The Runaway Viscount, page 1
The Runaway Viscount
Matchmaking Chronicles
Book Three
Darcy Burke
The Runaway Viscount
Copyright © 2022 Darcy Burke
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 9781637261019
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Book design: © Darcy Burke.
Book Cover Design: © Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs.
Editing: Lindsey Faber.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
Created with Vellum
Contents
The Runaway Viscount
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Also by Darcy Burke
About the Author
The Runaway Viscount
Two years ago, independent widow Juliana Sheldon spent a blissful night with the Viscount Audlington at an inn during a snowstorm, and the next morning, he left without a word. Juliana doesn’t realize how much his abandonment upset her until she encounters him at a matchmaking house party. He’d like to rekindle their affair, but Juliana prefers to torment him instead. Until she finally surrenders to temptation—only to be dismayed when he begins to talk about the one thing she doesn’t want: marriage.
* * *
Lucas Trask, heir to an earldom, has left his rakish reputation behind in favor of finally taking a wife. He never forgot Juliana and reconnecting with her seems like fate is telling him who he should wed. However, Lucas has a secret, one he’s never dared share with anyone. If he can convince Juliana to be his wife, he’ll reveal everything. But when tragedy strikes, he must leave again. This time, the runaway viscount may be all out of luck.
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Chapter 1
Steeton, Yorkshire, January 1802
* * *
The innkeeper’s wife ushered Juliana Sheldon into the Pack Horse. “Come in and get warm, dear. You arrived just in time. I’ve one last room.” She smiled brightly, her cheeks rosy and her blue eyes sparkling with cheer.
Juliana exhaled in relief. This was the third inn she’d tried in the past hour as the snow had coated the ground in ever-increasing thickness. Turning her head, she nodded toward her coachman, who hurried to take the coach and horses to the stable.
“Thank you so much,” Juliana said as she pushed the hood of her cloak back, scattering wet droplets from the snow that had gathered on the wool. There were several tables in the common room with guests filling many of the chairs. A crackling fire burned within the large hearth at the back of the room.
“I’m pleased you found us. I’m Mrs. Lilley. It’s chaotic at the moment, as I’m helping to prepare dinner.” She brushed her hand against her apron and slid an errant brown strand of hair beneath her mobcap. “Your room is upstairs on the right at the end of the corridor. You’re welcome to go up and remove your cloak and warm yourself. Dinner will be ready shortly.”
“I’ll do that, thank you, Mrs. Lilley.” Juliana went to the stairs in the corner and climbed to the first floor, weary after her long day of travel in the snowstorm. She should have arrived home in Skipton by now, but the turnpike had become impassable. She was glad they’d found lodging at last.
She ought to have listened to her mother, who’d suggested she stay another day or two since it looked as if it might snow. However, after more than a fortnight visiting her parents, Juliana was eager to return to her small cottage at Foxland, the estate where she’d lived with her husband. When he’d died three years ago, his younger brother had inherited the estate, but her husband’s will had provided her with a settlement and a place for her to call home.
Though the corridor was dim, Juliana found the door to her chamber and pushed inside. To her delight, a fire crackled in the hearth. The fireplace, like the rest of the room, was small, but more than adequate. Warming herself, she took in the bed and the small table with two spindly chairs. A worn, squashy, cushioned bench sat near the fire. Juliana went to hang her damp cloak on a hook near the door, then divested herself of her gloves and bonnet. She then scooted the bench closer to the hearth so she could sit and restore herself before going down for dinner.
“Is someone there?”
A masculine voice from the doorway drew Juliana to turn her head. A tall, athletic gentleman stood at the threshold. The door was half-open.
“Did I leave the door like that?” she asked, thinking she’d closed it and not at all certain what to make of this stranger barging in. Granted, he was a very well-dressed and tidy stranger, but he was still imposing on her space.
“Not quite this open, but it wasn’t closed,” he said. “I just thought I’d be friendly.”
“It seems you’re being intrusive. Shall I inform my husband of your presumption?”
“Er, no. I didn’t mean to intrude. As I said, I was being friendly. Where is your husband? I should like to apologize.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You should apologize to me.”
“You’re correct. My deepest apologies.”
Juliana wondered if she was being uncharitable. She was exhausted and hungry, and just starting to feel warmth in her extremities. “It’s all right. I’m irritable after the long day of travel, and this is the third inn I tried before finding a room.”
“That’s awful. I’m sorry to hear of your troubles.” He smiled, his gaze darting about the room. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” He started to turn and to pull the door shut.
“Wait. I don’t have a husband. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” Heat flushed her neck. “I’m not usually like that.”
“It’s understandable when you’re tired and cold. And hungry perhaps?”
“Famished.”
“If you’re alone, I should be delighted to escort you downstairs.”
Juliana stood and brushed her hands down her skirts. Her thick petticoat settled about her calves. Yes, she was much warmer and felt better overall. “Thank you.”
She went to the door and saw he was quite handsome. His elegantly sculpted features possessed a mischievous charm. Perhaps that was due to the slight smile that teased his full lips. His brows were thick and medium brown, a shade darker than his hair. Beneath them, his gray eyes sparked with interest as he regarded her. Did he realize she was studying him?
He pushed the door open more and held it while she stepped into the corridor.
Glancing back at him, she said, “Make sure you close it since I apparently did a poor job.”
Pulling it closed, he frowned slightly. “It doesn’t latch easily. I don’t think it was your fault. And I am sorry for invading your space.”
Juliana hated that she’d said anything. She had a bad habit of speaking without always considering how it might come out, especially when it involved her space. She valued her privacy and independence, two things her brother-in-law couldn’t seem to respect. He visited her cottage without notice, sometimes coming inside after only a brief knock, and it greatly pricked her ire.
“There, now it’s closed properly,” he said. “Shall we go down?”
“Thank you. I’m Mrs. Sheldon.”
“I thought you said you didn’t have a husband.”
“He died three years ago.” She cocked her head. “Did you think I’d travel alone as an unwed young lady?” Not that she was young—she was twenty-nine.
“Good point. I’m afraid I was far too fixed on your marital state to consider propriety.” He laughed. “Bad habit when I meet an attractive woman.”
Her pulse picked up speed at his compliment. “Are you a rake, then?” She’d heard about men like him and suspected she’d met one or two, but her experience was limited.
He laughed again. “Some would say so, though I prefer not to characterize myself in that manner.”
“Yet you meet a woman and immediately try to determine whether—” She stopped as she discovered she wasn’t sure what he was doing. “Are you hoping I am wed or not?” Perhaps he preferred to pursue a woman he wouldn’t be forced to wed. That matched what she knew about rakis
He grimaced faintly. “Now you’ve backed me into a corner. Unwed young ladies are trouble since I am not yet in the market for a wife.”
“So you would prefer I were wed.” She frowned. “Or widowed.”
“As I said, you’ve neatly cornered me. Now I can’t deny rakish tendencies when I admit that I enjoy meeting attractive widows, particularly so far from London where one can find a modicum of discretion.”
Juliana couldn’t help smiling. “At least you’re honest about it. Now I know what you’re about and why you were poking yourself into my chamber.”
He held up his hand, a look of distress flitting across his features. “That was not my intent, I assure you. I really was just trying to be friendly.” He ran his hands through his hair, tousling it in a thoroughly rakish way. Or what she imagined a rake might do.
“I see,” she murmured, amused by his discomfort.
“Let me start again.” He presented an elegant leg and bowed extravagantly. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lucas Trask, the Viscount Audlington.”
A viscount! She’d met an earl and a baron. The Earl of Cosford was a friend of her husband’s, and he was actually heir to a dukedom. He and Vincent had gone to school together. Juliana had visited Blickton, Cosford’s estate, on a handful of occasions during her marriage. Lady Cosford was delightful and had invited Juliana to visit a few times since Vincent’s death, but the timing hadn’t been convenient.
And the baron lived near Skipton. He was ninety and in possession of a foul sense of humor. Juliana liked him immensely.
She curtsied. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. I’m Mrs. Juliana Sheldon.”
“Lovely.” He offered his arm. “May I escort you to dinner?”
“Certainly.” She put her hand on his sleeve, and he guided her down the stairs. “Where are you on your way to?”
“Northwich—my family seat southwest of Manchester. You?”
“I’m on my way home to Skipton after visiting my parents in Leeds for Yuletide.”
He glanced in her direction as they reached the common room. “You’re eager to be home?”
She took her hand from his arm and turned to look at him. “How did you know?”
“Epiphany was just yesterday, and I might have thought the weather would have prevented you from leaving today. But it did not.” He lifted a shoulder. “Consequently, I gathered you wanted to return home.”
“Excellent deduction. Yes, I like my house and my horse.”
“And your parents…less so?”
“I adore them actually, but nearly three weeks with them is plenty.”
He grinned. “I feel the same about my parents. They are wonderful people, but as I am now thirty-one and unwed, there is a nearly constant expectation from them. It can grow tiresome, even though I know they mean well.”
Juliana nodded in agreement. “I can relate to that quite fervently. My mother especially hopes I will wed again despite my telling her that I am quite happy at present. But you are right—they do mean well.”
He sent her an understanding glance. “This year, I spent Yuletide with other relatives and am now going to see my parents before I continue on to London for the Season.”
Of course, he would spend the Season in London. He was a viscount and a rake. If he was a viscount and still had a father, that meant he was in line for an even greater title, probably an earldom. Juliana lived comfortably and couldn’t imagine such a sophisticated life.
“Are there great demands on you in London?” she asked.
“Ah, I wouldn’t say they are great.” He looked about the common room, which was quite full and hummed with noise. “The inn is full, it seems.”
“Yes, I was given the last room. I suppose we should find a table.” She started to turn, then stopped, facing him once more. “I shouldn’t assume you wanted to sit together.”
“I would enjoy that. Otherwise, we’ll both be dining alone, isn’t that right? Actually, I daresay the inn is crowded enough to necessitate our dining together. As it happens, I’d very much like to continue our conversation.”
Would he? She suppressed a smile. After three years alone—well, not completely alone, she had a lovely circle of friends in Skipton—she had to admit it was rather nice to speak with a gentleman. An attractive viscount, no less.
“Shall we sit over here?” She indicated an empty table somewhat near the fire.
“Splendid.”
As she turned, his hand grazed her lower back. It was the barest touch, but her breath stalled as tingles of awareness raced through her. She hadn’t been touched by a man in well more than three years.
He held her chair as she sat, and she was no longer annoyed by the exhausting day or the fact that her travel had been delayed. She could think of far worse things than being stranded at an inn with a charming viscount.
A serving maid brought a tray and asked if they preferred wine or ale. They both chose wine. “Dinner will be served shortly.” She bustled off, clearly busy with so many people there.
Juliana clasped her hands in her lap. “What is it you do in London, my lord?”
“The typical things one does in a Season.”
“And what things are those?”
“You didn’t have one?” He held up his hand. “That’s awfully presumptuous of me. My apologies. Not everyone has a Season.”
She appreciated his belated self-awareness. “Count me among those who did not. I grew up in Leeds. My father is a bookseller.”
“Again, I’m sorry. It’s just that you look as though you could have taken London by storm.” His eyes glinted with respect. “You’re certainly self-possessed enough to have been a great success.”
Juliana laughed softly. “You’ve only just met me.”
“You had no compunction about calling out my intrusive behavior. You don’t simper, and I am willing to wager you never have. Since your father is a bookseller, I assume you are well-read and highly intelligent.”
She couldn’t help but feel flattered that he saw her in such a way. “You’re more observant than most people.”
“I try to be. I find people interesting. That’s what I do in London—I watch people, and hopefully, I learn.”
“What do you learn?”
“Whom to avoid, mostly.” He smirked as he shook his head. “Some of London Society can be quite brutal.”
“In what way?”
“Mostly, they are self-serving. Trying to find ways to climb to greater heights. To deepen their pockets or improve their standing.”
“I can imagine you are a target for women seeking a brilliant match for their daughters. I assume your father is an earl or similar?”
“The Earl of Northwich. And yes, I’ve spent the last decade fending off marriage-minded mothers and their daughters.”
“A decade? That has to have taken a great deal of skill.” She cocked her head to the side. “But I thought you were a rake. Surely they wouldn’t want their daughters to wed someone with such a reputation.”
“With a title on offer, you’d be surprised,” he said sardonically. “Furthermore, as far as rakes go, there are others who are far worse—I don’t spend my nights in brothels or gaming hells.” He rushed to say, “Pardon me for mentioning such things in your presence. You’ve made me far too comfortable, Mrs. Sheldon.”
“Please don’t stop. I’ve only been to London once—for a week after I married Vincent. I was young and eager to visit Paternoster Row.”
“The bookselling street. Of course you were. Is that where you spent your time?”
“Not much of it, unfortunately. Vincent was more inclined to visit the museums, which I enjoyed.”
