Dancing with the Viscount (Howertys Prequel Novella)

Chapter 9: Social Call

Kissing Amelia might be the worst—and simultaneously the best—thing Preston had ever done. He could not stop thinking about it. Could not stop remembering the feel of her soft lips against his. Her body in his arms. Finding out she was attracted to him had been his undoing. How could he possibly resist her now?

But where did that leave them? They needed to talk. Which was why he found himself at the residence of the Duke of Hoyton the following morning for social calls. He didn't relish the idea of calling on Amelia so publicly, but he wanted to see her—no, he needed to see her. And if he was considering throwing his hat in the ring, he might as well let it be known now.

The ageing butler had taken his calling card, as well as that of another young man who had arrived a mere moment after Preston, and disappeared to inform the family of their arrival. Nodding to his fellow man and potential rival, he groaned as he saw Richmond coming down the grand staircase leading from the upper floor to the entrance hall. Brilliant.

"Leighton!" Richmond bowed his head in greeting as he caught sight of him. A brief nod towards the other man. "Greyson."

"Lord Richmond." The young man bowed while Leighton only nodded his head, wary of what the future duke would make of his presence.

The butler reappeared. "Lord Leighton. Lord Greyson. You may enter the drawing room now."

Richmond's eyebrows furrowed as he watched the younger man hurry down the hallway before turning his pale blue eyes to Preston. "What are you doing here?"

Steeling himself, Preston forced a pleasant smile on his face. "I've come to call on your sister."

"The hell you have."

"I have."

Richmond's frown deepened, and he took a step closer. They were nearly of equal height, and while Preston doubted the other man was much of a pugilist, he didn't particularly want to get into a scuffle in his home. "I thought I made myself clear," Richmond practically growled. "You are to stay away from Amelia."

"I think we should allow her to make that decision." He should probably be grateful it was Richmond who'd seen him and not Adrian. His friend would have had no compunction about throwing him out on his arse, probably after a solid right hook. Richmond, fortunately, was more tempered. Still, it was obvious the other man did not appreciate being contradicted.

"We want someone better for Amelia," he said coldly. "I won't have you ruin her chances of a good match."

Preston scoffed. "I doubt my mere presence today will make anyone change their mind about whether to court her or not."

"I don't want you anywhere near her."

"Fortunately, you do not get to decide," Preston said, his voice tight. "I may only be a viscount, but my family is one of the oldest in the country. It's not a terrible match!"

Richmond's frown relaxed for a moment as his eyes widened slightly. "What? I do not care about your title. Amelia could marry a pauper for all I care, as long as she'd be happy. Everyone knows you're a rake. She is not some conquest for you to win."

All of his indignant anger seeped out of him. He'd been so angry about the perceived slight to his lower title, but really Richmond doubted his sincerity based on, in fairness, completely valid concerns. He did have a reputation as a rake. With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair. "Richmond, I understand your apprehension. Truly. But my intentions regarding your sister are honourable. I would never dream of risking her reputation."

A brief memory of her pressed against him as he kissed her the previous night flashed before his eyes, but he pushed it away. His intentions were largely honourable. Richmond didn't need to know of his moment of weakness.

"I don't know." Richmond crossed his arms over his chest. "My sister means a lot to me and I will not see her hurt in any way."

"I appreciate your concern for your sister's happiness. I do." If only you weren't so bloody stubborn about it. "But I swear to you, I am only wanting the chance to court her. You must know that while I'm known as a rake, I've also never been one to give attention to debutantes. I have never ruined anyone, and I have no intention of starting now."

Richmond huffed, but stepped out of the way. "Fine," he muttered. "But I'm watching you."

"Wouldn't expect anything less," Preston muttered as he sketched a quick bow before walking down the hallway to the drawing room.

The house was what one would expect of a duke's home; grand and opulent, showing off every ounce of their long and noble heritage with paintings of ancestors on the walls, expensive furniture, and fancy wallpapers. The drawing room was no less impressive with its light blue walls and mahogany wainscoting. A pianoforte stood by a window, and a woman Preston recognised as the formerly snoozing chaperone Aunt Ruth played a song for a group of visitors.

Preston heard Amelia before he saw her. He would recognise that bubbling laughter anywhere. She stood further into the room beyond a set of settees and comfortable chairs, surrounded by a bevy of suitors. The number of bachelors in attendance shouldn't surprise him, but he'd forgotten just how popular she was. Just because she hadn't found a husband didn't mean she didn't have plenty of options. As the daughter of a duke, she was an excellent match for anyone. Add her beauty and sparkling personality, and few men could resist the allure. Who wouldn't take the chance to court her?

Venturing further into the room, he saw when she noticed him as her eyes widened slightly. He'd never visited any young lady during the day before, so his presence was eliciting some murmurs among his fellow callers as well. If he'd known quite how busy Amelia would be, he might have waited to see her at a more convenient time. But his mind had not wanted to take a moment to think about things rationally. All he'd known from the moment he woke up was that he needed to see her again. The moment he'd kissed her, every objection—every reason he had for staying away from her—had vanished.

He wanted Amelia. Everything else be damned.

And as long as he could convince her to accept his suit, he would make her his wife. He just needed to convince her that he was a suitable match, after all. That he was more than a rake. He was a man who loved her and he would do anything to make her happy. If only she would let him.

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