Oppressed & Empowered: The Viscount's Capable Wife (Love's Second Chance Book 11) Read online

  The moment the thought entered his mind, his body acted on it without waiting for approval.

  Sweeping her into his arms, Richard kissed her…the way he had wanted to for over a year now.

  A gasp escaped her lips before his mouth closed over hers, and he could feel her muscles tense as his hands pressed her body against his. Aware of her lack of compliance, he almost broke the kiss then and there, a new sense of humiliation washing over him.

  But then she kissed him back.

  Her hands snaked up and around his neck, and her lips moved over his with the same urgency he felt in his own heart.

  Utterly astounded by her response as well as his own, Richard wondered at his own lack of control. Never did he allow his emotions to override his faculties. Never did he do anything without giving it careful thought. Never had he felt so daring than in that very moment. After all, he had no business kissing her, and yet, …

  …he could not stop.

  In the end, it was she who pulled back, her hands gently pushing against his chest.

  Reluctantly, Richard stepped back, his breath ragged like hers as they stared at one another. Belatedly, he realised that his hands were still firmly wrapped around her waist, and yet, he did not move.

  Neither did she. Instead, she said, “I had thought you an honourable man. Was I wrong?”

  Richard swallowed, and his hands dropped from her sides. “I beg your pardon?”

  Seemingly unaffected, Miss Procten watched him. “How do you feel about the man who took advantage of your sister?” she asked rather unexpectedly. “The man who fathered her child?”

  Frozen to the spot, Richard had trouble organising his thoughts. “He is a disgrace,” he ground out, teetering between renewed anger and utter confusion. “My sister deserved better. She deserved to be treated with respect.”

  At his response, a strange sort of a smile came to Miss Procten’s lips. “And do I not deserve the same?” she dared him.

  Finally, the full force of his deed sank in, and Richard could have kicked himself for acting so rashly. He ought to have known better. He ought to have been in control. He ought not to have forced himself on her.

  And yet, she had kissed him back, had she not?

  “If I had a brother,” Miss Procten continued, “how do you suppose he would feel about you then?”

  Richard swallowed. “Are you saying you’re expecting a proposal now?”

  Miss Procten’s face seemed to derail at his words as her mouth dropped open in utter shock. Strangely enough, she did not seem to be among those women who sought to make a match beyond their station. Still, her reaction felt like a rejection, and Richard could barely keep himself from demanding to know why she would not accept him.

  After all, objectively speaking, he was a good match. He was a peer of the realm. His reputation was impeccable if a bit cold. He possessed a sizable fortune as he was not prone to gambling like so many others of his peers. All in all, many women considered him a catch, willingly accepting his lack of emotion.

  “Not at all,” Miss Procten assured him. “All I sought to do was to point out that what your sister did was to give in to a moment of weakness, a moment of passion,” a slight flush came to her cheeks, and for a second, she dropped her gaze, “a rare moment.” She inhaled a deep breath, and her gaze found his once more. “Does she truly deserve to be punished for it? After all, we’ve all been weak at some point in our lives and can call ourselves fortunate if no severe consequences resulted from it.”

  Watching her, Richard heard what she said, and yet, he wished he could be certain of her meaning. Had she just admitted that their kiss had been a rare moment for her? Had he not been the only one to feel the need to have her close? Or was she simply trying to win this argument by whatever means necessary?

  “Regrettably, your sister cannot count herself among those lucky enough to walk away unscathed. Please, do not punish her more. She already finds herself in a severe predicament.”

  Richard sighed. Clearly, Miss Procten only had one thing on her mind. “I’m afraid we are of two minds on this matter, and therefore–”

  “Why will you not at least consider another solution?” she interrupted him, her soft brown eyes once more hardening as she looked at him. “Why must you be so stubborn?”

  Decorum dictated he rebuke her for her insolent way of addressing him. However, deep down, Richard could not deny that he enjoyed her frankness. It was utterly confusing. “You’re quite impertinent, Miss Procten,” he finally said, unable to keep a hint of amusement from showing in his voice. “What then do you propose?” Had he truly just asked her that? Was he mad? This discussion could lead nowhere good, and yet, he could not bear the thought of displeasing her.

  At his concession, her eyes lit up and she inhaled a deep breath as though readying herself for battle. “While I’m aware that your sister cannot openly raise the child as her own,” she began, and Richard was relieved to see that she seemed to possess at least some sense, “nothing would speak against her taking in…say…the orphaned child of a relative. This way her reputation would remain intact, and she would not have to be parted from her own flesh and blood. Would that not be a better solution?”

  Richard sighed, hating to disappoint her. He ought to never have let her speak. “At first glance, yes.”

  A dazzling smile came to her lips, and she clasped her hands together in joy.

  “But,” Richard hastened to say, lifting a finger in warning, “that would not be the end of the story.” Her face fell, and Richard felt his heart tighten in his chest. “There are aspects you did not consider.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well,” Richard began, “you failed to consider the damage rumours and gossip can inflict. People do notice when something occurs out of the ordinary, and they love nothing more but to exploit it to their advantage.”

  Her gaze narrowed, but she seemed to be willing to listen.

  “I doubt that my sister’s departure for Gretna Green remained completely unnoticed. It could not have escaped everyone’s attention how taken she was with William Montgomery, and even if they managed to depart London without being seen, I have no doubt that rumours followed their sudden absence. In addition, I did not return her to London after her transgression, but instead brought her to Farnworth Manor.” He sighed, “At that point, I had no knowledge of the depth of her misfortune.”

  “I see,” Miss Procten mumbled.

  “Now, if I keep her concealed until the child is born as I must for there is no way around it,” he continued, “she will miss the beginning of the next season as well, which is fairly out of the ordinary as far as my sister is concerned. In addition, she was forced to decline any invitation to house parties and the like between the end of last season and the beginning of the new.” Richard shrugged. “All this will not fail to bring forth rumours of the kind that would only die down eventually once she re-enters society as though nothing has happened…and there is no child to speak of.”

  Never in his life had Richard spoken to another person in such an intimate way as he now did with her. Why he felt the need to make her understand instead of simply informing her of his decision, Richard could not fathom. It was quite unlike him. “You see, if I were to keep the child at Farnworth Manor, claiming I had taken in a relative’s orphan, people would still suspect, would still whisper and my sister would still be ruined. No gentleman would ever dare ask for her hand. She would have no future.”

  Miss Procten sighed, and even Richard could see in the way she hung her head that she felt utterly defeated. After all, he had felt the same way upon discovering his sister’s predicament. For days he had raked his mind, trying to find a solution, but had come up empty-handed.

  “What if she were to marry?” Miss Procten suggested. Still, the look on her face lacked the vigour it had shown before. “It would legitimise the child and protect them both.”

  “And who do you propose she marry?” Richard ask
ed, knowing exactly why he had dismissed that thought. “Who do we dare approach with such a proposition?”

  Miss Procten shrugged, “Surely, you could think of someone who could be persuaded to…” Her voice trailed off, and it was clear even to him that she was grasping at straws.

  “My sister seeks love,” Richard whispered, noting the way she lifted her head and her eyes travelled over his face. “If she marries for convenience, she will never have that.” He sighed, feeling suddenly drained. “It is a true dilemma, one I cannot find a satisfying solution to. No matter what, she will need to part with something very dear to her. There is no way around that.”

  Miss Procten closed her eyes. “But her child?” She sighed, shaking her head. “It seems utterly wrong.”

  Richard nodded. “Unfortunately, I did not make the rules. I merely attempt to live by them. That is all.”

  Holding his gaze, Miss Procten once more stepped toward him and to his utter surprise placed her hands on his chest, her dark brown eyes looking up into his. “I’ve misjudged you,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. It was wrong of me.” She swallowed, and her tongue darted out, wetting her lips. “Will you forgive me?”

  As his heart hammered in his chest, Richard felt certain that she felt it the same way he felt her fingers against his chest despite the layers of fabric that separated them. The breath caught in his throat, and he once more felt the sudden urge to pull her into his arms. Only now, it was not passion that fuelled him, but a softer, more intimate emotion.

  Oddly enough, Richard felt as though she could look into his soul and see him for who he truly was with all his faults and weaknesses, and for once, he did not mind. Instead, he felt at ease in her presence, not subject to censure and judgement, but free to be who he was.

  “There’s nothing to forgive,” he finally said, wishing he could see into her soul with the same ease, “for I believe I’ve made the same mistake myself.”

  A soft smile curled up the corners of her lips, and she dropped her hands. However, despite the lack of contact, Richard could still feel her.

  What on earth had he gotten himself into?

  Chapter Eight – A Death Sentence

  A week passed, and Evelyn could not deny that she was enjoying her stay at Farnworth Manor. Although there was nothing much wrong with Miss Davenport besides the occasional, rather normal pregnancy symptom, Evelyn stayed on as her father was still too weak to be moved…despite his objections. However, from experience, she knew that he would often downplay his discomfort in order to not be a burden to others.

  Feeling helpless was torture for him.

  Still, Evelyn insisted he rest and regain his strength, allowing her to stay at Farnworth Manor to see to Miss Davenport. For although the young woman was in perfect health–physically speaking–her mood swings were rather alarming. Sometimes she was almost cheerful as though she had forgotten about her dire circumstances as well as the moment that had brought them forth. Then again, she would lament for hours about how uncaring her brother was, cursing him for locking her up. And at other times, she would be calm and collected, staring into the distance, a look of resignation in her blue eyes.

  It broke Evelyn’s heart to see her like this. After all, an expecting mother ought to feel delight at the new life growing inside of her, ought she not? Was that not one of the very fundamentals of life?

  “There is nothing to be done,” Evelyn replied to Lady Ashwood’s question. “Your daughter’s body is not ill. It is her mind, her heart, that suffer. I’m afraid they are much more difficult to cure.” Allowing her gaze to travel from the viscountess to her daughter sitting on the settee, a piece of embroidery all but forgotten in her lap, Evelyn sighed, wishing she knew how to help. However, as long as Lord Ashwood refused to consider an alternative solution, there was nothing she could do.

  At the same time, Evelyn had to admit that she had no idea what that solution could be. Begrudgingly, she had allowed herself to realise that Lord Ashwood had been right. There was no perfect solution to this problem for each one came with a sacrifice. A sacrifice that would undoubtedly ruin Miss Davenport’s life one way or another.

  At present, her happiness seemed to be an impossibility.

  It was truly disheartening.

  Lady Ashwood sighed, “It pains me to see her like this,” she whispered in a hushed tone, concerned eyes resting on her daughter. “It is as though something extinguished the light in her. She’s no longer who she used to be.”

  Evelyn nodded. “Perhaps you ought to speak to your son,” she suggested carefully. “Perhaps together you might be able to find a solution that would put some joy back in your daughter’s life.”

  Taking a step back, Lady Ashwood looked at Evelyn, a hint of resignation in the widow’s eyes. “I doubt that my son would be willing to discuss this matter as he has already made up his mind.” She swallowed. “There is no speaking to him when his reasoning is sound, and unfortunately, I have to admit that he is not wrong.”

  “And yet, he is not right, either,” Evelyn replied quietly, hoping her direct words would not offend the lady. However, Miss Davenport’s mother merely nodded, her gaze travelling back to her daughter before she walked over and sat down next to her.

  Sighing, Evelyn stepped up to the window, her gaze sweeping over the bare fruit trees in the orchard. Winter was fast approaching, bringing with it a strong northern wind. The world seemed asleep, determined to wait out the cold that lay ahead, in order to bloom again once the sun returned bringing with it a much, needed warmth.

  Would Miss Davenport ever regain her smile? Or would she continue on in a world devoid of warmth?

  Remembering Lord Ashwood’s demand that she drop the matter, Evelyn gritted her teeth, chastising herself for not being more insistent. After all, ignoring the problem would not make it go away.

  Only too well did Evelyn remember that afternoon in Lord Ashwood’s study when she had lashed out at him for not being more considerate of his sister. Equally well did she remember the moment he had pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

  Kissed her!

  Shaking her head, Evelyn felt her cheeks warm at the memory. Still, a part of her could not believe that it had truly happened. Had it only been a dream? Was it possible that her mind had merely conjured the moment? After all, Lord Ashwood had never shown any kind of interest in her. Never would she have thought that he desired her. Or had it merely been a way for him to end their argument?

  A week had passed, and she had not laid eyes on Lord Ashwood since. Was he avoiding her? Did he now regret his thoughtless action? Did he not wish to be reminded of it?

  All these questions and more kept Evelyn’s thoughts well-occupied whenever her mind allowed her a moment of reprieve from the pressing matter of Miss Davenport’s well-being. Still, the two were interconnected, and so no matter what Evelyn did, her mind always seemed to lead her back to that one afternoon about a week ago and the sensation of Lord Ashwood’s lips on her own.

  And she had kissed him back, had she not?

  No matter what she had said to him afterwards, she had not minded his kiss. Certainly, she had been surprised. Stunned even. However, she could not deny that she longed for a repetition.

  Curse her wayward heart! After all, there were more important matters to deal with at the moment. It was highly inconvenient for her to be distracted by such thoughts. And she was a doctor. She ought to possess more self-control.

  Inhaling a deep breath, Evelyn forced her thoughts away from Lord Ashwood and back to the matter at hand. Fortunately, her heartbeat calmed, and she felt the strain ease from her muscles. With a new determination, Evelyn turned back to mother and daughter in the very moment when the door to the drawing room opened and none other strode in but Lord Ashwood.

  Curse him!

  At the mere sight of him, Evelyn felt her resolve waver, her heartbeat quicken and her insides melt. If this was not a sickness, Evelyn did not k
now what was. And a most inconvenient one indeed!

  Enquiring after his sister’s well-being, Lord Ashwood kept his gaze firmly fixed on the two women seated on the settee. Still, his shoulders seemed taut and his jaw clenched as though he was experiencing great distress. Did her mere presence annoy him so? Evelyn wondered. Or did the memory of their kiss have the same effect on him as it did on her? If only she knew!

  “I’ve come to inform you,” he told his sister, his voice even as though he did not have a concern in the world, “that preparations have been made for you to travel to Crestwood House in the new year.” Miss Davenport’s eyes grew round with shock. “A few trusted servants will accompany you and ensure that you won’t be lacking any comfort.”

  “Comfort?” Miss Davenport all but shrieked, shaking off the calming hand her mother placed on her shoulder. “You know nothing of the comforts I need!”

  Lord Ashwood’s gaze narrowed, and his jaw clenched as he took an almost menacing step towards his sister. “You will keep your voice down!” he hissed, glancing at the closed door behind him. “You will not make a scene. You will not act like a spoilt child. Have I made myself clear?”

  Sobbing, Miss Davenport slumped down. “You’ll be the death of me!” she cried, sinking into her mother’s embrace.

  “Hush, my dear,” Lady Ashwood hummed as though she were holding a child. “Do not worry. I shall accompany you. You’ll not be alone. Hush, hush, my dear. All shall be well.”

  The soft lilt in the lady’s voice momentarily reminded Evelyn of her own mother. Although she had died in childbirth when Evelyn was but five, she still possessed faint memories that would rise to the surface of her mind every once in a while. Usually when she least expected them.

  “Miss Procten.”

  Blinking, Evelyn shook off the dim memory of her mother’s kind smile, belatedly realising that Lord Ashwood was addressing her. His sharp, grey eyes caught hers, and she had to fight the urge to drop her gaze. “Yes, my lord,” she mumbled, fighting off the confusion that clouded her mind.