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  The Viscount and the Heiress

  Copyright 2017 by Dominique Eastwick

  ISBN: 978-1-68361-203-2

  Cover Art by Ravenborn Book Cover Designs

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

  Look for us online at:

  www.decadentpublishing.com

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

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  Second Chance Desire

  The House of Lords

  The Duke and the Virgin

  The Marquis and the Mistress

  The Earl and His Virgin Countess

  The Viscount and the Heiress

  The Viscount and the Heiress

  Love doesn’t come easy and sometimes when it does come it isn’t strong enough to weather the storm. That is what Jonathon Edward Railey, Eighth Viscount of Aunton, found out the hard way. With his burden of family debt and nine younger brothers to feed, what woman would stick around?

  Miss Isabel Hathaway might have loved the viscount once, but she would be damned if she would allow him to marry her for her money. Better to have never loved at all then to have him bought.

  When fate throws them together again, will the love they once had be enough to see them through a new storm? Or are they destined to a life of want and heartbreak?

  Dear Reader,

  When I wrote Duke and the Virgin it was on a bet. Could I put the 1NS series into Regency England? So I tried. I never thought it would be more than one book. But then I was asked to write more so three characters I hadn’t really thought of had to tell me their stories. In the final installment of the House of Lords we have come full circle to the Viscount. It was he after all who had being given the date with 1NS to begin with.

  Dominique Eastwick

  The Viscount and the Heiress

  House of Lords Book 4

  A 1Night Stand Story

  By

  Dominique Eastwick

  Dedication

  Dedicated to all those who continue to support and encourage me.

  Special thanks to Kate for pulling the very best from me, and to my husband for always loving me

  As always thank you to Nadine who always pushes me to stop procrastinating.

  Chapter One

  Two more minutes, and he would have been gone. He would have been out the door, and Jonathon Edward Railey, Eighth Viscount of Aunton and heir apparent to the eighth Earl of Stockton, would have never seen Wolf Thane and his lady friend sneaking off for an illicit tryst. None of his damned business. If the man wanted to be trapped into marriage, who was he to argue. The duke would need to beget an heir for the dukedom.

  Three more minutes and he would have missed the marquis and the Widow Chandra not even bothering to hide that they were heading out to the gardens to be alone and the earl, moments later, sneaking off through one of the side halls. Perhaps he also took a route to the alcoves which allowed for a couple to sneak into the gardens. Jonathon was convinced none of the three realized the others had all worked their way into being leg shackled. But he saw the signs. The predatory, leonine way the women eyed the men.

  Most didn’t understand the females did the hunting. Jonathon wore his full Venetian mask with the large garish nose, debating if he should save any of their prey. When His Grace returned half an hour later with a beautiful yet shy Lyssa at his side, Jonathon’s interest was piqued. When had the duke become acquainted with Lady Elizabeth Hamilton? And, to all appearances, he was courting her. “Wolfe’s gone and fucking done it.”

  “What has His Grace done?” The woman who had ruled his dreams since he had lost his virginity to her a decade before stood at his side. No costume in the world could conceal her identity from him. The orange Georgian gown did little to hide her ample bosom, and the enlarged hips of the panniers gave his brain plenty of ideas of what he could do hiding under the layers of fabric. To taste her one more time….

  He would pretend he didn’t know who she was, as he pretended to ignore her existence at every ball he’d had the mis-happenstance to attend since the end of their relationship. The ornate handle of his sword cane dug into his palm. Only the soft fabric of his white glove prevented the metal from breaking the skin. He welcomed the physical pain as it dulled the emotional. As much as he wanted to, he would be damned to let her know the effect she still had over him, even if the chances were slim she knew his identity. Without taking his eyes off the tableau on the dance floor below, he said, “Been caught in the parson’s trap.”

  “Or perhaps he has found true love.” Miss Isabel Hathaway lifted a gloved hand to the banister in an effort to gaze over the edge and get a closer look at the couple below. Echoing his earlier thoughts, she humphed. “This must be the ton’s best kept secret. I had no idea His Grace had even a passing acquaintance with Lady Hamilton. But I must say, he chose wisely. The woman has a good head on her shoulders. Look at the way he can’t take his eyes off her. The man is truly besotted.” Her voice trailed off wistfully.

  He wanted to snort nay, wanted to shake the Georgian princess next to him until her powdered wig fell off and the strawberry-blonde tresses he knew lay beneath fell over her bare shoulders. What did she kno
w about love true or otherwise? She’d had his love once, and she hadn’t had faith in his feelings for her. Instead, he steadied himself and thanked the duke for demanding the attention of the room. But, although he appeared to be focused on the Duke of Foxhaven, he remained completely attuned to the woman beside him.

  An older woman, dressed as a bad version of Queen Elizabeth, came up alongside him and sucked her teeth in a disgusted manner. “I would give my eyeteeth to know how she got her nails into that one. Wallflower to duchess. Bet it involved lying on her back.”

  He doubted any woman could trick Wolfe into marriage no matter how good they were in bed. Lady Hamilton was so far on the shelf that no one would believe her even if she did say the duke had deflowered her. There were others in the room who would have tried anything to be his duchess.

  Nothing worse than an opportunist who would pay for a lifestyle on her back in such a deceitful manner. At least mistresses were honest about what they would give and what they would get in return. Not that he could afford a mistress. He could afford very little as he had to support his nine siblings. His father didn’t seem to give a damn past his heir and the spare. But still, Jonathon watched as his friend caressed his companion’s hand and later her face. Wolfe would never be caught by what was offered between ladies’ thighs, no matter what this jealous matchmaking mama to his left believed.

  No. Isabel had it correct. Foxhaven was truly infatuated with his fiancée. He wished them well of it as he backed away from the scene. He needed to get out of there and escape before the midnight gong rang and he found himself standing next to her. He managed to make it through the crush of people all now gossiping about the hows and wheres of the love story of the season. Perhaps it was time to escape town. There was no reason for him to remain. His father had returned to take his seat for the final weeks of Parliament, and he had no desire to make happy with the earl.

  Since the only thing he would need to attend would be a ducal wedding, that gave him four Sundays for the banns to be read to disappear. More than enough time to get his head straight. He doubted anyone would miss him. Besides, it looked like their weekly poker games would be preempted by women.

  Six weeks later in an unmarked house in Kensington….

  The very last place Jonathon expected to find himself was in the suite of rooms procured by the mysterious Madame Evangeline, owner of the ever-secretive 1Night Stand service. The voucher for an evening with the woman of his dreams had been given to him by his brothers who had somehow managed to pinch pennies and saved in an effort to get him laid, he supposed. Though why they thought he needed help in that department, he would never know, and he certainly wasn’t about to ask. What he was damned curious about was where they had gotten the blunt.

  Weeks later, the voucher remained in his overcoat pocket, and there it would have stayed if his hand at poker hadn’t looked good enough to win. He had nothing else to play and placed it as a wager in lieu of money at his weekly poker game with his friends. Little did he know the series of events it would set off. All three of his poker buddies had used the services and indeed gotten hitched.

  “I am returning this to you.” At his wedding, Wolfe pulled Jonathon.

  “I suppose you can’t use it now that you are wed.” Jon looked at the voucher in his friend’s hand as if it would bite. Truth be told, he didn’t want it back, and now would need to come up with the money to pay the duke the moneys owed in its absence. “I don’t have the money to make up for the voucher. But I will get it to you when I can.”

  Foxhaven humphed. “I didn’t ask for money, Railey. I am returning it to you as a gift.”

  “Whatever for?” Wolfe, though not ungenerous with his friends, was also no fool, and if he had won something fair and square, he expected payment.

  “Without this and Madame Eve, I would never have found my heart.” He glanced at his wife, who currently stood in a swarm of other ladies. Widow Chandra, now the Marchioness of Breckinridge, and the soon-to-be Countess of Windenshire flanked her. “Neither, I might add, would any of our group.”

  “I don’t understand.” Love seemed to have addled the other man’s brain.

  “I cannot use your evening, only you can, but boredom and an unhealthy dose of curiosity overrode my normal levelheaded thinking, so I signed up for her services and, to my great surprise, met Llysa. That is a debt I can never repay. I suspect your wager that night sparked interest in the others as well.”

  “Are you saying both Simon and Andrew called on Madame Eve’s services as well?”

  “Not that they have told me, but their ladies have confided in my duchess that is indeed the case.” Pushing the paper into his hand, Foxhaven continued, “You have a date week after next. That will give you time to get to London for your assignation then south to Andrew’s estate for his wedding the following weekend.”

  Wolfe parted his company to whisk his lady off. Now, here he sat, waiting and somewhat hoping Madame Eve could find him a partner as she had his other friends. Placing his shiny Hessians on the small coffee table before him, he leaned back, interlocking his fingers behind his head. What he wanted, nay needed, in a woman was a partner. His brothers were important to him. He had raised the younger ones more than his father had. He doubted his sire would recognize his gets if he saw them on the street. His poor mother had died delivering the ninth of his father’s sons. She’d held Peter once before handing him off to the wet nurse and demanding to see Jonathon. She’d known she didn’t have much time.

  “Take care of them the way you wish his lordship had been a father to you.”

  His lordship, never his father’s name. He didn’t even call the man father. Disgusted, he sat there with nothing to do but think, so he got to his feet and paced to the window. “What the hell am I doing here?”

  Pulling back the lace curtain, he surveyed the small garden below. The rather large house was arranged in such a manner as to have a small patch of yard in the middle surrounded by four walls. Even at the late hour, the sun still shone. The blessing and curse of summer evenings in the capital had to be the very late hour of sunset. The small garden offered complete privacy from other homes, removed from prying eyes. Below his window, a footman dressed in the house livery of burgundy and black caressed the neck of a maid, pulling her in for an intimate kiss. “Great. Even the staff is horny.”

  He paced from the window, hoping for something to keep his mind occupied before boredom drove him to bedlam. He studied the painting of a fox hunt on the opposite wall for the fifth time, was counting the brush strokes in the trees when he heard the sound of soft footsteps moving down the hall. His date had arrived.

  He took his place behind the sofa, feeling the presentation would be less intimidating for the lady as she entered. The door opened on a soft creak, and a woman in a hooded cape stepped into the room. He didn’t need to wait for her to remove her cape or half mask to know who it was.

  Fuck. Not her.

  Oh, there was no doubt about it. His first love had entered the room. The question was, what would she do when the realization hit that her assignation for the night was none other than the man she had turned down so many years ago? It didn’t matter. He suddenly knew what needed to be done.

  His legendary charm, cultivated through years in the ton, would do him well tonight. He would take her to bed. Screw her until she couldn’t walk and he had her out of his system. Mayhap, tomorrow, he could finally move on.

  Isabel froze midway in removing her hood over her head. Her mouth ran dry, and she met the blue eyes of Viscount Jonathon Edward Railey, whom she had always addressed simply as Jon. Her chest tightened, and the room walls closed in. A deep breath in through her nose then let out through her mouth did little to calm her frazzled nerves. She straightened her shoulders and remembered the mask she wore. With strength garnered from anonymity, she handed her cape to the maid who remained out in the hall out of his line of sight. Ever so gently, she eased the door shut
before turning and offering her gloved hand to the viscount. “Good evening.”

  He didn’t move. He didn’t take her hand or make an effort to greet her, and, for a moment, she thought he wouldn’t. But, then, his shoulders relaxed and his lips parted in a breathtaking grin. “Take off the mask, Isabel. You are fooling no one.” After raking her up and down, he negotiated the room to the bar in the corner. Pouring himself a drink, he asked without turning, “Would you like one?”

  “Yes.”

  “You will have to forgive me, but, as I am sure your tastes have matured in the years since our last…evening together, I have no idea what you would like or how you might take it.”

  She glanced at the well-stocked cabinet displayed before them. “Ratafia?”

  He inclined his head and pulled out a decanter. She hadn’t moved when she realized she had but seconds before he would turn back and offer her the beverage. Her brain screamed to run, but her feet weren’t listening.

  He turned and raised a haughty brow, but his eyes twinkled with merriment. “So, we are staying with the silly mask?”

  “What? Oh…of course.” With fingers that didn’t want to work, she managed to finally pull the lace disguise from her face. She reached for her glass, ensuring her fingers didn’t touch his in the exchange. She took a fortifying sip, enjoying the sweet taste. “It’s very good.”

  “I did no more than pour it,” he replied, moving back to the bar where he had left his amber drink. He gestured for her to sit, yet, when she did, he took his place holding up the wall next to the window. “So, what do we do now?”

  “As this is my first…er, time, I am sure I haven’t the faintest idea.” She sipped her beverage, hoping it would give her fortification against him. Perhaps she should have gone with a port. Why of all the men in the ton had Madame Eve thought he was her perfect knight? More to the point, why did he seem unfazed by her appearance here when seeing him had shocked her to her very core?