Free Return of the Viscount by Gayle Callen Page A

boldly, making her feel uncomfortable and embarrassed. They made what they thought were sly jokes about her as if she were too simpleminded to understand the crude references. They’d already been imbibing and were hardly witty as a result.
    Strangely, she’d found herself wishing Lord Blackthorne had been present, as if she needed to remind the men that she had a husband who might take offense. But her “husband” had spent the evening in the library after his long ride with Oliver. She’d seen him limping stiffly away from the stables, wondered if perhaps he’d overexerted his injured leg. But one could never tell a man so.
    Oliver’s friends had been upsetting the household more and more as the evening advanced. Susan, the upstairs maid, had heard something crash, and when she went inside the billiards room to investigate, she’d been indecently handled by one of the guests. That was the last straw, as far as Cecilia was concerned. If Oliver didn’t see that his friends were abusing his hospitality, then she would make them understand.
    After sending Susan to bed, Cecilia moved through the darkened house, carrying a candleholder, the sounds of revelry growing louder and louder as she descended to the first floor. Something else crashed, and she could hear a roar of laughter.
    She approached the billiard room from the rear of the house rather than the front public rooms. The way was darker, and to her surprise, lamps were once again extinguished, which made her progress slow. With her candle, she could see a short distance before her, but every alcove or corridor became a gaping hole of darkness once she passed. She shook off her uneasiness—she was only reacting this way because she’d tripped at the top of the stairs the other night.
    Just as she reached the closed double doors to the billiard room, she heard a rush of air behind her, then a man’s arms closed around her. She cried out, but the sound was lost against the loud voices from the billiard room, even as the candle fell from her hands and went out before it hit the floor.
    Stunned, she felt the man’s hot breath against her ear, his moist lips moving. “We’ve been waiting for you. But maybe you’d like to play a bit first.”
    And then he was dragging her away from the billiard room. She struggled, appalled and offended and a little bit frightened that she could be overwhelmed so easily—that decent men could lose their heads like this under the influence of strong drink. And these were the kinds of men who befriended Oliver? He was so gullible that perhaps he gave them whatever they wanted, money, liquor, his influence.
    Not loose women, surely, she thought, not in this house. She opened her mouth to demand her release, but he clamped his damp palm over her mouth as if he sensed her intent. The lit edges of the billiard-room door receded into the darkness, and she had her first moment of real fear. If she could not make this drunken brute realize his error, she wasn’t sure what might happen.
    She tried to bite his hand, but he gave her a tight squeeze around the ribs that made her groan instead.
    â€œBe a good girl, now. You’ll get your money at the end of the night.”
    Then she heard the strangest sound, a growl of rage from nearby that made her assailant pause. They weren’t alone anymore.
    â€œUnhand my wife !” barked a voice in the commanding tones of a man used to being obeyed.
    Lord Blackthorne, she thought with relief. She couldn’t see him in the darkness, but neither could her captor.
    The man laughed. “She’s no one’s wife, except one for hire. Wait your turn.”
    She felt the rush of air beside her, heard the sound of flesh meeting flesh, then a man’s grunt. The hold on her loosened, and she ducked away, crying out as her hair, brushed out for the night, was caught from behind.
    â€œDamn you!” Lord Blackthorne