Society's Most Scandalous Viscount. Anabelle Bryant

sand and relished a delighted shiver.

      “I’ve discovered a mermaid come ashore.” Kellaway grinned when she started, his presence undetected against the rocks where he leaned, her surprise worth his weight in gold. A breeze caught the edge of her skirt, the hem rippling as if it waved him closer, and he obliged, taking two long strides and emerging from obscurity into the gleam of the lantern. The pale light enhanced her skin with a luminescence that indeed convinced him that here stood a breathtaking enchantress, a woman on the edge of reality as if she were a fantastic dream he’d craved so desperately he’d wished it to life.

      She regained her composure despite his speculative assessment and eyed him with clever interest.

      “And I’ve happened upon a pirate.”

      Her voice had a husky quality, likely from the late hour and lack of use, each syllable passing through him to resonate in his groin. He chuckled, the sound captured and washed away with the onslaught of waves against the rocks. Perhaps he appeared piratical, his collar agape and shirt tails pulled free atop his tight fitted breeches and tall boots. He hadn’t bothered with a queue and his hair whipped in the wind as recklessly as hers.

      “Aren’t you concerned you’ll be caught trespassing on this stretch of land?” He swept his hand to the left in a careless motion.

      What was it about this woman? She possessed rare, ethereal beauty, yet showed strength of character, not at all threatened while speaking to a stranger or repentant in her actions. Females usually simpered when he cast an eye in their direction, vying for an indication they stood a chance of warming his sheets.

      The mental visualization of the lovely nymph in his bed, eager and waiting, raised his interest another notch. Damn his lust. He enjoyed a casual tumble. That was all. Emotion was complicated and time-consuming, and this woman intrigued him beyond comprehension. The dangerous notion warned he tread with care.

      “Aren’t you?” Her brisk retort snared his return to their conversation.

      Excellent. She had no notion of his identity, nor did she care. “I rarely worry myself with aristocratic concerns.” That was a lie—his title and lineage sharp thorns in his side.

      She darted her eyes to the house behind him, high on the cliff, pitch black aside from the lanterns Bitters had lit in the front rooms when his friends departed, undetected from where they stood on the beach. The cliffs climbed their steep ascent, so high even he had to extend his neck to follow her line of vision. Goddamn, his house looked like a fortress, locked up tight, sealed from the world of emotion that waited outside. Dark, like his soul. Empty, like his heart.

      “You should.” Her mouth hitched in a delightful half smile. “The lofty lord who owns this monstrosity would justly see us jailed for treading on his land. Perhaps he’s counted every grain of sand, every ripple of water that washes ashore.” The last remark held an acidic note of disdain. “I left on an evening walk, but never meant to wander this far. I’m not usually of a reckless nature.”

      At last she realized the danger of her actions, but truly she’d be smarter to worry about his intentions than the master of the house, even with her blatant dislike of titled peers.

      “Not of a reckless nature? I am.” That was a truth.

      When she flicked her eyes to his, caught in the net of interest he’d cast, he elaborated. “At least many believe it true as they assess my staggering wagers with critical speculation, label my phaeton races as harrowing and mad, and hold me responsible for each dangerous liaison when it’s the women who should know better than to tempt me. I’m often accused of recalcitrance for what is more boredom than interest, and yet my absent conscience enamors the gossips into spinning rumors of legendary scandal.” He watched for her reaction.

      “And you’re proud of this reputation?”

      She appeared unaffected by his lengthy description of imprudent character and unrepentant debauchery, yet he couldn’t be certain.

      “More a relaying of facts.” That was the second lie. Stories of his actions and relationships were greatly exaggerated to provide lascivious storytelling. The threads of truth were there, for he enjoyed all the aforementioned disreputable habits in moderation, but the mongers of gossip had woven his exploits into a colorful tale—simultaneously providing him the armor necessary to live with the choices of his parents’ indiscretions. It proved a convenient dual relationship.

      A distant boom of thunder drew her attention and he used the distraction to step closer.

      Her hair looked as golden as fresh straw, her skin creamy soft, and her body, silhouetted by the wind’s persistence to mold her diaphanous gown to curves in all the right places, offered promises of exquisite pleasure. He wondered for a fleeting moment if he was lost in some strange hallucination, the likes of which he hadn’t experienced since his jaunt through Arabia and his wild decision to smoke from the pipe offered.

      But no, this midnight beauty was real.

      “And what would cause a mermaid to leave the safety of the sea and run the risk of confronting an incorrigible pirate?” He cast his eyes to the moon, noting a brisk roll of cloud cover racing across the sky.

      Her brows shot straight to the heavens. “I’m restless more than reckless, I suppose.”

      She didn’t reveal more, perhaps believing her answer sufficient, and he leaned a little closer, catching the scent of fresh cardamom and sweet cherries. The exotic fragrance jolted to the forefront, a rush of memories from sultry past travels. Perhaps he dreamed, after all.

      Again a baritone of thunder sounded. A streak of lightning rent the sky soon after. Her eyes flared and, sensing she might slip away before he learned how to find her again, he took one final step.

      “With the weather threatening, will you once again slip into the waves, a sea nymph dissolved into gossamer mist?”

      She smiled and his heart thumped a heavy beat. The wind scattered clouds to obscure the remaining moonlight and cobalt shadows slid across the rocks, the steady ebb and flow of the waves mimicking the rhythm of their conversation.

      “And what would a nefarious pirate do when confronted with a mermaid seeking adventure?”

      Her eyes ran over him from top to bottom and his skin heated under her scrutiny. Was she encouraging his attention? He was both confident and unsure, while her bold, flirtatious inquiry caught him off guard and elevated their conversation to an acute physical level. He knew with certainty what he wanted to do. Lower her to the sand, strip her bare, and drive into her luscious warmth. But what could the woman be after? He’d never felt so unbalanced when dealing with a female, still nothing satisfied like a quest or challenge.

      With the next gust of wind the clouds broke, releasing a drenching rain that doused the lantern to a gleaming sputter. Without hesitation, he captured her around the waist to sweep over his shoulder in true pirate fashion, as if he’d plundered for booty and now stole the treasure. His long strides carried them to the groundskeeper’s cottage across the beach, partially hidden by a rock formation jutting a line between the coastline and house. It offered a wall of protection and a tangible landmark in the pitch-blackness. Her surprised laughter beat against his back in time with her small fists, and the novelty of her rebellion provoked him to grin.

      Shifting to cradle her in his arms, he deposited her with care beneath the eaves of the cottage, then swept a palm across his brow to slick back the lengths of hair fallen forward, both of them soaked to the bone and reclaiming breath, her from amusement and him from the sprint across the sand. He eyed her, not at all sure if she would scream her discontent or lash him for his outrageous endeavor, but she remained quiet.

      The downpour transformed into a steady rain, dripping from the eaves to form a curtain of water that secluded them from where they once stood. A palpable tension took hold. They were wet. They were strangers. And each lightning strike ensured they were trapped together for the time being.

       Chapter Five