Page 1 of Scandal With A Viscount

Chapter 1

Georgiana: Surrey, England, Summer 1816

Georgie’s mother, Lady Deering, had opinions about everything and she had made it her mission to ensure Georgie heard every one of them at least five times during their tedious carriage ride. Each one had the same intent. She wanted Georgie to marry.

“Lord Whitfield's second son has just returned from the Continent,” her mother said, adjusting her gloves as the carriage rocked along the Surrey road. “He's taken rooms in Mayfair. Handsome enough, I'm told, and his prospects are improving now that his elder brother has that terrible cough.”

“You're banking on a man's death to improve my chances of ensnaring a title, Mama? How saintly of you.”

“I am being practical. As should you.” Her mother fixed her with that look—the one that meant she was running out of patience with a daughter who refused to submit to the idea of marrying and having children. “You are four-and-twenty, Georgiana. The whispers grow louder with each Season you refuse to entertain a match. No one can fathom why a woman of your beauty has yet to take a husband.”

Georgie kept her gaze on the window. The Surrey countryside rolled past in swells of green and gray, and Greystone drew closer with every turn of the wheels. She could feel their conversation circling the same ground it always covered—her age, her stubbornness, the whispers among the ton that Lady Georgiana Whitmore was too particular, too independent, too something for any sensible man to pursue. Let them whisper. The alternative—giving her heart to a man—was far worse.

“Max has never forced the issue,” Georgie said. “He doesn’t care if I ever wed.”

Thank goodness.

“Your brother indulges you. That is not the same as doing what is best for you.” Her mother smoothed the fabric of her traveling dress. “A woman's reputation is her currency, and yours is depreciating by the day. If you would only allow me to arrange—”

“I will marry when I find a man worth marrying. Not before.”

The words came out steady. She'd delivered them so many times they'd worn smooth, but her mother heard defiance every time. What Georgie meant was something else—that she'd trusted a man's promises once, and it had cost her more than her mother would ever know. A man with a charming smile, pleasing face, and pretty words about their future together. One who'd taken what she offered and disappeared without a backward glance.

She'd been eighteen. Old enough to know better, young enough to believe him. She’d fallen into bed with a rake. While it had been quite pleasurable and opened her world to things she’d never known, it also caused her to put a wall around her heart.

She never thought much about that dratted rake these days.

It was easy not to think about a man she never had to see. She avoided all circles that he ran in. She never wanted to face him again if she could help it, and she preferred it that way. Not because any part of her still wanted him, but because of what she might do to him if she saw him again.

He had taught her a valuable lesson. She would never again confuse desire with devotion, or let a man see anything beyond what she chose to show.

Even though she had no intention of marrying, her body still craved things that her fingers failed to satisfy. The men she had entertained since were selected with care and kept at a distance. And it would continue that way. Discretion was key, because if her mother knew of her dalliances, the dowager would suffer from apoplexy.

The ton already spent far too much time whispering about Georgie and the possible reasons she turned down every suitor. If they knew about her wanton behavior, she’d be the talk of every drawing room and ruin her entire family in the process.

But it didn’t stop her from playing with fire.

Viscount Ashworth, Louis Prescott, was Max's closest friend from Eton along with Wesley, Duke of Greystone. Georgie had known Louis for years, seeing him at dinners, house parties, and all the endless social functions that she was invited to as the sister of one of his oldest friends. She'd watched him flirt his way through ballrooms and drawing rooms.

Flirtation was his native language, spoken with the fluency of a man who'd never had to work for a woman's attention. Dark hair, sharp jaw, and a mouth that always seemed on the verge of saying something wicked. Women gravitated toward him. He let them, yet never showed a bit of interest in taking a wife.

She'd been attracted to him for years and had even thought she might set her cap for her brother’s best friend. But that was before she'd learned what charming men were capable of. She'd written him off—too much like the man who'd ruined her from trusting anyone. Louis was the kind of man a woman could enjoy looking at and taking to her bed—not the kind for marriage.

But she wasn’t looking for marriage any longer. A bit of pleasurable fun would suit her just fine, and then she could return to her normal life.

Max would not be at Greystone until next week. With no big brother watching, if she could keep her mother entertained, she might just have a chance to entice the handsome viscount. A house party full of cards and amusement and Louis. The thought made her clench her legs together.

If the opportunity presented itself, she knew what she wanted from him. This would be the only chance to curb that particular craving.

The carriage turned up the drive, and Greystone came into view. The limestone facade was softened by climbing ivy and flanked by gardens lush with summer blooms.

Wesley and his duchess, Thea, waited at the front steps.

Wes greeted her mother first. He was everything a duke should be without the stiffness that so often accompanied the title. Then he turned to Georgie with a grin that reminded her why she'd always liked Max's friends better than her own.

“Georgie. Good to see you.” He clasped her hand, then glanced behind them. “Where is Max?”

“He will be arriving late. Some estate business he had to handle.”