The Viscount and the Virgin. ANNIE BURROWS

turn and put the drinks down, then put his arms round her as he asked, ‘What the devil has happened?’ He put her from himself, then looked down at her with concern. His eyes snagged on the front of her gown, and narrowed. ‘Has some man tried to take advantage of you?’

      For the first time, Imogen noticed that the flimsy material was torn. It must have happened when she wrestled herself out of the viscount’s hold.

      His face darkened. ‘I shall kill him,’ he growled, making for the outside door.

      ‘No, Rick! Don’t say such a thing!’ She grabbed his arm and hauled him round. ‘If you get into a fight over this, everyone will say I am just like my mother, luring good men to their doom! Don’t you see?’

      His eyes flicked from her to the door and back again.

      ‘Dammit, Midge,’ he growled, ‘it’s my job to bring the fellow to book.’

      ‘No,’ she countered. ‘It is your job to protect me. And you won’t do that by making a fuss about…about…’ she swallowed down her outraged pride ‘…a mere trifle. All you will do is stir up even more gossip.’

      She glanced over her shoulder then, fearful that the viscount would come storming into the house after her. He would be bound to act in such a way that nothing she could say would stop Rick from murdering him!

      ‘It won’t be just my chances for a good marriage I will lose. I won’t even be able to get employment in a respectable household. Oh, please, Rick, can you not just take me home and pretend this never happened?’

      He reached out and, with one gloved finger, touched a spot on her cheek.

      ‘I say, is that blood?’ he hissed through gritted teeth. ‘If the fellow has really hurt you, Midge, no matter what you think, I will have to call him out!’

      ‘Blood?’ She blinked, bewildered for a second. ‘Oh, I should think that is probably his. I bit him.’

      ‘You…bit him?’ Rick looked startled.

      ‘Yes, and then I hit him, both hands, just as you taught me. One—two!’ She mimed the punches for his edification.

      He looked a little mollified. ‘Don’t suppose you laid him out, by any chance?’

      ‘No,’ she admitted ruefully. ‘Though I have put a mark or two on his face, and ruined his coat.’ She remembered the look on his face when soil had rained down on him, and couldn’t help smiling. She had hit his most sensitive spot. His vanity. No wonder he had not come indoors yet. He would not want anyone to see him covered in dirt!

      She came out of her daze to find Rick rearranging her shawl so that it concealed her torn bodice.

      ‘Come on then,’ he said, putting one arm comfortingly about her shoulders. ‘I shall take you home.’

      It was only then that she realized she was going to have to give an excuse for leaving so suddenly.

      ‘My aunt!’ she cried, stopping dead in her tracks. ‘I cannot go back into the ballroom looking like this!’

      ‘Don’t you worry,’ Rick said, ushering her inexorably along the corridor that led towards the front hall.

      ‘I shall tell her you have a headache or something. Females are always falling ill at events like this, aren’t they?’ Rick pressed Imogen into a chair, and strode across to a footman who was eyeing them indolently. ‘Hi, you, fellow! Take a message to Lady Callandar, will you? Tell her I’ve had to take Miss Hebden home. Sudden indisposition.’ He lowered his voice. ‘And tell Viscount Mildenhall I will catch up with him later, at Limmer’s. Had to escort my sister home.’

      ‘Lady Callandar that Miss Hebden is indisposed,’ repeated the footman, pocketing the coin Rick pressed into his palm. ‘And Viscount Mildenhall that you will be at Limmer’s, after taking your sister home.’

      Satisfied he had the message correct, Rick hurried back to Imogen’s side.

      She barely registered him shepherding her out of the front door and into a waiting cab.

      Oh, how right her mother had been to warn her to beware of exchanging furtive kisses with rakes by moonlight! She hated the viscount. She really did. And yet, when he had swept her into his arms, the emotion that had been uppermost had not been revulsion at all. But excitement.

      The feel of Viscount Mildenhall’s tongue sweeping into her mouth had been as intoxicating as champagne. Exhilarating bubbles had fizzed through her whole body, bringing it to life in a way she had never imagined could be possible.

      She raised her fingers to her mouth, suddenly understanding her mother’s downfall in a way that had always, until tonight, completely baffled her.

      Because she had never experienced the power of desire before. This was why Amanda had turned down the chance of a match with her worthy suitor! Because she could not resist the thrill of Kit Hebden’s wicked brand of lovemaking!

      She shivered, suddenly scared. For it was not only her mother’s blood that ran through her veins. She was Kit Hebden’s daughter too. Kit, who never once tried to subdue that side of his nature, but had given it full rein. Kit, who was never content with one woman, especially not the one he had married.

      Were the gossipmongers right about her, after all?

      She reached for Rick’s hand across the seat, and grasped it.

      Now that she was exposed to handsome, experienced rakes like Viscount Mildenhall, would it only be a matter of time before everyone found out that she really had inherited Kit Hebden’s lascivious nature, after all?

      

      Once Viscount Mildenhall had finished brushing the dirt from his jacket he sat down on the stone coping of the balustrade. It was over. He surrendered. When Miss Hebden came back outside, no doubt with her chaperon and any other witnesses she managed to round up, he would inform anyone who cared to listen that yes, he would marry the hussy.

      It scarcely mattered what he thought of her. It had not been the behaviour of a gentleman to half ravish an unmarried girl. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, keeping his eyes fixed on the door through which Miss Hebden had fled, and dabbed at the blood seeping from his lower lip. Now he must pay the price for letting the base side of his nature get out of hand.

      He grimaced. It would serve his father right. The earl had given him a lengthy lecture about the type of female he wanted him to bring back to Shevington as his bride. Though his father, with three abysmally miserable marriages under his belt, was the last person qualified to dish out marital advice.

      How ironic it was that his father had already specified that on no account was he to marry for love! ‘If she should die in childbirth, you will feel like a murderer,’ he had said. ‘And if she proves faithless, it will break your heart. Just pick a woman with the right connections that you feel interested in bedding. And then, once you have got her pregnant, you may leave her here, return to town and reward yourself by taking a pretty mistress. Or two.’

      Well, he was interested in bedding Miss Hebden all right! Yes, it would serve his father right if he did bring her into the family. He would positively enjoy flaunting that scandalous creature under his father’s nose!

      He shifted his weight as the cold from the stone parapet seeped through his silken breeches. Where was the girl? It could not have taken her this long to round up reinforcements, could it?

      He got to his feet, and began to pace up and down. He did not like the feeling of being played like a fish on Miss Hebden’s line. But in a way, it would be a relief to get the issue of marriage settled. Once he had her name on the marriage lines, he would have reason to return to Shevington, and this time, he would brook no nonsense from his father’s steward. He would let the man know that he knew what he was up to. He would visit every single tenant on all his father’s vast holdings and let them know that things would change once he was in the saddle. That until that time, he would do his damnedest to see that none of them suffered