Free Reckless Viscount by Amy Sandas Page A

part of the reason her father had thought to ask for their sponsorship. Maybe this development didn’t spell complete disaster after all.
    She pressed a fisted hand to her chest, trying to concentrate on slowing the rapid shuddering heartbeats to a more sedate pace. She shouldn’t have fled so hastily. Self-directed anger took the place of the debilitating fear that had first claimed her when she had seen Lord Atwood. If she had been able to keep her wits intact, she would have realized that her best defense would have been to immediately alert Lady Blackbourne to the potential trouble.
    Instead, she had run away like a useless ninny.
    “Hello, Irish.”
    Hot sparks of alarm flew through her awareness. The greeting was whispered in a low and honeyed tone and originated from just behind her. She could have sworn there had been no one here when she had approached the chaise. Out of anyone she might have encountered in the private foliage filled nook, Lord Riley was by far the most dangerous.
    Even more so than the spiteful Lord Atwood.
    The dark moments from the other night still filled her thoughts in tantalizing detail every time she closed her eyes to sleep. With very little effort on his part, Lord Riley had invaded the very clear picture Abbigael had painted for her life going forward. He had become a shadow in the corner of every scene in her mind.
    She took a slow breath, trying to ignore the unsettling dance of apprehension in her stomach, and turned to face her unwitting tormentor.
    He stood a few paces away, leaning against the wall behind a huge potted fern. He was in shadow, but the sight of him dressed in resplendent eveningwear, his hair charmingly tousled and his smile as wicked as they come, sent a deep thrill down to her toes. He held a lit cheroot between his fingers and brought it to his lips to draw in the darkly aromatic smoke, then tilted his back and exhaled on a long breath, sending a thick stream of smoke curling up toward the ceiling.
    “It is not proper to smoke tobacco in the presence of a lady,” Abbigael admonished, then blushed, then silently cursed the revealing heat in her cheeks.
    He chuckled and pushed off from the wall. He reached forward and snubbed the cheroot out in the dirt at the base of the fern. Abbigael frowned at his lack of respect and he shrugged in response, clearly accustomed to such disapproval.
    “I am not intruding upon a scheduled assignation, am I?”
    Abbigael eyed him in confusion for a moment before she realized in horror that he was asking if she was waiting for a lover.
    “Of course not.” Her cheeks flushed even hotter.
    “Good. Then you won’t mind if I join you.”
    A spark of panic ignited. She could not afford to be distracted.
    “I actually was hoping for a moment alone.”
    Ignoring her protest, Riley approached the chaise and sat down right behind her. He reclined his lean muscled body along the length of the furniture, lifting one bent leg onto the chaise and lounging back against the raised edge. The side of his hip bumped against her buttocks.
    She should stand up and walk away. It was the only proper choice to make. But something stubborn and contrary in her nature urged her to stay, to accept his challenge, for that was exactly what it was. She glanced back through the ferns and fruit trees toward the glowing light of the ballroom.
    Stay with the rogue or face the demon from her past?
    Lord Atwood might threaten her future, but Lord Riley threatened her very being.
    After only a second, she realized she wasn’t going anywhere. Not yet anyway.
    And when another moment passed and he hadn’t said anything, she turned to look down at his reclining form. The span of his shoulders took up the entire width of the graceful chaise. He had one arm curved up with his hand propped beneath his head. The other hand rested lightly on his abdomen. She had never before realized how intimately two people could occupy a single piece of furniture. When she noticed