Schooling the Viscount by Maggie Robinson

Author:Maggie Robinson [Robinson, Maggie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 25

Thank God. Henry had finally fallen asleep after fighting yawns for hours. Rachel had kept him at arm’s length all day. Which had been somewhat of a challenge. He had…twinkled. There was no other word for it. His charm had radiated like shooting stars, and he was nearly irresistible.

Nearly.

He had been charming before, of course. Very charming. Rachel had been attracted to him against her will from the very first. And the current quasi-helplessness in his illness appealed to her soft heart.

But that way lay madness.

Henry had even charmed her father, after everything. But even he could not see how Lord Challoner could court her when it would affect Puddling’s future.

Rachel had had her first taste of the Marquess of Harland. In five minutes he’d reduced her to imbecilic agreement, and now she was obligated to stay with his son until Mrs. Grace returned. The marquess was quite a force of nature, alternately rude and, well, charming.

Like his son.

He was a handsome man, very like Henry. Or, more accurately, Henry was very like him. The marquess’s fair hair was turning from gold to silver, and he exuded the power of his position. He struck Rachel as a man who had rarely heard the word no in his life, and wasn’t interested in starting to hear it now.

Like his son.

She needed help, and Vincent had refused to lie for her. Could she make herself so unappealing that Henry would come to his senses?

If he hadn’t objected to her horrific mud-splattered self when she arrived, there was no accounting for his taste.

The true problem was basic. Rachel didn’t want to dissuade Henry. She liked him. Very much. But she just couldn’t see how any relationship they might establish would prosper.

She sighed.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was thick and rough. Surely she hadn’t been that loud, and he was supposed to be partially deaf, too.

“Nothing. I was just breathing. You didn’t sleep for very long. Can I get you anything?”

“Some water, I think. No, don’t get up. I’m not so weak I can’t pour it myself.” He sat up and reached for the carafe on the bedside table. His hair was adorably disordered, blond tufts sprouting like a collie’s ears.

It was still pouring. What a day for a wedding, though Rachel imagined some of the bride’s earlier ones may have boasted sunshine. Would grim Mrs. Grace come home tiddly on the local cider? That would be a sight to see.

“How have you occupied yourself while I was snoring away?”

“You don’t snore. I was thinking. Reading a little.”

“Which one of my boring books caught your eye?”

“Oh, I have my own with me at all times.” Rachel was not going to confess to the romance novel in her skirt pocket.

“Have we heard from our mutual friend Vincent?”

Rachel’s face grew warm. “I believe he was officiating at the wedding in the Sheepscombe chapel. He travels the circuit, ministering to three other parishes. The surrounding villages are too small to support a clergyman, so we all club together.

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