Free To Wed A Viscount by Adrienne Basso Page A

welcomed into the social whirl of the beau monde with open arms, despite his rather colorful reputation. But he quickly discovered there was a price to be paid for such blind acceptance. Speculative gleams of interest by the eager mothers in attendance dogged his every step, coupled with flirtatious giggles from their unwed daughters.
    It made him decidedly uncomfortable, especially since he was not in the least bit interested in obtaining a wife. As a connoisseur and great admirer of women, he found the whole wife-hunting game a most distasteful, bloodless sport.
    All too soon, Griffin began to grow weary of searching for Faith. Discouraged by his lack of success, he was fast beginning to think of this as a pointless endeavor. Yet his stubborn nature and prickling conscience bade him to continue.
    Impatiently he thrust open the carriage window and called out to his driver. “Is it much farther?”
    â€œWe’ve only a few blocks to go, your lordship, but the street is so clogged with carriages I’ve nowhere to drive. Do you want me to try another route?”
    â€œDon’t bother. I’ll walk the rest of the way.”
    With a grunt of annoyance, Griffin swung open the door and lightly jumped down from the coach, before his startled servants could offer assistance. He imagined the butler would be properly scandalized to see him arrive on foot, but he was in too much of an ornery mood to care.
    On this particular starry evening he had been to no less than three different events, starting with a boring supper at Lord Anderson’s, followed by an abysmal rout at the home of the earl and countess of Shrewsbury, and a crushing ball at the duke of Harrowby’s.
    The final stop Griffin had planned for the night was Lady Dillard’s musical soiree. A gregarious opera soprano recently arrived from Italy was scheduled to perform. Of all the events of the night it was the one Griffin dreaded the most. He had never enjoyed the sweeping tones of the operatic voice, likening it to a screeching catfight, in which neither animal emerged victorious.
    Still, this was the final stop of the evening. With a resigned sigh, Griffin handed his card to the dour-faced butler attending the door. The servant gave him a dubious look that Griffin quelled with a hard stare. He was immediately shown into the music room by a contrite footman.
    A makeshift stage had been erected on the far side of the room and padded chairs were set before it in neat rows. A thin, white-faced young man sat at the pianoforte, and beside the instrument stood a buxom woman dressed in a gown of deep purple. Her mouth was wide open, formed into a perfectly shaped oval, from which she emitted sounds in a high range Griffin suspected only dogs could fully appreciate.
    Almost against his will, his eye was drawn to the purple feather atop her head that bobbed furiously each time she swung her arm out dramatically. It was a gesture she repeated often and helped distract him from the sounds she was producing.
    Forsaking a chair, Griffin hugged the wall to the left of the singer and eagerly scanned the room. Unfortunately, it was quite impossible to recognize any of the guests from this vantage point, since the primary view was of the back of everyone’s head.
    With a final, ear-splitting crescendo, the buxom singer flung both arms high in the air before finally snapping her mouth closed. There was a moment of blissful, utter silence. The audience then erupted into polite applause, coming to their feet while clapping. Not in appreciation, Griffin decided, but sheer relief.
    It was a moment to make an opera hater’s heart sing. An intermission.
    Griffin smiled. Perhaps his luck was finally changing. At least he had arrived in time to miss the majority of the performance. That must be a good sign.
    â€œI am so pleased you were able to join us this evening, Lord Dewhurst,” a female voice announced. “I had so hoped you would find time to