Page 57 of My Devoted Viscount (Brazen Bluestockings #2)

Just as she realized this was the second time in less than an hour that he’d called her my dear instead of just dear , he grasped her under her arms, lifted her and carried her as though she weighed no more than a doll, her feet dangling well above the floor, and gently set her on the desk.

She barely had time to register his scandalous act of spreading her knees far enough apart so he could stand between her legs, his thighs right up against the edge of the desk, when he withdrew a folded piece of parchment from his inner coat pocket.

“This is a special license,” he said, his deep voice vibrating her bones despite the quiet volume.

She gulped, struggling to retain her composure at him remaining so close.

With her sitting atop the desk, he didn’t have to stoop, and she didn’t have to stretch for them to be at eye level with one another.

“Of course. To have their wedding on the beach instead of in a church, naturally Mildred and Lord Wingfield need a special license.”

Fairfax shook his head. “Matthew has his own license.”

“I … I don’t understand.” Struggling to draw breath, Sophia raised her gaze from the parchment to Fairfax’s face.

No one had ever looked at her this way. Adoration mixed with humor and a hint of something else, something unfamiliar. An expression she’d never before seen on him.

Trepidation.

There was only one thing she could think of that would make this man, this viscount and future marquess, feel trepidation. And look at her with adoration. And call her cara mia with emphasis on the “my” part, while possessing a special marriage license.

She held one hand to her chest, her heart beating so loudly, surely he could hear it, scarcely daring to hope she had correctly interpreted his intention.

“Vincenzo?” She reached out her free hand, resting it on his chest. Above his bottle green velvet waistcoat, below his neckcloth, only one thin layer of fine white lawn separating her bare hand from his chest …

where she felt his heart pounding madly.

He put his hand—his big, muscular hand—on top of hers, trapping it against his heartbeat, and gestured with the parchment in his other hand.

“Marry me, cara mia ,” he whispered. He cleared his throat.

His voice was raspy with emotion when he continued, his bass even deeper, more rumbly, than usual.

“Marry me, and we can travel together. Paris. Vienna. Naples. I’ll make certain our home by the sea is stocked with the finest pianofortes and any other instruments you want, and all the pencils and paper and ink for composing you could wish for. ”

He seemed to hold his breath, while Sophia had trouble drawing in air.

“That’s not the usual way of things,” she finally managed. “That was presumptuous of you, procuring the license before confirming that your bride-to-be consented.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “And … does the bride consent?”

She traced his forehead with her fingertips, where she’d bound his wound with her fichu.

Down along his jaw, a hint of stubble prickling her fingers.

Caressed his full bottom lip with the pad of her thumb.

All the while he held perfectly still, only his rapid heart rate giving away his turbulent emotions, his eyes focused intently on hers.

“All I wish for,” she whispered, tugging the knot free on his neckcloth so she could caress the bare skin at the vee of his neck, “is you.”

With a groan, he captured her mouth in another kiss.

Without conscious thought, Sophia tightened her knees against Vincent’s thighs, then wrapped her calves around the back of his legs. She couldn’t get close enough to him. He gave a guttural sound of approval.

She wasn’t sure how long the kiss went on, and came back to her surroundings only because she heard the hall door open.

“Oh, there you are,” Mrs. Digby said. “Wondered where you two—. Oh, my.”

Vincent kept kissing Sophia, though he let go with one hand long enough to flutter the license in his aunt’s direction and set it on the desk.

Sophia felt her cheeks flame at being caught in a compromising situation but, surprising herself, was not sufficiently bothered to break contact.

“It’s about time you did right by the gel,” Mrs. Digby said with a chuckle. Her voice grew distant as she headed back out to the hall. “I do my monthly accounting on that desk, you know,” she muttered just before she shut the door.

* * *

They walked hand in hand back to the drawing room.

Along the way, Vincent pulled her into an alcove to kiss her, and again behind the main staircase.

She tucked his neckcloth back into his shirt.

He had to bend down, palms upon his knees, so she could reach.

Distracted by his mischievous grin that promised more later, it took her several tries to tie the knot correctly, the folds fluffed just so.

Her concentration was further tested by the way he trailed his fingers along the bare skin of her arm and up to her neck to tuck her fichu back into her neckline. He dipped his fingertips so far into her dress to smooth wrinkles out of the snowy white silk, she felt her cheeks flush again.

By the time they reached the drawing room door and heard the buzz of several simultaneous conversations within the room, she thought they’d made themselves presentable.

Given the abrupt silence when they stepped over the threshold, perhaps not.

All eyes in the room swiveled to them.

Mr. and Mrs. Ebrington, Mildred and Matthew, Ashley and David, Wallace, Xavier, Mrs. Digby, and Mrs. Royston. Theo had arrived, too, and sat on the sofa staring at Sophia, her teacup frozen halfway to her mouth, her brows raised.

When playing or singing, Sophia felt at ease being the focus of attention.

She was not singing or playing now.

She cleared her throat. Only now did she realize several small braids had come unpinned and dangled along her shoulders. Her lips felt swollen. Before she could raise her hands to cover her flaming cheeks, Vincent raised her hand—their fingers still twined—to kiss her knuckles.

“You may wish us happy,” he announced, his rumbly bass carrying clearly though he hadn’t raised his voice. “Miss Walden has consented to make me the happiest of men.”

Sophia held her breath as everyone remained motionless.

Matthew broke the silence. “It’s not a competition,” he grumbled, his grin belying his sharp tone.

“He’s already lost enough competitions lately,” Ravencroft said with a grin. Ashley nudged him with her elbow.

As the three men laughed, Sophia realized they were ribbing each other about the Catch Club competition, where just weeks ago Ravencroft’s group had bested Fairfax and Huntley’s group.

Mrs. Digby rushed forward to congratulate them, drawing them both into her embrace. “Now I won’t have to say farewell to you,” she said to Sophia with a sniff. “You’re permanently a part of the family, my dear.”

“You must call me Aunt Agnes,” Mrs. Royston added, wrapping her arms around them.

Others came forward to congratulate the couple, pulling them farther into the room. Sophia tried to respond appropriately but still felt dazed by Mrs. Digby’s comment. And Aunt Agnes.

Matthew was family to Mrs. Royston, though he was no blood relation. Mildred would become family by marrying him.

Ravencroft was family though he was not a blood relation, either. And by marrying him, Ashley, orphaned after the death of her parents, was also family.

And now Sophia had family. Not only had she won the devotion of Vincent, upon marrying him she’d immediately gain a large circle of family. Brothers-in-law. Aunts. And she would remain connected to her dear friends, Ashley and Mildred.

No longer would it just be her and her distant cousin Claire, and Claire’s odious husband.

No longer would she be alone in the world, reliant on her own wits for survival, hoping for good fortune.

A sob escaped her throat.

“ Cara mia ?” Vincent used two fingers to gently tilt her chin up so he could see her face.

She tried to give him a reassuring smile, to look at him through the tears that had sprung to her eyes, but he was a watery blur.

In the middle of a comment from Mrs. Ebrington about love in the air with not one but two betrothals, Vincent took Sophia’s hand and led her to the window, where the table was still set with a chessboard.

Before she realized what he intended, he sat down on one of the ladder-backed chairs, lifted her and settled her sideways on his lap.

One arm wrapped around her waist, he offered his handkerchief with the other.

She registered that a hush had come over the room again. Then Theo suggested Mildred and Matthew perform a duet, and conversation buzzed about what song they should sing and on which instruments they’d play.

Grateful for the distraction and the linen, Sophia dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose. Warmth suffused her whole body when Vincent dropped a kiss on the top of her head and he rubbed his hand up and down her back in soothing, slow strokes.

After a few moments she sat up, not remembering when she had buried her head against Vincent’s chest. She gulped in a few deep breaths, willing the tears to retreat, her breathing to calm. “You must think me the silliest goose,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “I was thinking this is much more comfortable in a chair than on the cold, rocky ground.”

She gave a shaky laugh. “You’re mad if you think I’m going to stay here like this in front of all these people.” She sincerely hoped everyone was paying attention to Mildred and Matthew rather than to her little drama in the corner with Vincent.

“The Mad Viscount. I like it.” He tightened his arms around her waist. “You didn’t let me enjoy it for very long last time.”

“It wasn’t any more appropriate then than it is now.” She primly folded her arms, fighting hard the urge to snuggle against his chest once more.