Reading the Viscount (Courting a Curious Lady #5)

Chapter One

Twelfth Night Ball

“Sophie, I saw you hiding behind the column of shooting stars. You can’t be asked to dance if no one can see you.”

Sophie Howard, daughter of Lord and Lady Dowling, pushed her far-too-soft caramel-colored hair inside the shepherdess cap, snapping it into place before any strands could escape.

Pleased that the third try was successful, she took one last look through the openings of her white mask to be sure everything was in place before turning to her friend and classmate, Lady Rose, who sported a monk’s costume.

“I wasn’t hiding. I was admiring Ellie’s beautiful decorations. ”

Lady Georgina, dressed as an exotic green bird, coaxed Sophie away from the mirror in the ladies’ retiring room, then stepped before it to attend to her own hair.

“You were hiding. There’s no denying it.

You forget we know you well. You’d rather be in your room reading a book than here at the masquerade.

But none of those characters in your books are going to magically appear and propose to you.

You must be seen if you are to catch a husband. ”

It was an old refrain, but her friends seemed to enjoy it, and though they coaxed, pushed, and prodded, they didn’t force her like her family.

Her mother was the most anxious for her to wed.

“What would I say? Most of the people have masks on. I don’t even know if I’ve made their acquaintance before. What if I haven’t?”

Rose laughed, enjoying the ball far more than she should.

If it weren’t a masquerade, she would be the epitome of a lady, but with her identity hidden, she was far too bold.

“But that’s the fun, Sophie. You don’t have to.

Just think of all the people you could talk to tonight.

They’re all strangers, except us, of course. ”

But she didn’t want to talk to strangers.

She didn’t want to talk to anyone she didn’t know, and those she knew, like her classmates from the Belinda School for Curious Ladies, she preferred to listen to.

And she most certainly didn’t like being the center of attention, so she changed the subject.

“Georgie, did I see you being introduced to a king?”

“You did indeed. His Royal Highness is actually Lord Ashfield, whom my parents had met before. I was well aware of who he was because I recognized his blond hair and broad shoulders.” That wasn’t a surprise, since Georgie watched men almost as keenly as she watched the birds she loved to study.

Rose squeezed Sophie’s wrist. “That wasn’t the only thing she noticed. I caught her looking at his codpiece.”

“I was not. Rose Ambrose, you are incorrigible.”

“Yes, I am.”

The words were said with such ladylike haughtiness that Sophie smiled. “Did you find him pleasant, then, Georgie?”

“Oh, very. He was most complimentary about my costume. My parents were very pleased, as am I. I do hope he asks me to dance.”

Knowing how much Georgie loved to dance, Sophie nodded. “I’m sure he will.”

“Come, you two. We should return. There are far too many interesting people to talk to, dance with, and play billiards with.” Rose opened the door of the ladies’ retiring room and stepped into the corridor.

Sophie hurried after her, greatly concerned Rose would go beyond the pale with her pranks. Going alone into the billiard room among all the men could well ruin her reputation. “Surely, you wouldn’t.”

“Of course I would, and I am. Tonight I’m a monk, and unless you wish to confess your sins to me—”

Georgie interrupted. “Sophie doesn’t have any sins.”

Sophie felt herself blush. “Oh, but I do.”

Rose stopped them right there. “Then tell us just one.”

Surprised by the demand, Sophie sucked in her breath.

The first of her sins, in her opinion, was her love for literature where young, innocent ladies were yearned for by adventurous heroes.

But that was far too personal to admit even to her dearest friends.

Instead, she mentioned another failing. “I’m afraid to talk to people.

” She kept her voice low, though no one was about.

Rose’s blue gaze softened. “Are you truly afraid, then?”

Sophie swallowed and simply nodded, her father’s scowl coming foremost to mind.

“Then, as soon as we get back to school, we will help you conquer your fear.”

She should feel grateful, but oddly she wasn’t, because she sincerely didn’t wish to learn to talk to people.

At home, talking meant her father would notice her presence, and he always seemed irritated with her if she spoke.

It was as if he wished she’d never been born.

Her mother greatly approved of her quiet demeanor.

“I know of another fault Sophie has.”

At Georgie’s statement, Sophie turned her head in surprise. “Please tell me.”

“I believe you forgot your crook in the other room.”

“Oh dear. I must return for it.”

Rose sighed, obviously anxious to go back to the ball. “We’ll come with you.”

Now, feeling guilty for spoiling her classmates’ fun, Sophie shook her head. “No. You two continue. I’ve spent more time at Hawthorne Park than you have. I’ll find my way back on my own.”

Georgie looked nervous. She was loyal to them all, like a dog to its master, and didn’t like when one was unaccounted for. “Are you sure?”

Sophie gave her friend a reassuring nod. “Yes. You need to return to the ballroom in case a lord requests a dance.”

At the mention of such a possibility, Georgie brightened, then looked askance at Sophie. “Yes, I can’t dance if I’m not seen.”

Sophie was well aware Georgie was making a point about not being seen. “No, you can’t. I promise I will return forthwith.” She snapped her fingers to emphasize her intention.

“Very well, we shall continue, but no hiding in the ladies’ retiring room all night, or I will personally drag you out.” Rose frowned.

“I would never—”

Rose held up her hand. “You did at the Stantons’ end-of-season ball last year.”

Sophie felt her cheeks flush. “Only until dinner, and that was because I didn’t know the way back to the ballroom.”

Rose wasn’t appeased. “Promise you will return immediately.”

“I promise.”

Georgie hooked her arm in Rose’s. “If Sophie promises, we can depend on her. Now let us make haste. I don’t wish to miss another dance.”

Sophie watched her friends continue down the corridor and turn the corner, out of sight.

Quickly, she retraced her steps to the ladies’ retiring room and stepped inside, scanning the room for her crook.

She didn’t see it. Hadn’t she left it leaning against the wall by the mirror?

She walked around the perimeter of the room.

Had she left it in the ballroom after all?

She tapped two fingers against her chin.

No, she wouldn’t have done that. It had to be in the room.

What had Lord Northwick said in his lecture on gravity last session?

Returning to the spot where she thought she’d left the crook, she looked down at the floor and spotted a small part of the staff sticking out from behind the settee, which was set against the wall.

Happy to have found it, she pulled it out and lifted it up.

Now she was a shepherdess again, though without any sheep, more’s the pity.

She would so enjoy sitting outside under a tree in the warm summer with sheep for companions and a book in her hand.

Smiling at her flight of fancy, she moved toward the door and left the room to return to the masquerade.

Dressing as a shepherdess meant she not only could wear her favorite color dress—white—but also that no one would know who she was, since there were eight other shepherdesses.

Blending in was her specialty. She’d much rather observe others than partake in the festivities.

That was what she did at home, and it worked very well for her.

She was quite pleased that it was almost time for dinner, and she’d successfully avoided being asked to dance. If her family had been able to come, she would have been forced to dance at least three times, but luckily, they were celebrating her youngest brother’s return from his grand tour.

She took a right and continued down the corridor.

Hearing voices ahead, she slowed to a stop.

The double doors at the end were not the ballroom.

She must have taken a wrong turn. Though she’d visited Hawthorne Park before, she didn’t remember the corridor she was presently in.

About to retrace her steps, she froze as one of the double doors opened and a man with brown hair, dressed as a Roman soldier, stepped forward, looking back over his shoulder.

“I must celebrate this win, Harewood!” He laughed loudly before closing the door and heading toward her.

A wide smile filled his maskless face. His light-brown hair peeked out from his Roman helmet as his person seemed to fill the hallway between his broad shoulders, his height, and the energy radiating from him.

She stood frozen, unable to move as he noticed her.

“Ah, and what do we have here but my darling Lydia. I can’t think of a better way to celebrate than with your rosy lips.”

Before she could speak—not that she could—the man took her into his arms and lowered his mouth to hers.

Stunned, she opened her mouth and his tongue slipped between her lips.

At the sudden sensations flowing through her body, her heart seemed to run away.

Her belly tickled, and her breasts, pressed against him, tingled with awareness.

Realization burst upon her, breaking her immobile state.

She wriggled against him, which felt like pushing against the walls of the Tower of London.

Yet, in an instant, he released her. She didn’t question why, nor did she hesitate. Taking advantage of her freedom, she picked up the skirts of her dress and ran down the corridor, her heart already racing far ahead of her.