The Viscount's Promise Read online

  EverAfter Romance

  A division of Diversion Publishing Corp.

  443 Park Ave, Suite 1004

  New York, NY 10016

  www.EverAfterRomance.com

  Copyright 2018 by Christina Silverio

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or any portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  For more information, email [email protected]

  First EverAfter Romance edition October 2018.

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-63576-462-8

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-63576-461-1

  LSIDB/1810

  Dedicated with love to Robert and Vickie Jetté,

  the best grandparents a girl could have ever been blessed with.

  I miss you, Papa and Nani, more than words could ever express.

  Chapter 1

  “I want you to watch over Emily during the wedding celebrations, Morley.”

  Malcolm Arborn, Viscount Morley, nearly spit his brandy across the carpet. He turned to his friend, hoping his abhorrence showed on his face. For good measure, he said clearly and distinctly, with more than a touch of horror, “If you think I am going to play nanny to your sister, you are mad.”

  Caleb Masters, Marquess of Willbridge, didn’t so much as flicker an eyelid at the pronouncement. Which was to be expected. Being acquainted as long as they had—hell, they were more than acquainted, they were closer than brothers—liberties were bound to be taken with the friendship, no matter how detestable they might be to the other party.

  Though he supposed, with Willbridge marrying in just over a week’s time—and, for all reasons, love—their friendship would slip away like so much mist with the coming light of day. A sour taste settled on his tongue, a sensation that had been with him since he had learned of his friend’s engagement days ago. Malcolm tightened his fingers around the crystal glass in his hand, taking a healthy swig of his brandy in an attempt to eradicate it. Yet the bitterness remained.

  “Emily is two and twenty, hardly in need of a nanny,” Willbridge said, bringing Malcolm back to the topic at hand. “But she has been protected far too much in the past decade by my mother—a mistake I intend to rectify. I have hopes that the coming wedding and subsequent house party will help to bring her out of her shell.”

  “And what is my part in all this?”

  Willbridge frowned. “Despite my intentions, I do worry what the strain of such a situation will do to her. I need someone to watch over her where I cannot, to make certain it does not become too much for her.”

  Malcolm let out a bark of laughter. “And I am that remedy? Do you know me at all?”

  “I know you very well,” Willbridge replied softly, regarding him closely. “Which is why I believe you are ideal for this.”

  “What, squiring your sister around? Making sure she isn’t left without a partner at balls? Or does it go beyond that, and she needs me to tell her when to curtsy, what frock to wear, how to greet this pompous ass or that snobbish dame?”

  Malcolm knew he sounded petulant and bitter. If he hadn’t been able to hear it in his own voice, Willbridge’s raised brows would have told him all. Furious over his loss of temper, he rose and walked across his study to the window. Grosvenor Square lay spread out before him, busy and humming with humanity. It was why he had chosen this room as his private sanctum when he had succeeded to the title after his brother’s unexpected demise. He needed this noise, this confusion, this barrage of life. The last thing he desired, after all, was peace and quiet, time to think and remember and...feel.

  “I can see where you would come to that assumption,” Willbridge replied, his voice cold. “But no, my sister is not an imbecile. She has been fully educated on class and social niceties.”

  Malcolm downed the rest of his brandy in one quick swallow, letting it burn all the way to his stomach, leaving a blessed numbness behind. “Damn it, I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I never meant to disparage her.” He shifted his gaze, caught the image of Willbridge in the window as he nodded in acceptance of the apology. Malcolm let out a slow breath. “But that does not explain why you wish me to watch over your sister.”

  There was a beat of silence, then a rustle as Willbridge stood and walked to his side. “You would remember Emily as a shy but happy child, I assume?”

  Indeed he did. Malcolm smiled slightly. She had been sweet, with huge gray eyes and a timid smile that spoke volumes of her awe of him—until the day of the accident.

  Malcolm’s smile faded. Emily had been badly injured in the same tragedy that had taken her twin brother’s life. Malcolm had been there that day, had witnessed it. Never would he forget the feel of her slight, coltish body in his arms, blood pouring from the gash that had cut open her cheek. He had not seen her since, the heartache from the tragedy having caused a nearly insurmountable rift in the family. Until Willbridge’s intended, Imogen, had come along and healed the breach.

  Now Willbridge and Imogen were planning their marriage at the family’s country estate in a week’s time—an unwelcome prospect as it was. Willbridge’s request, however, added another level to Malcolm’s distaste for the situation.

  He realized belatedly that Willbridge was awaiting an answer. “Yes, I remember her.” He cleared his throat, shooting a careful glance at his friend. “Did her wound heal well?”

  Willbridge’s lips tightened. “No, it did not. And she has suffered dreadfully for it, I’m afraid. She has retreated into herself in the most disturbing way, and my family allows it.”

  Malcolm felt a frisson of something travel up his spine. He thought on it for a moment until he saw it for what it was: unease. This situation was quickly getting out of control. Best to be blunt. “I do pity her for it,” he stated baldly. “But I cannot see what this has to do with me.”

  Heaving a troubled sigh, Willbridge met his eyes. “I would ask you to watch out for Emily, perhaps make things easier for her. Stick close to her and see she is not in any distress.” He paused, his gaze sober. “I would have your promise, Morley.”

  A hot knife of displeasure speared beneath Malcolm’s skin. He kept his voice neutral as he said, “You know I do not give promises lightly, Willbridge.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  A look passed between them. Willbridge was fully aware what he was about. Having been the victim of so many broken promises in the past, Malcolm would do everything in his power to see a vow through once he gave one. It was his one claim to honor, something he would uphold unto death.

  “And you think to weasel a promise from me for this?” Malcolm growled. “Don’t you think such a job would be better suited to another female? A relative, perhaps? You must have them in abundance and would have no trouble finding one who would leap to do your bidding.”

  “That I do. But there is no one I trust as much as I trust you, Morley.”

  Malcolm’s lips twisted even as the compliment warmed him. He banished the better feelings, not wanting them to cloud his judgment. “Not even your esteemed fiancée?”

  “You know as well as I that Imogen is something altogether different,” his friend murmured, his eyes softening.

  “Yes, so I have heard.”

  Willbridge ignored his surly tone. “You will f
ind out the same for yourself one day, when you let a woman in again.”

  “Please,” Malcolm scoffed, turning back for the window even as his stomach twisted. “We both know that is not likely to happen. Love is not for me.”

  “I believed the same thing of myself, Morley,” his friend said quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

  Malcolm tensed but did not shrug off his touch. “Enough of sentiment,” he said instead. “We will have plenty of that in the week to come. Why don’t you spend your valuable time before you return to Willowhaven letting me know why you think I will prove a proper companion to your sister?”

  Willbridge removed his hand. “Emily is incredibly sensitive to her looks. Any female I ask to shadow her would only make her feel her...difference all the more.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You ask me to spell it out?” Willbridge let out a frustrated breath. “She is scarred in a very visible way. It has affected every aspect of her life. But she is a lovely young woman who should have every chance in life that any other woman has. Having you by her side would not only detract from this great obstacle in her life, but may give her the confidence she needs to set out and carve a life of her own. And it is quite possible that your attentions, however innocent, might facilitate the interest of a candidate for her hand. She goes to London next Season for our sister Daphne’s debut. I would help prepare her in any way I can for that.”

  It took several moments for the meaning of that to sink in. When it finally did, Malcolm blanched. “You would have me pretend to court your sister?”

  Willbridge paled at that. “Gad, no! Although,” he amended, his expression turning apologetic as he slid a glance Malcolm’s way, “it certainly couldn’t hurt that she might think she could garner a man’s regard on her own, even if as a friend. Which means that under no circumstances can she know I have asked this favor of you. Learning of our collusion in the matter might very well send her even further back into herself.”

  Malcolm glowered at his friend. “This is a delicate thing you ask of me, Willbridge. I am to stay close to your sister, feign an interest—however innocuous it may be—and yet keep her in the dark as to my intentions. I also assume I am to ensure no talk erupts over my attentions, but hope they are just enough to make other men see her as a possible life’s mate.” At Willbridge’s nod, Malcolm let loose a frustrated breath. “I do believe your guilt for not having been there to help guide her in the past decade has blinded you to all that can go wrong with this blasted scheme.”

  Willbridge’s shoulders slumped. “I know it sounds foolish, Morley. But I can think of no other way. I truly am doing my best to rectify matters. I’m hoping that in the next weeks she can find a confidence to carry with her into the future. She has had scant practice with men. I would have her see that she is every bit as worthy of attention as any other young woman.”

  And to do that, you would use one of your closest friends, Malcolm thought acidly. But really, could he blame the man? In the space of a few weeks, Willbridge had gone from a troubled but unencumbered rake to a content family man. It was a state incomprehensible to Malcolm, for what did emotional entanglements provide but the possibility of being betrayed by those you cared for?

  “Why not ask Tristan? He’s a jovial enough fellow.” Sir Tristan Crosby was their mutual friend, the third corner to their fraternal triangle, and the only person in this world who Malcolm cared for besides Willbridge.

  “Next to you, he is my dearest friend,” Willbridge replied. “However, I have given it much thought, and I do believe his high spirits would prove detrimental to Emily. She is a quiet soul, and he is...not.”

  Which was putting it mildly, Malcolm thought grudgingly. If Lady Emily was as painfully shy as Willbridge implied, Tristan’s bounding love for life might do her more harm than good. Even so, it was every man for himself. “You never know, he might be what she needs.”

  “I had considered that,” Willbridge said slowly, and for a moment hope and relief flared in Malcolm’s breast. “But I have come to know my sister since our reconciliation, and such a personality would overwhelm her. She needs someone more levelheaded and restrained. Someone like you.”

  Malcolm opened his mouth to once more denounce the idea. It was then Willbridge went in for the kill.

  “Please, Morley. I trust you with my life. I would not ask you to promise something of this magnitude otherwise.”

  Nothing he could have said would have swayed Malcolm more. Knowing he was effectively backed into the proverbial corner, he went to his desk, slamming his empty glass down on the polished surface. Taking up the bottle of brandy he had left there, he filled his rummer to the brim and downed the whole lot—a bit of liquid courage, he supposed—before swinging about to face his friend. “Fine,” he spat, “I will do it. I swear it.”

  He could not help feeling, however, as a relieved smile spread over Willbridge’s face, that he had signed a deal with the devil himself.

  • • •

  Lady Emily Masters bent her head determinedly over her embroidery in an attempt to distance herself from the surrounding chaos. With her brother’s wedding less than a week away, his future in-laws had already descended upon Willowhaven en masse. And Emily was quickly learning how swiftly and completely the peace of her home could be decimated.

  It turned out to take no more than two, three minutes at the most.

  It’s only for a few weeks, she told herself stoutly. Just then a shout went up across the room as two of the youngest visitors got into a bit of friendly banter. Emily tensed, her fingers tightening around her needle. Who knew that the prospect of three weeks’ time could be so daunting?

  The cushion beside her dipped, and a gentle hand landed on her arm. Emily looked into the kind, worried face of her brother’s intended, Miss Imogen Duncan.

  “Are you positive you don’t mind the wedding being held here?” Imogen asked for what must have been the hundredth time that evening, casting a doubtful eye toward her mother, Lady Tarryton. That lady was waxing poetic to Emily’s mother about the grandeur of the house. Imogen pressed her lips together before turning back to Emily. “We did consider having a quick ceremony in London, but thought this would be easiest on everyone involved.”

  Meaning, Emily thought, they worried how I would fare in the capital. She would not deny that when the engagement between her brother Caleb and Imogen was announced, the idea of having to go to London had torn through her with a terror that had left her nearly incoherent. Only when the plan to have the ceremony at Willowhaven had been broached had she relaxed. Even that, however, had its drawbacks, as she was learning now. Weddings meant guests, and guests meant strangers infiltrating her home, polluting all of the places she felt most comfortable and safe. But without doubt this option, as abhorrent as it was proving to be, was the lesser of two evils. She would have to content herself with that. A daunting task, she was coming to learn, now that Imogen’s family had arrived.

  “Of course I’m certain,” she replied, hoping beyond hope that she sounded sincere. And truly, what else could she say? That she wished that Caleb and Imogen had eloped so she would not be forced into social situations with people she did not know; so she would not have to show her face to those who would stare in horror or, even worse, look on her with pity? No matter the truth of that, she was not so uncaring as to voice it. This marriage was nothing but wonderful, and she wished to celebrate it in the best way possible. That her mode of celebration was much more private than everyone else’s did not matter, not when it came to the happiness of two people she loved so very much.

  Imogen must have read her thoughts, for she looked at her dubiously. “I know my family can be...trying.”

  “Not all of them,” Emily blurted, before gasping in horror at her gaffe. “Oh, I am so sorry, Imogen.”

  Far from appearing offended, Imogen merely gave her a rueful smile. “My mother is very intense, I know.”

  Whi
ch was putting it mildly. Lady Tarryton had been blessedly awed when setting foot in Willowhaven and thus silent. But as she grew more comfortable, she became more and more vocal. With everyone but Emily.

  That should have relieved Emily. The woman frightened her silly, after all, yet she knew too well why the viscountess was leery of making conversation. Her eyes said it all. No doubt the woman had been forewarned about Emily’s scar. Her horrified and yet fascinated gaze seemed to be drawn again and again to it...as she was doing right now. Emily flushed hot and turned the ruined side of her face toward the wall.

  “I do like your sister very much,” Emily said, trying to make up for her slight to Imogen’s mother. “Mariah truly is sweet. I can see why you love her so much.”

  Imogen flushed with pleasure, transferring her gaze to the opposite corner of the room, where her sister sat in close conversation with Daphne, Emily’s younger sister. The two were fast friends mere hours after their introduction.

  As her friend looked contentedly upon the sweet duo, Emily’s gaze slid away to study the rest of the Duncan family. There were a great many of them present, she thought weakly, and this invasion was only the beginning. As soon as tomorrow, all manner of family from both sides would be descending upon Willowhaven. Heart beating like mad in her ears, she said as calmly as she could manage, “Who else is expected to arrive?”

  Her attempt at nonchalance didn’t fool Imogen one bit. For, nearly as shy with strangers as Emily was, she understood fully how this affected her. “We did try to keep the guest list down to the necessary people,” she said soothingly. “There is your cousin Sir Frederick Knowles and his family, my mother’s brother Sir William Gubler and his son, Lord and Lady Tabble and their grown children, who are cousins on my father’s side...”

  The names went on and on, a seemingly endless litany of people. Emily’s mouth went dry as she attempted to keep track of the rapidly growing list. This was the necessary people? Was Imogen related to half of England?

  After what seemed forever, Imogen finished with, “And my sister Lady Sumner and her husband, as well as your cousin Sir Alexander Mottram and his family, though neither will be staying here at Willowhaven, their homes being so close.”