Rescued by the Viscount. Anne Herries

      ‘I shall see you tomorrow, then, Jack.’

      ‘I shall look forward to it.’

      * * *

      Leaving his grandfather’s study, Jack walked in leisurely fashion from the house, stopping in the magnificent hall to exchange a few words first with the marquis’s valet and then with Pearson, the butler who had served at Ellington House for as long as he could recall. His grandfather’s servants had been eager to tell him that the marquis had called the doctor on two separate occasions recently. Indeed, it was the reason he had come to London for a few weeks’ stay, preferring his home deep in the Sussex countryside to the bustle of town.

      ‘I know the master would never dream of troubling you,’ Pearson told him, ‘but he is not as well as I should like, Captain Delsey, and that is the truth.’

      ‘Do you know what the trouble was?’ he asked of the valet.

      ‘It’s his heart, sir. Nothing too serious yet, I understand, but he’s been warned to cut down on his port and cigars—and to take things more easily.’

      Jack thanked them both for confiding in him. His grandfather had said nothing of the doctor’s visits, but it explained why he had been summoned and lectured on the subject of marriage once more. However, the valet and butler had alarmed him with their tales, for Jack was sincerely fond of his grandfather and did not wish to distress him more than need be.

      The marquis had never interfered unnecessarily in Jack’s life. When he’d left college, Ellington had introduced him into society, put him up for his clubs and given him the name of his tailor. After that, he’d pretty much left him to his own devices, merely asking him to consider carefully when he announced that he was taking up a commission in the army. War had been looming at that time and Jack spent some years away fighting under Wellington’s command. The friendships he’d made then formed the basis of his circle now, and consisted of some six gentlemen he felt bound to as brothers, though he had countless acquaintances for he was a popular man—both with the gentlemen and the ladies, which accounted for the gossip concerning his affairs.

      The viscount was a catch and more than one pretty young woman had tried to enchant him, but although he was happy to indulge them with a dance or a light flirtation, none could say that he gave them reason to hope. He spent more time flirting with the matrons than their daughters, and more than one thought of Jack Delsey as she lay next to a snoring husband and wished that the young viscount was in her bed rather than the man lying next to her.

      Jack had been home from the war for more than a year now, spending his time much as every other wealthy young man of fashion, visiting his clubs, placing bets at Tattersall’s or Newmarket and taking pride in his stables. His pistols came from Manton’s; he wore coats made by Scott or Weston, and his boots shone like silk. Jack’s cravats were always neat and freshly starched, but he wore them in a simple fashion rather than in the complicated folds and frills of the dandy set. He was happiest when exercising his horses or fencing with friends, or popping a hit over the guard of Gentleman George, a pugilist whose salon he visited now and then to keep in shape. In short, he was what society was pleased to call a Corinthian and idolised by most of the young bloods. To call him a rake was unfair, though if all the fluttering one direct glance from those compelling eyes aroused in a myriad of female breasts was taken into account, his reputation was deserved to a point. Without meaning to, his careless dalliance had sent more than one lady into a swoon, leaving a trail of wounded hearts when his casual flirting came to naught.

      His grandfather had, though, exaggerated the number of mistresses Jack had kept over the past few years. During his service in the army, he had found some of the beautiful Spanish girls much to his taste. Like his friends, he had taken his pleasure where he could, knowing that each day might be his last, but the camp followers had been girls of a lower class and none of them had ever touched Jack’s heart.

      There had been three ladies with whom he had shared intimate relations since then, one of them a married lady whose husband was thirty years her senior and more interested in his port than his wife, the other two opera dancers. Jack’s current light o’ love was very beautiful, but also very greedy, and he suspected unfaithful. He believed she had other lovers despite their arrangement, and it was in his mind that he would tell Lucy it was over before he went down to the country.

      Jack supposed that he ought to think seriously of marriage. He was seven and twenty and he’d been his own master for ten years, for though his fortune had been in trust for four years the allowance was so generous that he had never been in danger of finding himself in debt. Since coming into his capital, he’d made several improvements to his estate and to the investment of his funds. His fortune was sufficient to support a family with no alteration to his way of life, other than on a personal level. Indeed, some jealous folk had been known to complain that he had far more money than was good for him.

      The trouble was that he enjoyed his life and saw no reason to change it. As a single man he need consider no one else’s feelings very much. The obligatory visit to his mama and his grandfather in the country every few weeks or so cost him little and he was free to take off to stay with a friend, visit Newmarket or Bath, or attend a mill at the drop of a hat. Some would say that marriage need change very little in his life, but Jack could recall seeing his mama in tears when she was left alone in the country with a small son and her husband was off enjoying himself in town. He imagined that his dislike of the idea of marriage had grown in him over the years, triggered by an incident when he was seventeen, and as yet he had not met a lady who was beautiful or generous enough to overcome that dislike.

      His father had indeed been a selfish man. Jack wondered if he had inherited the trait, for he was rather inclined to go off without informing his family that he would be out of town and unreachable for a few days. He knew that Mama sometimes worried about him, though the marquis said she was a fusspot, and perhaps she was. It would have been much better had Jack not been an only child, but for some reason there had been no more babies in that unfortunate marriage.

      Sighing, Jack put his troubled thoughts to rest. He was engaged with friends for the evening and it would not do to be caught up by a problem he was not sure he could solve.

      Marriage to a woman he could not like or admire would be worse than a living death. Perhaps it was not strictly necessary to fall in love, but as yet he had not met a young lady that made him want to see her every day, let alone protect her and cherish her for the rest of his life.

      * * *

      ‘Have you seen the latest heiress?’ Lieutenant Peter Phipps asked of Jack when they met at the club, where they were engaged to dine with three of their friends. ‘Cynthia Langton has everything—beauty, wit and money.’

      ‘Really? A veritable goddess,’ Jack quizzed, one brow arched in mockery. ‘Going to have a tilt at her, Phipps old fellow? Run aground again?’

      Phipps shook his head, a wry smile on his mouth. ‘Not yet, Jack. I had a run of luck last month and I’m just managing to hold my head above water. Not that she would look at me even if I had hopes in that direction. She may be beautiful and rich, but she’s like an iceberg—so proud and cold. I imagine she’s after a marquis or an earl at least...’

      ‘A bit above your touch, then, and mine,’ Jack quipped. ‘Never mind, there’s always the Dumpling. If you really fall into the suds, she would have you like a shot.’

      ‘Cruel, and unworthy of you,’ Phipps said. ‘I rather like Miss Amanda, she’s got a warm heart, even if she is a little on the dumpy side.’

      ‘Well, then, your problem is solved,’ Jack murmured wickedly. ‘You have only to crook your little finger and she will fall into your arms—if they are strong enough to catch her.’

      ‘Really Jack, that’s a bit strong,’ his friend said and frowned. ‘She cannot help being short and she likes sweet things...which I do myself, but I never seem to put on weight.’

      ‘You are a regular lanky boy. You should wed her because you’re all bones while she is an armful of delicious flesh... Oh, I’m merely jesting,’