Nicola and the Viscount Read Online Free Page A

friends at Madame’s other than Nicola—though Nicola knew the standoffishness was only to cover up for a case of crippling shyness, stemming from Lady Honoria’s insecurities over her somewhat horsey looks.
    â€œWe’ve got Stella Ashton’s garden party,” Honoria said in a bored voice. “Then supper and Almack’s.”
    â€œOf course,” the God replied. “It’s Wednesday; I’d quite forgotten.” He grinned at Nicola, who sat with what she hoped was a calm expression at the desk she’d appropriated, the one by the window with the view of the garden below. She trusted he couldn’t tell how quickly her heart had begun drumming at the sight of him, so handsome in a spotless white cravat and a coat of hunter green. “I suppose it would be too much to ask that we dodge Almack’s this once. I’ve had quite enough of crowded assembly rooms, I think. What I’d like is a bit of fresh air for a change.”
    Nicola, pleased to hear this, as she harbored no particular love for crowded dance halls either, said, “‘There is pleasure in the pathless woods; there is rapture on the lonely shore; there is society, where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar.’”
    But the God, instead of uttering the last line, “‘I love not Man the less, but Nature more,’” said instead, looking impressed, “I say, that’s jolly good! Did you make that up just now?”
    Feeling the slightest—only the slightest—pang of disappointment, Nicola said gently, “No. It’s Byron.”
    â€œOh, is it?” Lord Sebastian, looking supremely unconcerned, reached for an apple in a nearby fruit bowl, and bit noisily into it. “Well, that’s exactly how I feel. There was such a crush at Almack’s last week. Can’t we just skip it?”
    Lady Farelly looked up at that, horrified. “After what we went through to get tickets? We most certainly won’t skip it .”Then she went back to her letters.
    The God sighed, then sent a wink in Nicola’s direction. “Oh, well,” he said. “I suppose I’ll live through it, if you’ll do me the favor of promising me the first and last dances, Miss Sparks.”
    Nicola felt herself blushing. All of her disappointment with Lord Sebastian’s lack of familiarity with the Romantic poets evaporated in her pleasure over his request.
    â€œIf you wish,” was all she said, however, and that she uttered with a demureness that would have well pleased Madame Vieuxvincent.
    Grinning, Lord Sebastian left for Tattersalls, the horse market, and Nicola, smiling happily, returned to her letter. Where was she? Oh, yes. Describing the God. How could she do justice to those fine eyes and easy smile? It was going to be difficult, to say the least. She doubted even Lord Byron could do it properly.
    Interestingly, it was as Nicola was carefully extolling all of the God’s virtues in her letter to her loved ones back at Beckwell Abbey that Lord Farelly’s butler entered the morning room to announce that two other personages for whom Nicola had pet names had come calling, and were waiting to see her in the drawing room—her cousin Lord Renshaw (the Grouser) and his son Harold (the Milksop).
    Nicola made a face and laid down her pen. Lord Renshaw and his heir were just about the last people she wanted to see. Still, she supposed she had no choice but to spare a moment or two for her only living relatives, distant cousins though they might be.
    Accordingly, she smoothed her gown and patted her upswept hair before sailing into the drawing room, her shoulders thrown back and her head held high, just as Madame had instructed all of her pupils. A lady, after all, never slouched or looked anything less than pleased while receiving callers, no matter how much she might happen to detest them.
    â€œLord Renshaw,” Nicola said, holding