as though something inside her had snapped. Had she really just said that?

Charlton put down his cup and wiped his lips with an irritable dab. ‘What is the reason for that outburst? Hermione merely suggested that we should pay a visit this afternoon to our neighbours the Jardines. I told you about them—they have only been at High Hayes for six months and are a most charming family.’

‘Who just happen to have a most charming and eligible gentleman staying with them, if what Hermione told me last night is correct.’ Some stranger was inhabiting her body, uttering all the things she had always thought and had never dared articulate.

Nine years of increasingly desperate attempts by her family to marry her off had left Decima with an acute sense of when another ‘suitable’ match was threatening. She always did as she was bid and trailed along obediently to make painful conversation to the unfortunate gentleman concerned.

Obediently and spinelessly, she told herself, staring blankly at the platter of ham and eggs before her half-brother. Now, without any conscious volition on her part, it seemed the spineless worm was finally turning.

‘We could have visited them at any time in the past fortnight, but I collect this gentleman only arrived two days ago and therefore we must go now,’ she added, heaping coals on the blaze.

She glanced out of the window, suppressing a shiver despite the warmth of the room. The lowering sky was threatening snow after a week of dry, cold weather, but to escape this fresh humiliation she was quite ready to pack her bags and set forth at once. Why had walking out never occurred to her before? It was hardly as though she were a prisoner with nowhere else to go.

‘Why, yes, Mrs Jardine’s brother. An unmarried, titled gentleman as it happens, but that is not why I suggested we call.’ Lady Carmichael, an unconvincing liar at the best of times, faltered to a halt as Decima’s grey eyes came to rest on her and looked imploringly at her husband for support.

‘One does not wish to intrude upon family Christmas gatherings,’ Charlton blustered, slapping down his newspaper. His wife jumped. ‘Naturally we could not call before.’

Decima regarded her half-brother with a calm that she was far from feeling. What she wanted to do was enquire bitterly why he persisted in humiliating her by parading her in front of yet another potential suitor whose lukewarm attempts at civility were bound to remind her yet again why she was still a spinster at the age of twenty-seven. But even her new-found rebellious courage failed her at that point.

‘We have made upward of a dozen calls this holiday, Charlton, and have received as many,’ she said mildly. ‘Why should the Jardines alone be so exclusive?’

Really, Charlton’s expression of baffled frustration would be amusing—if only she did not know that he was quite incapable of understanding her feelings and would most certainly plough on with his insensitive matchmaking come hell or high water.

‘It is nothing to do with Mrs Jardine’s brother,’ he stated with unconvincing authority, ignoring her question. ‘I don’t know why you cannot oblige Hermione by accompanying her on a social call, Dessy.’

‘Well, Charlton, one reason is that I will be leaving today.’ Decima put the lid on the preserve jar, concentrating on stopping her hand shaking. Never before had she been able to stand up to his bullying, but then, she saw in a flash of self-realisation, never before had she been legally and financially free of him. At least, she would be in two days’ time, on New Year’s Day.

‘What! Don’t be absurd, Dessy. Leaving? You have hardly been here a sennight.’ Around the walls the footmen stood, blank-faced. Charlton ignored their presence as usual; it never occurred to him that browbeating his sister before an audience of what he considered to be menials might cause her distress, or them discomfort.

‘Two weeks and a day, actually,’ Decima interjected, and was ignored.

‘I made certain that you would stay here at Longwater for at least a month. You always stay a month at Christmas.’

‘And I told you when I arrived that I intended staying for a fortnight, did I not, Hermione?’

‘Why, yes, but I did not regard it…’

‘And Augusta will be expecting me. So I must finish my breakfast and set Pru to packing or the morning will be well-advanced before we set out.’ Charlton was becoming alarmingly red. Decima took a last bite of toast she found she no longer had any appetite for and turned to smile at the butler. ‘Felbrigg, please will you send to the stables and ask the postilions to have my carriage at the front door for half past ten?’

‘Certainly, Miss Ross. I will also send a footman up with your luggage.’ Decima suspected that Felbrigg rather approved of her; he was certainly able to ignore his master’s infuriated gobblings with aplomb.

‘You will do no such thing, Dessy! Just look at the weather, it will be snowing in a minute.’ As she got to her feet Charlton glared past her in frustrated rage to a portrait of his own father, side by side with the petite figure of their mother. ‘I can only assume that you get this stubborn, disobliging streak from your father, along with so much else. You certainly do not inherit it from our dear mama.’

Decima glanced at Hermione’s distressed face and bit back the bitter retort that was on her lips. The worm that was turning seemed to be a full-grown adder, but to let it loose now would only wound her sister-in-law. She forced a smile. ‘It was a lovely stay, Hermione, but I really must be leaving now or Augusta will fret.’

Decima made herself walk calmly to the door. As Felbrigg shut it behind her, she heard Hermione say with disastrous clarity, ‘Oh, poor dear Dessy! What are we going to do with her?’

Six miles away Viscount Weston raised a dark and sceptical eyebrow at his youngest sister. ‘What are you up to, Sally? You know I said this was a flying visit and I was leaving by the end of the week.’