Tryst with a Viscount

"I choose nothing in my life. I want to choose this. And if you will, I choose you."

Lillian has always been terribly good. She has always tried to live up to her family name and avoid scandal to help improve the marriage prospects for herself and her siblings. When she learns that a wealthy but uncaring man is planning to seek her hand, she is torn between her dreams of love and her duty to her family.

After years away adventuring, Huxley has been called home. Rugged, wild and handsome, he is facing a tawdry future married to a woman with no sense of adventure.

When the two meet by chance, the energy between them is undeniable. Lillian suggests one small indiscretion–a tryst–before the two of them are betrothed. Huxley is happy to oblige, and when Lillian confesses that this time will be her first time, Huxley promises to make it a night she will never forget.

Tryst with a Viscount is a steamy short story for fans of romantic historic fiction between consenting adults.

Lillian Archer looked down at the perfectly manicured fingers and supple palm extended before her. She found her best smile and shook her head.
‘I am sorry, my Lord,’ she said, as regretfully as she could. ‘I am not disposed to dance this evening.’
Lillian had never refused Lord Ainsworth a dance before, and his smile faltered. He tilted his head in consideration, then leaned over, grabbed her hand and yanked her to her feet.
Lillian couldn’t help but squeal with laughter as Lord Dudley Ainsworth, her closest confident and dearest friend, whirled her into position as the first strains of the waltz sounded through the ballroom.
‘My dear Lillian, you are overreacting,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Tomorrow, no one will remember that Lady Madden recognised your dress from the gala.’
In a sea of gilded peacocks who sparkled with the latest fashions, Lillian was a pigeon. Her dress had been the height of fashion when new—not that Lillian had worn it then. Mother had purchased it second-hand from a discreet shop in the East End. Indigo velvet with a lace collar and a row of shell buttons from her neckline to her buttocks. It still passed as presentable, even if the hems were wearing.
‘It isn’t that.’ Although Lady Madden’s comment had stung, Lillian wished outdated fashions were her problem. ‘Something terrible has happened.’
‘Oh? Tell me immediately, and I will challenge him to a duel for daring to upset my sweet Lily,’ Dudley said.
Lillian laughed despite her predicament. Dudley always made her laugh. Once, society had gossiped that the two of them might make a match, given their closeness, but marriage did not appeal to Dudley. As a third son, no one minded if he married or not, provided he kept to his allowance and wasn’t caught doing anything to disgrace his family. And while he did plenty that would have disgraced his family, he wasn’t caught at any of it, which meant no one minded.
The same could not be said for Lillian, almost twenty, the eldest of five daughters and one desperately longed for son. It was her responsibility to be the shining star of the family, especially since Father had passed. And she had tried so hard to fill that role. The dances she glided through had not come easily to her, but she had persevered to learn them. Her blonde curls usually obeyed as her mother raked them into position in her best imitation of the latest style. Most importantly, she had a good name and had been conscious of it, and had never done a thing to besmirch it. In all, she was a woman with prospects. Just without wealth.
‘Out with it.’ Genuine concern lit Dudley’s eyes. ‘What troubles you?’
‘I am to be betrothed.’ She tried to keep the melancholy from her voice but failed.
‘This is not happy news? To whom?’
‘To…Viscount Pemberton.’
‘No!’ Dudley’s eyes shot wide with horror. ‘But he…he is…’
‘I know. Ghastly.’
It wasn’t so much his age—Lillian had seen younger maids marry older men and been doted upon. Nor was it his rotund stature. And while his complexion took on a reddish hue after his fourth port, he was a picture of health during the day. These things were inconsequential to Lillian if a man was good. But Viscount Pemberton openly boasted of having multiple mistresses and, when not in their bedrooms, spent all his time playing cards or at the races.
‘I am to meet with him on the morrow,’ she said with a sigh. ‘He is to make his suit, and I am expected to accept.’
‘Why?’ Dudley’s voice was heavy with sympathy. ‘Why you?’
‘A name perhaps? Or a connection? My uncle is close to the Queen’s adviser, and as you no doubt have heard my mother tell, we are old blood. He needs an heir. Men like Pemberton value such qualities in a wife.’
The two of them spun around the floor in a type of silent eulogy, and when the song finished, made their way to the edge of the ballroom. They had both lost their appetite for dancing. Lillian tucked her hand around Dudley’s elbow.
‘Refuse him.’ Dudley demanded. ‘You could!’
‘You know I cannot.’
Unlike her own family, Pemberton was wealthy. It mattered little to Lillian, who found happiness with her family and her friends. But if her sisters and her brother were to progress, she needed to elevate them as much as she could. If Lillian married well, maybe her sisters would be better dressed than she had been at her debut, and maybe they would be invited to smarter balls. Maybe, when it came to suitors, they would be able to choose.
‘What you need, my dear,’ Dudley whispered low in her ear. ‘Is a tryst.’