Page 3 of The Viscount and the Minx (The Unlikely Betrothal: Prequel)

Chapter 3

Marina

M arina practically vibrated with excitement as she planned the house party. If all went well, it would be talked about for seasons to come. And if she managed to orchestrate a few grand matches along the way, all the better.

She’d requested tea so she and Evan could work at their desk, sorting through potential guests. The missive from Lady Eliza had sparked the idea, but after the tricks her mind played on her earlier in the clearing, she realized just how much she needed a distraction. Nightmares still plagued her occasionally—remnants of her traumatic experience. She refused to put herself or Evan through that again. A house bursting with guests, conversation, and scandal would keep her mind too occupied for fear to take hold.

If she told him her fears, Evan would understand, of course, but he’d also blame himself for ever leaving her side that day. Which she couldn’t bear for him to do. He’d done nothing wrong. Convincing him of that, however, was another matter entirely.

For now, she was simply pleased he had agreed to help. It would be fun to indulge in a bit of matchmaking mischief together. But before planning any elaborate entertainment, they needed a guest list—one filled with the most intriguing, entertaining, and possibly advantageous individuals. Ones who might take advantage of a country house party to pursue a bit of scandal and passion. Nothing facilitated a good betrothal quite like a country house party rife with temptation.

Sitting across from Evan, she took up a fresh sheet of parchment. “Juliana mentioned in her letter that Lord Demming has been rather lonely. I liked him when we met at the wedding. Perhaps we should invite him?” A lonely gentleman surrounded by eligible ladies… a perfect addition.

Evan nodded. “And I’d like to invite Nick, Lord Craven. He’s been brooding over a woman for far too long—not that he’ll talk about it. I think it would do him some good to get back into society. If you’re so determined to play matchmaker, he could use the help.”

Marina’s quill flew across the parchment. A heartbroken lord with a mystery woman? She would get the story out of him one way or another. “We will need to keep the numbers even. So we must make sure we have enough women, too.”

“Lady Preston?” Evan suggested. “She’d enjoy this sort of event.”

“Oh! I adore her. And she’ll certainly find company at a house party.” The young widow had taken to pursuing trysts and sworn off love. Another perfect addition to tempt the men in attendance.

Evan chuckled. “If your goal is betrothals, you’re wasting your efforts. Lady Preston will never marry again.”

“Never say never, my love.” Marina smirked. The widow had loved her husband deeply, but that didn’t mean love wouldn’t strike twice.

“What about the Duke of St. Albans?” she mused, tapping the quill against her lips. “If I could convince him to attend, I’d be the envy of every hostess.”

Evan snorted. “Not a chance. You’d have better luck holding him at gunpoint.”

Marina felt something uneasy in her stomach as if perhaps her tea hadn’t settled well. It differed from what she’d felt earlier in the clearing. Her hand shot to her stomach, and she swallowed hard, fighting to soothe herself.

Evan’s sharp gaze flicked to her immediately. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” She forced a steady breath, brushing off the memories of her abduction. It was nothing. Just old fears resurfacing.

Evan didn’t appear convinced—and frankly, neither was she—but she seized the moment to distract them both. “And I’ll take that bet.”

Her queasiness subsided. She could do this. By the evening, it would all be long forgotten, and she’d be deep into planning the party of the season.

He arched his brow. “Bet?”

“The Duke of St. Albans. I’ll get him here.” She took a bite of her biscuit, needing something in her stomach.

Evan shook his head, amusement tugging at his lips. “If anyone can do it, it’s you, love. But he will not show.”

“We shall see.” Marina smirked, feeling more like herself. “I also think we should invite Lady Juliet. She and Lady Eliza are close friends, and I like her a great deal.”

They carried on for a while longer, narrowing down the list of the most promising—and scandalous—guests. By the time they finished, Marina held up the parchment and scanned the names, not including those of their closest friends. Nine ladies. Ten gentlemen. A perfect recipe for intrigue, flirtation, and—if she had her way—a few unexpected matches.

“I need one more lady,” Marina said, sighing. “Perhaps I’ll see if one woman wishes to bring a friend.”

“You do realize you’re not matching up ten couples, love?” Evan chuckled.

“Of course not,” she said, waving him off. “But four or five seem perfectly reasonable.”

“Four or five? That’s ambitious even for you,” Evan said, rising from his chair and rounding the desk. His hands settled on her shoulders, his touch warm and grounding. “Though I must admit, watching you scheme is rather… enticing.”

Marina tilted her head back to look up at him, her pulse quickening at the heat in his gaze. “Is it now?”

His thumbs traced small circles at the base of her neck, and she felt herself melting into his touch. “Indeed. Although everything you do is enticing.” He pressed a kiss to her brow. “Though I still maintain that St. Albans won’t attend.”

“You clearly underestimate my powers of persuasion, love.”

“Perhaps a demonstration is in order,” Evan whispered, his breath warm against her ear.

Marina’s lips curved into a smile as she set down her quill. “And here I thought you were due for a punishment.” She turned in her chair, but the movement sent another wave of queasiness rolling through her.

Marina masked the sudden discomfort with a smile, but her fingers clutched the edge of the desk. And she silently hoped the nightmares wouldn’t also return that night.

Thankfully, the sensation passed quickly, leaving behind faint memories that seemed to hover at the edges of her awareness.

Evan frowned, his hands sliding from her shoulders to cradle her face. “Are you certain you’re well?”

She always felt safer when he was near, even if she had long proven she could defend herself.

His thumbs brushed against her cheekbones with such tenderness that Marina nearly broke. For a fleeting moment, she considered telling him the truth about her fears. But voicing it would make it real. And she refused to let the fear win. She would focus on playing the part of hostess and it would all pass.

“Perfectly well,” she assured him, turning her face to press a kiss against his palm. “Just a bit fatigued from all this planning.”

His frown deepened. “Perhaps we should postpone the house party. It’s a considerable undertaking.”

No. That was the opposite of what she needed. But she couldn’t explain it to him.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, rising to stand before him. “I’m merely tired from sitting too long. Besides, I’ve already set my heart on this.”

Evan’s eyes searched hers. And she wasn’t certain what it was he was thinking, but his protective urges were on full display. “Very well,” he conceded, his fingers trailing down her arm to capture her hand. “But promise me you’ll rest if you need it. The last thing I want is for you to exhaust yourself.”

“I promise.” And she meant it—she wouldn’t push herself to exhaustion. Just enough to quiet her thoughts.

“I think,” she continued, distracting herself from her thoughts, “that what I require most at this moment is fresh air. Would you care to walk with me in the garden?”

Evan’s gaze softened as he extended his arm. “Nothing could keep me from doing so.”

For the next hour, they moved through the garden, speaking of plans for the house party and what events Marina would host for the fortnight they had guests. The pleasant stroll with her husband calmed her nerves, and her stomach settled.

As they ascended the terrace steps, Baxter, their butler, approached. “My lord, your estate manager is waiting in your study. He says it’s urgent.”

Evan turned to her, lifting her hand to his lips. “I’ll see you at supper, love.”

She smiled back at him, thoroughly enjoying the way his breeches clung to his muscular thighs. That man was her undoing.

Turning back to the garden, she rested her arms on the railing, inhaling the crisp air. Birds flitted between the branches of a nearby tree, the picture of serenity. Then—movement. Something darted behind a tree. Or at least she thought it did.

Marina stiffened.

Her gaze locked onto a distant oak tree, its trunk thick and gnarled. Nothing. And yet, her skin prickled with awareness. She didn’t see anyone, but she couldn’t shake the fear that someone was there.

She had almost convinced herself that her mind was playing tricks on her. Then she saw it—a hand.

Her stomach lurched violently. She barely had time to turn before she cast up her accounts into the bushes below. Nausea wasn’t a symptom she usually had when the memories of the past plagued her, but this wasn’t just a memory if someone watched her from the woods.

Shaking, she wiped her lips with her handkerchief and forced herself to look again. The hand was gone.

But it had been there. She would stake her life on it.

Marina’s breath came shallow and fast. She forced herself to stand still, to watch, to wait. Nothing. No movement. No shadow shifting from behind the tree.

Her mind was playing tricks on her. It had to be. Right? At least that was what she preferred to believe. It was the only truth she was willing to accept.

If she told Evan, he would insist on canceling the party. He’d watch her like a hawk, and he’d have her guarded every minute of the day. No, she couldn’t allow that.

This would be something to laugh about in a few days. It would prove to be nothing but her imagination. And then, maybe, she’d tell him then.