What a Mischievous Viscount (The Marriage Managing Society #3)

Chapter 1

London

A stable of rather fine horses

Lady Ruby Reynolds offered the magnificent stallion before her a carrot.

The stallion’s lips wriggled with delight. The massive animal, with its sleek chestnut mane, sniffed at the carrot and then gobbled it up.

“What a beautiful fellow you are, sir,” she cooed, stroking his withers. “Alas, you are not for me.”

And he was beautiful.

Magnificent, in fact. If she could have owned him, she would have. But she already had several horses, and she was not here seeking a fellow that she could mount and ride through Hyde Park.

No, she was seeking out the wind.

“I do hope whoever owns you is as marvelous as you. You big, beautiful boy,” she gushed before stroking his coarse forelock.

The horse shivered with delight, shifting its weight from gigantic hoof to gigantic hoof, and leaned into her, nickering as if she was the loveliest creature in the whole world. Which, of course, made her feel very good about herself.

She did indeed try to make certain that animals liked her, and she liked animals. Well, she liked just about everyone. She had had the good fortune of leading a remarkable life. She was aware of it, of course, and she was determined to make the most of it.

The stallion, all power and surprising affection, leaned against his stable door as if he wished he could walk through it and right into her arms.

“Yes, I know,” she said, leaning towards the stallion, her crimson riding skirts brushing against the stable door. “But I can see you are very well cared for and have such an excellent disposition that I am certain your master is quite a nice fellow.”

“I thought perhaps at first you were speaking to me,” a man rumbled from behind her, “and I was immensely disappointed that though you adored me, you could not have me.”

She whipped about, her full, blond curls tumbling over her military-style coat of red, gold, and white.

“Oh,” she exclaimed. “I had no idea I was being watched. And may I ask who you are, sir?”

The giant of a man stepped out of the shadows of the long stable hall and positively towered over her. His sensual lips curved in a bemused grin.

“I am the owner of this ‘big, beautiful boy’ that you admire so very much.”

“Well, he is rather big and rather beautiful, and I do regret that I cannot have him, but I assume that he adores you and would be greatly saddened to depart from your company.”

The man was big and beautiful, rather like the horse, and she suddenly wondered if she could have the master, even though she did not wish to own the stallion.

It was a shocking thought for a young lady. It was her first Season, after all. And young ladies in their first Season were not supposed to embark on such behavior. But she had been raised with a sense of understanding of the way the world really was.

And she had wreaked havoc since she could toddle. With her parents’ encouragement. In many ways, she often thought her parents had encouraged her to live her life at a breakneck pace and not take censure from anyone. She was above rules. She was singular.

She was the only daughter of the Earl of Lynchfield. And when one was the only daughter of an earl, sometimes one was lucky enough to be raised as if they were a son.

Now, she had no desire to be a man. Men were fascinating creatures, and she quite liked them, but she had no desire to have the ramifications of possessing a male brain, nor the impulses of a male body.

She loved the fact that hers was quite under her own control and that her brain performed nimbly for her.

She did, however, have the responsibilities of the eldest son of an earl, because her father had been terribly, terribly clever, and so she was going to inherit the title of earl in her own right. It was a rarity, but she would not be the first woman to have this happen. Nor would she be the last.

And like those women before her, she would not allow rules to define her.

Yes, her father had been wise and managed to petition Parliament, and she, well, she had a magnificent future ahead because of it.

The man standing before her, towering tall with his silvery hair and vivid eyes, seemed to be quite self-possessed.

A quality she admired. He also crackled with an energy so intense that she could feel it caressing her. It was delicious.

“May I ask who you are, sir? Surely, I should know who dares to speak to me without introduction whilst we are alone.” She waggled her brows playfully at him. “In a stable.”

His own brows lifted with amusement and appreciation before he stepped back and gave her a beautifully executed bow, which caused his blond hair to feather over his strong forehead and tease his sculpted cheeks.

“Viscount Skyburn, at your service,” he said.

“At my service,” she returned impudently. “How delightful. I shall have to think of a way that you might serve me best.”

His sensual lips parted as if he too had ideas about how he could be of service.

A wave of desire slipped over her, whispering down her stomach and teasing between her legs.

She’d never been ashamed of her body or pleasure.

She’d been taught that it was natural. Normal.

And that as a powerful woman, she did not need to protect her own virtue as others did.

Her worth did not rest in her virginity.

She had a power that only a king could take away.

“I have heard quite a lot about you,” she said, toying with the lace of her riding habit.

“And what have you heard?” he asked. That rough, honeyed voice of his was so tempting that she wanted to shiver. What would he sound like in the midst of passion?

“I hear you like fast horses, just like I do.”

He arched a brow. “I do indeed like fast horses, but I’m rather surprised to hear that a young lady does the same. Or is it that you like to wager at Newmarket?”

“Oh, I don’t bet on horses. Too many variables. Though I do race them,” she said firmly. “Wagering money on horses is a fool’s bargain. One can’t control many things about the races.”

He arched his brow a little higher, if such a thing were possible. “So you’re not someone who enjoys chance?” he asked.

“Oh, no. Why would I live by chance when certainty is much more pleasurable?” She tossed one of her long gold curls back over her shoulder, letting it bounce on her back before she angled her head, knowing it showed off her tricorn hat with its gold embroidery to its best. “I don’t think it’s good to go about having expectations which are only based upon feelings and falsehoods. ”

He coughed. “My goodness. What a thing to say.”

“Why?” she parried.

“Most of society seems to think that ladies are controlled by their feelings.”

“Are you like most of society, sir?” she asked, turning back to his stallion and gently stroking the beast’s muzzle. The stallion’s eyes had gone soft. Quite pleased.

She shifted away from the stable door and stepped right up to the viscount, her boots nearly touching his. “Are you that boring?”

“I don’t think I’m boring at all, if I’m honest, but society does seem to indicate that ladies are.”

“Yes,” she prompted, putting her riding crop behind her, tempted to snap it across her skirts because she was quite frustrated by how irritating most men were. The decisions they made about ladies, which kept ladies under the control of men, were positively foul.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I don’t wish to offend you.”

“You may not wish it, but you are on the verge of doing so with all your assertions about ladies,” she said archly, as she tilted her head back to keep him in view, due to the rather shocking difference in their height. “Now, I will forgive you because I like your horse so very much.”

His lips twitched. “Thank you. Would you like to ride him?”

She looked back at the beautiful stallion. It was quite tempting. “I would, but not today. I am here for other things and other people,” she said frankly.

As beautiful and magnificent as the viscount was, she had no interest in carrying on a conversation with the man who could say such insufferable things about ladies, even if he was suggesting that society thought them.

He was so handsome that it was tempting though. Perhaps if she could convince him to be quiet, she could overlook the comments about ladies and their feelings. Sometimes one could do that, couldn’t they?

“And what are you here for?” he asked.

“Well, my father was given a rather excellent tip by the Duke of Rivers that there would be several Arabians arriving and that we should take a look at them.”

He let out a sigh. “Oh, you’re one of those, are you?”

“One of what?” she asked.

“One of those people willing to give up the excellent horses of our nation for the excitement and the novelty of an Arabian,” he said.

“Novelty!” she exclaimed. “Some of the finest Arabians came to these shores years ago, and they have long since reshaped English racing.” She snorted.

“Are you so foolish that you are not interested in those horses? Those wild, beautiful beasts are brought from so far away and can outperform our English horses, who may be great in size but cannot run like the wind.”

She gave his stallion a quick look. “No offense, my darling,” she said.

The horse nickered as if it understood her and accepted her apologies.

“We are both trying not to give offense today, it seems,” the viscount said.

“And both of us are failing.” She sighed. “I do pity your poor horse. I should never malign him, but the truth is he could never keep up with an Arabian.”

Viscount Skyburn looked cross. “First of all, he’s not really a racehorse,” he said.

“What is he then? If you don’t like to ride him fast, is he just there for your general amusement?”

Again, Viscount Skyburn looked annoyed. “Madam, are you so ignorant about racing?”

She smiled slowly. “Oh yes, I must be terribly ignorant. Would you please explain it to me?”

He scowled. “I feel like I’m being lured into a trap.”

“I thought women were supposed to be the creatures of intuition,” she returned.

“Not always,” he gritted. “Men apparently also have good instincts.”

“Yes, killer ones,” she drawled. “Are you willing to go in for the strike now?”

The scent of hay wafted around them, and she felt the situation was somehow becoming ever more charged. Not in a frightening way, but as if two forces were coming together to make one great storm, and she did enjoy a delicious summer storm.

Yes, they were sparking off each other as if each longed to ignite a blaze.

She enjoyed riling him. She wagered that he was usually unflappable, but she certainly was making a go of it.

“I don’t think we need Arabians,” he said. “They’re fine, but they’re small. They’re not strong.”

“That’s exactly why I like them,” she said enthusiastically.

“They’re intelligent creatures. They’re fast. They’re sleek.

They are indeed much smaller than the beasts we have so long preferred, and I think that you will find this so once you have been exposed to enough of them and their bloodlines.

” She grinned up at him. “Once you know, you will never go back.”

He snorted.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh dear, a man who thinks that the biggest is the best. How unsurprising. I suppose that means you think you are the best at everything as well.”

He laughed. “Are you implying that I am big?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Well, you are certainly not small,” she said. “But maybe I think that I’m like an Arabian.”

“Maybe you are,” he said. “Are you sleek and clever and fast?”

She smiled slowly at him. “I suppose you’ll have to find out,” she said, “but we clearly do not have similar ideas about horses or people or the world, so I think I shall have to absent myself from your company. Though I do wish I didn’t have to absent myself from your horse.”

And with that, she slipped around and headed down the stable, her skirts swishing, because she really was there to find something quite different. Different to old ways of thinking, of doing, of being.

Yet she felt herself hesitating.

“I never thought you’d run away,” he called after her.

“You barely know me,” she said, whirling around. “And I am not running away. I am simply seeking better pastures.”

“Oh, madam,” he said. “A palpable hit to my heart. How could you suggest that there’s anything better than me?”

She laughed. “A true aristocrat,” she said. “A viscount of the highest order who believes there is no one and nothing better than he.”

“Oh,” he said, standing tall and fierce and looking as if he was willing to prove just how superior he was.

In every way. “I’m sure there are one or two who might do better than I.

Perhaps a duke here and there. They might outdo me.

But on a horse, in a race, in a fight? No.

If you’re looking to outpace the best, my dear, you and I will be crossing paths.

And perhaps I should be speaking to your father and not to you. I should hate to cause a scandal.”

She laughed. “If you believe that you need to speak to my father instead of me, you’ll be in for quite the awakening,” she said.

“And why is that?” he asked.

“Because I’m Lady Ruby Reynolds, and I’m the future Earl of Lynchfield.”