Page 20 of My Devoted Viscount (Brazen Bluestockings #2)

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Vincent opened his bedchamber window, leaned out, and took a deep breath of the salt-tinged night air.

He closed his eyes to hear better. The tide was almost out, making the waves a gentle, distant roll.

The best way to relax that did not involve alcohol was to simply breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth, so long as it was fresh sea air.

Not that he felt agitated or unsettled. Not after watching Miss Walden confidently play the pianoforte tonight, hearing her lovely alto voice.

Saw the sparkle in her sherry-colored eyes as she shared a grin with him at Agnes and Gert’s shenanigans.

Much as he was certain the old gels had complained when they had to march for real with their husbands’ regiments, moving from camp to camp, they loved to get out the fife and drum and lead a parade.

He loved that Miss Walden had shared in their delight rather than finding them silly.

He’d already dismissed Lawrence for the night and stripped down to just his shirt and breeches.

Another few deep breaths, and he might be able to fall asleep without Miss Walden invading his dreams. Wondering if the rest of her skin was as soft as her shoulder, where his fingers had slipped off her gown and touched bare flesh when he’d invited her to play.

A sharp scent intruded on his musings, there and gone so quickly he might have thought he’d imagined it if not for the brief flare of a tiny orange light below on the terrace.

He tied the sash on his dressing gown and hurried downstairs.

“Wondered how long you would take to get here.” Aunt Gert took another puff on her cigar as Vincent joined her at the small table on the terrace off the drawing room.

He silently offered to top off her glass of port—she declined—before he poured his own and lit the cigar she’d left for him. Moments later he sat back, one bare ankle crossed over his knee, and tried to blow a circle of smoke.

“You’re out of practice.” Gert exhaled a perfect ‘O’ of smoke.

“I only smoke when I’m with you.”

Gert chuckled. “I’m a terrible influence.”

“You saved my life.”

“The two are not mutually exclusive.” They clinked glasses and drank.

They sipped their port and smoked in the velvet darkness, enjoying the bubbling fountain nearby, the distant waves a gentle whisper in the background.

The new moon let the stars shine brightly on this clear night, their principal source of light as the staff had extinguished most of the candles in the drawing room.

The tall box hedges of the maze seemed to cut them off from the rest of the world, sheltering them from the wind, narrowing Vincent’s reality down to this hidden garden, a place of respite. A place of sanctuary since his first visit here, as an angry ten-year-old.

“I saw you nudge Miss Walden.” Gert exhaled another perfect ring. “You like the chit?”

Vincent gave up trying to blow rings and simply exhaled a cloud. “She’s a skilled musician.”

“Which I imagine counts more than appearance or a dowry with you.” Gert took one last puff and stubbed out her cigar. “There’s a baron in her family tree, so your father couldn’t object to a match should you decide to court her.”

Vincent took a sip, debating the wisdom of sharing his concerns. Gert would not have hired her scribe without at least checking references. “She’s hiding something.”

“Aren’t we all?”

He declined to ponder his own secrets, or what Gert could still be hiding at her advanced age. “I took a look through the library desk drawers. Have you seen the pages that are not part of the manuscript?”

“I have. A most curious form of writing, is it not?”

“It doesn’t bother you? Pages and pages of text we can’t read? What if she’s hiding something?”

Gert ran one finger around the rim of her glass.

“I asked her about it her first day. Those scribbles are how she keeps up with me. Trying to dictate to Agnes was annoying. Bless her for trying, but she wrote so slowly I’d lose my train of thought.

Miss Walden scratches those little loops and swirls with a pencil, and not only reads it back to me perfectly, she ends up waiting for me.

” Gert pushed the ashtray closer to Vincent.

“Do you think she’s hiding something else? ”

He took a long puff. “I find it curious that a ghost who is not Mother Hobart showed up only after Miss Walden arrived.” He tapped the ash off the end of his cigar.

“When we walked through the tunnel back to the kitchen the other day, I could swear she took my arm only so she could tug me along. As if she wanted me out of there quickly, that there was something she didn’t want me to see. ”

“Have you considered she was flirting with you? Pretending to be frightened in the dark tunnel so the big, brave man could protect her?” Gert chuckled.

He gave a non-committal grunt. He had considered it, and almost immediately dismissed it. The woman who had the wherewithal to calmly threaten an unknown man unexpectedly arriving in her bedchamber in the middle of the night was unlikely to be scared walking through a dark tunnel.

“She and I are both aware that her employment as my amanuensis is temporary. I know she is reading the newspapers and replying to Help Wanted advertisements. I am confident it has occurred to her that marriage to someone like Matthew or you would solve her looming problem. And she must count in your favor the fact you can sing and play reasonably well, as a match to her skills. You two seem to hit it off.”

Yes, she very nearly hit him during their first meeting.

Vincent kept his grin to himself. “I do not find her repulsive or clinging.” In fact he’d had a hard time not staring when he noticed some of her hair had come unpinned tonight, one long tendril falling loose down the middle of her back.

Several other pins had appeared in danger of falling out.

Would he ever see all of her hair down? She wore it braided even to bed.

Gert’s words sank in and he gave an aggrieved snort.

“ Reasonably well? I’ll have you know my group came in second this year in the Noblemen and Gentlemen’s Catch Club competition.

A very prestigious competition, if you recall.

” So prestigious, in fact, the marquess had kept his son cooling his heels in London for months of rehearsals and vocal training, overriding Vincent’s stated intent of departing for Italy.

Gert cackled. “My brother and now your father have managed to be clever enough to keep the marquessate comfortably solvent, so you do not need to marry an heiress. Your father expects you to marry someone appropriate to give you a proper heir. Miss Walden may be a teacher, but since her father was a baron, her blood is blue enough to satisfy all but the highest sticklers, even if his title did revert to the crown when he and his wife died five years ago.”

“Of course I plan to marry. That is what Father wants me to do.” And he always did as his father asked, whether he wanted to or not.

“He let me off his leash long enough for an extended visit to the Continent, with the caveat that I choose a bride when I return if I don’t find one while I’m over there.

” Vincent blew a final cloud and stubbed out his cigar.

“What of you? Would you approve such a match?”

“Henry likes her.” As though that was enough to settle the matter, Gert tossed back the last of her port. “And the chit doesn’t even keep a pocketful of treats for him.”

“High praise indeed.” He had noticed the terrier often curled up at Miss Walden’s feet. Several times he’d seen her slip one shoe off and scratch the dog’s back with her stockinged foot. Stockings that were not, in fact, blue, but were a practical brown or cream depending on the color of her gown.

Not that he should be noticing such things.

Gert grunted as she stood and stretched. “Walk me to my room.” She patted her thigh. Henry shook himself and trotted over from where he’d been dozing in the flowerbed by the fountain, and followed at their heels.

“There is still the matter of the person walking on the property late at night.” Vincent kept his voice quiet.

“What do you intend to do about it?” Gert hooked her arm through his as they made their way through the quiet, semi-dark house and up the stairs.

“Matthew and I will poke around. Take a look in the caves. Stroll on the beach around the same time the ‘ghost’ has been spotted.”

They stopped in the hall and Gert opened her bedchamber door.

The windows were open, as usual, admitting cool night air and the murmur of the waves.

Only blackness was visible outside at the moment, but this room had the best view of the beach in the entire house.

He’d spent many hours in here watching storms while kneeling on the cushioned window seat, his nose pressed to the glass.

“Keep in mind the history of this property, young man. The average landowner does not need secret passages and tunnels out of the house and on the property, never mind half a dozen of them. Several times over the centuries, they’ve been used by smugglers and other nefarious people with and without the consent of the owners and occupants. ”

“And the Revenuers in pursuit of them. I remember.” Vincent bent down and kissed her weathered cheek. “And I’ll remind Matthew.”

“Just be careful.” She stretched up to cup his cheek. “Your father would never forgive me if something happened to you while in my care.”

Vincent was about to argue, to remind her he was an adult, not a recalcitrant child sent away to the countryside until he could improve his behavior. But the unusually tender look reflected in her eyes made him swallow the retort and instead offer a conciliatory, “Yes, ma’am.”