Free Minor Indiscretions by Bárbara Metzger Page A

knee smalls at that, and even to flirt with Lady Jersey, but dashed if he'd let the lady patronesses pass him off to every whey-faced chit and her eager mama. He was not about to give rise to hopeful expectations in any grasping woman's breast.
    He had one dance with Princess Esterhazy before excusing himself. "I see that my, ah, friend is not here, so I'll just be going on. Another engagement, don't you know."
    That wouldn't stop the rumors, not when his lordship kept scanning the sidelines.
    She wasn't there, his green-eyed sprite, not that he would admit looking for her. She said she would not have a Season, but such a beauty deserved gowns and jewels and elegant waltzes—in his arms. After he strangled her, of course. He touched the bridge of his nose where there was and might always be a new bump, and smiled, causing one dumpling of a deb to nearly swoon with joy. The viscount did not notice.
    This was absurd, he chided himself, looking for Angel amid such
milk-and-water misses! Looking for her at all was foolish beyond permission.
That's why he had purposely not asked Barstow for her direction, debating with
himself whether Mrs. Barstow would have given it. Why, his behavior toward an
untouched maiden was already reprehensible, and he was no closer to jumping into
parson's mousetrap over a pair of green eyes and a captivating dimple than he
was to… to asking that plump little chit over there for a dance. The wealthiest, most attractive, most alluring bachelor in many a year scowled and stomped out of Almack's. Miss Weathersfield fled in tears to the retiring room, while all the young sprigs of fashion wondered how they could get such interesting deviations in their proboscises.
    At least Yvette could not be tarnished by his rake-shame reputation, Coe thought as he walked off his ill-humor on the long trek to Kensington. Hell, she'd helped him earn it, along with many of her sisters. Now it was time she earned that charming little bijou and the pony cart and the diamond necklace.
    Yvette earned the matching bracelet, leaving Corey spent. Too bad she could not satisfy his mind as well as his body, but Yvette's talents did not include beguiling conversation. There was no friendly banter, no natural tenderness, or warm good humor. For the first time ever, Coe was bothered by bought affection. He went home early.
    A few tedious weeks later, the best Viscount Coe had managed for entertainment was a green-eyed replacement for Yvette, some heavy wagers, and the idea of a house party at his property outside Bath, to liven up his sister's days. The best prospect he could come up with for a new brother-in-law was Lord Pendleton, and even Corey was hesitant about foisting the prosy bore on Erica for a fortnight. Then Erica wrote him a troubled letter, asking if he could help with a delicate matter. Her words spoke of adventure, danger, and intrigue, a menace to his dear sister's happiness, and a threat to the family name. What could be better?
     
    It rained for four days. The viscount put up at Hazelton, a town about an hour from his goal, according to his maps. He had decided to keep this distance, not wanting his destination made public. He knew what a stir a nobleman and his retinue could make in a small village, which was precisely what he wished to avoid in such a delicate family matter. He could not simply travel by horseback, for he needed the closed carriage, which meant a coachman, footmen, and postilions. A groom was necessary to look after his stallion, Caesar, tied behind. The viscount's man, Bates, refused to be left behind, saying: "Just look what happened last time, milord." So Hazelton it was.
    It kept raining, however, and the only inn in town was damp. Corey's ribs ached, damn the quack in West Fenton. His man, Bates, came down with a cold, and the groom reported one of the carriage horses was off its feed. Blast this whole mission!
    He set out finally on a high-strung gray stallion that hadn't been