The Scandalous Diary of Lily Layton

d over a chaise lounge with her ass arched delightfully in the air had red hair, brown eyes…and sweet lips. Oliver sighed. How had he not realized he’d imbued Mrs. Layton in his paintings? He searched the other canvases, his shoulders eventually relaxing. In all the other paintings the women depicted so lasciviously had their faces slightly blurred. Only that one had the faint impression of his mother’s lady’s companion.

He walked over until he stood directly in front of it. He had captured a mischievous smile he had never seen from her. Lust coiled in his gut, dark and inviting, as he accepted the truth of his desires. He wanted to ruin her sensibilities. He imagined her lips sliding over his cock; it was her pussy he wished to ride for hours…and then seduce her into oiling her forbidden rear entrance and sliding his cock deep.

God’s blood.

As soon as the house party was over, he needed to make his way to Town and away from Belgrave Manor. Otherwise, he would certainly succumb to his dark needs, ruining a good woman who did not deserve to be used and discarded after he had slaked his lust.

…

Oliver departed Belgrave Manor at dawn and arrived in Town a few hours later. Walking up to his sister and her husband’s townhouse in Mayfair, he hammered on the knocker. The door opened, and the butler stepped back.

“Lord Ambrose, may I take your coat and hat?”

Oliver handed them over. “Is the viscount in?”

The butler bobbed. “Yes, your lordship. He is in the breakfast room.”

“No need to announce me,” he said, making his way down the hall. The last time Oliver visited had only been a few weeks ago, when his sister had invited her family to Town for a small dinner party and then gave them the welcome news of the expected addition to their family.

Reaching the breakfast room, he spied John with a pressed newspaper close to his face. He lowered it and glanced up.

“Ambrose!” Apprehension flashed in his eyes. “Is it Charlotte?” he asked, a worried frown appearing.

Oliver lowered himself into the chair closest to the viscount and pinned him with a hard stare. John was only two years older than Charlotte and had always been a steady and good-natured sort. Oliver thought it unlikely he had a mistress, but then, many men and lords, if not all, truly believed keeping a chère amie was as necessary as breathing air. The bloody idiots.

That his father had not respected and cherished the vows made to his wife was one of the things that had most disappointed Oliver. The man had lectured often on matters of honor, yet had been so blind to his own lack of honor to his vows that he became the least likely candidate Oliver would listen to. He had tried to understand it from his father’s perspective, but as he’d grown older, he’d come to see how ungentlemanly and disgusting it was to make promises to a person and so casually break an oath for fleeting pleasures of the flesh.

“Your viscountess arrived at Belgrave Manor with packed trunks.”

The man blanched. “She’s left me? Why would she do that?”

“Because she believes you have betrayed her trust and love.” The hurt in his sister’s eyes had been painful to witness.

John froze, and Oliver’s gut tightened at the flash of guilt in the man’s eyes.

“I’ve done nothing of the sort,” he said stiffly.

“Do you remember the conversation we had in my study when you asked my permission to court her?”

The viscount looked away, took a steady breath, and then met Oliver’s gaze.

“I do. You promised broken bits if I ever hurt Charlotte.”

“Do you have a mistress?” Oliver clipped icily.

The man had the grace to flush. “I…I’ve approached Mrs. Dorothy Williams, but we haven’t finalized an agreement.”

Oliver bit back a curse. “Why would you do this to Charlotte?” Even though he suspected. That fear of tainting a genteel wife with his baser urges had him haunting his own damn home for a stranger. But if the viscount struggled with a similar belief, the man had better learn to govern his lustful cravings. Oliver would not idly stand by and see his sister endure the same pain and shame that had followed their mother for years.

The viscount couldn’t meet his eyes for a few moments. “It’s because I love her.”

The damn fool. “I don’t believe I’ve heard greater nonsense.”

Beresford tugged at his cravat. “I couldn’t bring myself to subject her to…to…God’s blood, man, you know! I love Charlotte more than anything in my life, and I would not hurt her for the world. She is with child and must be treated with all gentleness and respect.”

There was no doubt the blathering fool thought that because she was in the family way, they could not be intimate. “Yet you have done so with your thoughtless and selfish action. I gather it would not trouble you if she decided to take a lover?”

The viscount half lurched from his chair, his hands fisted on the table. “I would kill any man,” he breathed, his voice raw, panic flashing in his eyes.