Viscount of Vanity Read online

  Viscount of Vanity

  Lords of Scandal

  Tammy Andresen

  Copyright © 2021 by Tammy Andresen

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Untitled

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Earl of Infamy

  About the Author

  Other Titles by Tammy

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  Hugs!

  Untitled

  Viscount of Vanity

  Lords of Scandal

  Tammy Andresen

  Foreword

  Dear Readers,

  The hero of this book, Austin Melrose, the Viscount of Vanity, is a bit more personal for me than most heroes I write.

  My father, back in the 1980s, worked at the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard where he lined submarines with asbestos-ladened insulation before any of the men wore protective gear. While all the men in my dad’s shop ended up sick, he was one of the first. He was a very athletic man, strong, and good at most physical activities, but the asbestos worked itself into his lungs and he ended up with bronchial asthma, a condition he still suffers from today.

  But it was terrible then. And I witnessed him go from a healthy, vital man to a weak and sick one almost overnight.

  As a child, I watched him have attacks from activities as simple as sledding with his children. He’d end up on his hands and knees, coughing up blood and wheezing, unable to catch his breath. He said it was like an elephant sitting on his chest. He was in and out of the hospital, and he had endless doctor’s appointments trying to get his symptoms under control. These experiences made me more cautious, more risk averse. Even now, I far prefer writing stories from my couch rather than gallivanting on real adventures like many of my friends. But as frightening as they were to me, the experience was even scarier for him. It changed all of us fundamentally, him most of all.

  Austin is a bit different. He suffered from asthma as a child, a condition he’s outgrown by the time he becomes our hero, but my dad and I spent many hours discussing what the psychological impacts were for him and for me before I sat down to write this character. Austin is honestly a mix of us both. He suffers like my dad, but he experiences the trauma as a child like I did. So Dad, this book is dedicated to you. Thanks for always being there and thank you for being a fighter. You taught me a lot about what it means to persevere, even under wretched circumstances.

  And to my readers, I hope you enjoy Austin and Gabriella’s story.

  All my love,

  Tammy

  Chapter One

  Miss Gabriella Winston peeked through the curtain separating the chapel from the nave and surveyed the twenty or so men who sat in the pews. One of them was about to be her husband.

  Over the past few days, she’d wracked her brain to see if she’d ever heard of such an event happening. She’d heard of a few husbands auctioning off their wives, but did fathers actually sell their daughters to settle their debts? Hers did.

  Gabriella brushed back a lock of her near-black hair and shifted on her feet, nervous butterflies flitting all about her belly.

  She knew the situation was bad when debtors had come calling in the middle of the night, a month prior. It wasn’t the first time this sort of thing had happened, and she’d known to hide herself away in the cupboard. But she’d heard everything. They’d beat her father terribly, an already-frail man thanks to his hard living and heavy drinking.

  She’d nursed him back to health, of course. She’d been taking care of him most of her life. But she’d noted a look in his eyes that was different from the past. She could only describe it as…assessing.

  That had been her first inkling that her life was about to take a turn for the worse.

  She twisted her hands.

  Last week, her father had announced it was time for her to start her new life. She’d stopped scrubbing the floor and sat up on her knees. Anything new would be good. “How so?” she’d asked.

  He’d stared down at her. “You’re lucky, Gabs. You’re beautiful. Some man will surely want you.”

  Her rag had dropped to the floor.

  She’d stopped begging her father years ago. No amount of pleading ever got her toys, or treats, or even food if he’d spent all his money in some bet or on whisky. In fact, she’d learned that asking for things only irritated him. But she’d pleaded then. Let her choose a man. The butcher had shown interest…

  Her father had grown hard. And with a box to her ears, he’d informed her he needed far more than what a butcher could provide.

  She’d known then that there was no getting out of this…

  She pressed a hand to her stomach as she stared at the growing crowd.

  Mr. Sharpe, the butcher was there. She saw him in the back. Would he bid? Hope fluttered inside her stomach. While she didn’t love the man by any stretch, he was good and honest, and she’d be cared for in the match. Of that she could be certain.

  She scanned the rest of the crowd. Some of the men looked all right. Clean at least, not too old. But others…

  Nervous fear prickled along her skin.

  The priest came down the center aisle, smiling at several of the men. He was sweating a bit, despite the cool day, his face puffy and his eyes rimmed with red. Clearly, he was still recovering from a night of heavy drinking. She recognized the signs. She’d grown up with them her entire life.

  Her father walked just behind the other man, his eyes equally blurry. The two were great friends. She didn’t know what that said about the priest that his closest compatriot was a drunken gambler.

  But she knew he’d agreed to help her father. Normally this sort of event would take place in the town square but the weather was still frigid and there was always the possibility of rain. Having the auction here ensured the event happened no matter the weather and her father got the largest bride price for his efforts.

  She let the curtain fall again.

  Gabriella could run, slip out the back and disappear into the English countryside. But where would she go? What would happen to her?

  Still, it might be worth it. What if she ended up tied to a beastly man?

  This morning she’d met a lovely woman who’d promised to help. A baroness. Gabriella’s heart raced at the idea.

  The baroness had been with a man, not her husband, but her husband’s friend.

  He’d been the single most handsome male Gabriella had ever seen. Tall and broad with dark hair and eyes. Of course, his full lips had been set in a frown as he’d stared at Gabriella, but still, he’d promised the baroness he’d come back for Gabriella.

  Would he keep his word?

  Likely not. It had been her experience that men rarely did.

  And even if he did return, what could he do? It was her father’s right to sell her like cattle.

  Her hands lifted to cover her face. This was it.

  She had to make a decision now. She could stay or she could run.

  Her muscles
twitched as she shifted again. She needed to leave. Whatever fate met her, it would be her of her own choosing. She’d suffer the consequences of her actions and live or die content in that knowledge.

  She took a step back, sinking deeper into the shadows of the chapel. Then another, inching toward the door. Gabriella needed to be as quiet as a church mouse. She’d require a head start in order to find a sufficient hiding spot. Her father and the priest had an automatic group of searchers assembled for the auction.

  She’d heard him mumbling about men coming all the way from Havisham. She was apparently highly sought after. As though that was supposed to make her feel better.

  Two more steps and she was close enough to reach out and touch the door. She pressed her hand to the knob as she gingerly began to turn the engraved brass. It wouldn’t do to have the metal squeak now.

  But when she turned the knob clockwise, it didn’t budge. Her breath caught in her throat. Could it be stuck? Gabriella turned it the other way testing the door, but it was locked tight.

  Drat.

  Of course, they’d thought to lock the door. She could have kicked herself for hoping and then again for not realizing they’d have foreseen her attempt to run.

  What did she do now?

  She massaged her temples as her chin dropped to her chest. She was trapped.

  Distantly, she heard the main doors of the nave open and then close shut behind whomever had entered. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, but she held them back. She would not cry any longer.

  Now was not the time for emotion but for action.

  Drawing in a deep breath, she attempted to think of another way out.

  There was a second story window. Perhaps if she could climb…

  The curtain parted and Father Michael stepped in, her father behind him.

  “What do you think?” her father asked, shuffling on unsteady feet.

  “Interesting,” Father Michael replied, parting the curtain and looking out again. “He’s nicely dressed, well groomed. Looks like he’s got money.”

  “What’s he doin’ here bidding then?”

  Gabriella let out a huff. Clearly some man was making special overtures that her father was considering. She crossed her arms and cleared her throat. Had they forgotten she was there? And why did her father sound surprised that a good prospect had stepped forward? Did he have no expectation she’d marry well? Did he care at all?

  Father Michael’s gave her a critical stare, his eyes travelling up and down her. “Perhaps he heard of her beauty?”

  Her father grunted. “Perhaps.”

  “Or perhaps…” The priest stopped, looking back at her father with a meaningful tilt to his head, his eyebrows rising.

  Perhaps what?

  Her hand came to her throat as fear slid down her spine. What weren’t they saying?

  * * *

  Austin Melrose, the Viscount of Easterly, stood by the pulpit, his palms sweating slightly. How in the bloody blue blazes had he gotten himself into this mess?

  He grimaced, crossing his arms. His friend’s new wife had somehow convinced him that he needed to go on this rescue mission.

  This was why a man shouldn’t marry.

  Women had all sorts of plans and they made a man participate. Abigail wasn’t even his wife, and somehow he’d been cast as the hero in this ridiculous plot she’d devised.

  He let out a low growl of frustration. Abigail, that was his friend’s new wife, the Baroness of Blackwater, had heard Gabriella crying and had insisted they save her from a marriage auction.

  Ridiculous. Who was he to tell a man what to do with his daughter? He had no authority to stop anything.

  But then again, one look at Gabriella and he’d had a difficult time saying no. The very idea of some heathen pawing at her set his teeth on edge.

  The problem, of course, besides the fact that he had no grounds to end this event, was what he did with her on the off chance he did successfully rescue her? He’d been wracking his brain for the past two hours, but he was no closer to a solution.

  Marrying her was out of the question.

  He refused to take her as his mistress and steal from her the chance of a happy marriage. That was even less likely than the first option.

  She was too beautiful to work as a maid. Any man with a woman like her in his house would surely take advantage of her under his protection.

  And the circle began again. He didn’t wish to leave Gabriella, but he couldn’t take her. He’d paced on the steps outside the church for the last quarter hour wondering if he should just return back to Blackwater’s house and tell Abigail he’d been too late.

  But then images of Gabriella would rise in his thoughts and his feet would still.

  Dark hair and eyes that lifted in an exotic tilt, they were near black in their coloring, her skin a bit darker than any true Englishwoman. Full sensuous lips and a figure made for sin, she was the stuff of fantasy. If he were smart, he’d stay away.

  He couldn’t afford fantasies.

  His gut churned.

  Since he’d been a small child, he’d been affected with weak lungs. He raked a hand through his normally groomed hair. That wasn’t true. He hadn’t had an attack for some years, but the fear of one seemed to persist.

  As a child, he’d learned when to pull back from an activity the moment his chest tightened. Because the attacks were awful.

  His breath would leave him, and he could not get it back no matter how hard he tried. It was as though six men sat on his chest. He’d cough, and wheeze, and occasionally black out. And once he’d nearly died.

  That wasn’t to say he retreated into a shell, hiding.

  In fact, he’d work himself over and over just to the point of an attack and then he’d stop.

  The goal was to make his lungs as strong as possible.

  And it had worked. The doctors had told him he’d outgrown the malady and that he was cured. But some habits remained.

  He exercised relentlessly and he maintained rigid control over his lungs and his mind to make certain he never had an attack again.

  And one of those precautions was to stay away from beautiful women who might make him lose his control.

  His friends were all known rakes who had their share of lovers. And Vanity played the part. But he rarely bedded anyone. In fact, it had been years. Ten, if one were keeping track.

  The last time had been at the age of sixteen when he’d nearly asphyxiated. He’d been so lost in the pleasure, he hadn’t felt the attack coming until it was too late.

  He stopped pacing at the front of the church.

  He had to marry at some point. It was a necessity for the title. And, eventually, he’d have to create an heir.

  But preferably not with a woman like Gabriella. She’d strip him of control, his one most essential characteristic.

  The curtain behind which the priest and her father had disappeared, fluttered again. Austin straightened.

  His proposal had been simple enough. He’d offered a small fortune to take the girl off their hands. Apparently, they’d needed a moment to discuss the proposition.

  The priest and Mr. Winston stepped out again and Austin’s jaw tightened.

  “Forgive me, Mr….” The priest’s eyebrows rose in question.

  “Melrose.” They need not know that it was actually the Viscount of Easterly. He’d already seen the father salivating at the sum of money he’d offered. If he threw in a title, they’d insist upon marriage for certain.

  “Mr. Melrose, you have to understand…” The priest gave him a sickly sweet smile. “As leader of my flock, and as the man sanctifying this transaction, we must insist upon an actual marriage. We can’t allow you to just leave with Mr. Winston’s beloved daughter.”

  A muscle in his jaw ticced as he clenched a fist, cracking several knuckles. Beloved, his ass. One glance was all it took to know that Mr. Winston was a man who only loved himself. Austin could see that he might have been handsome once. The cl
othes were of fine quality, unlike his daughter’s. But they were old and worn. “Fine. I’ll add a nice sum to be given to the church.”

  The two men looked at each other again. Austin could see they were considering. Weighing the possibilities.

  “When is this gonna start?” a man called from the front row. “I rode six hours through the night to get here. I want to see the woman already.”

  Male rumbles erupted from behind him.

  Mr. Winston’s eyes lit with an unholy fire. “There’s plenty of other men here. All whom will give my daughter a legitimate life. Once the auctioning starts, you’ll have to outbid them.”

  Austin gave the other man a hard stare. Didn’t Winston know that no man here could outbid him? But then again, the terms of the auction were clear. A marriage would result.

  He looked over at the curtain again, and he saw Gabriella peeking out from behind the drapes, her dark eyes pleading with him. His gaze sliced back over the crowd. Rough, hard men stared back. Or was that his imagination?

  He looked back, noting the slender taper of her fingers about the velvet fabric, the way her teeth caught her lip. He gave his head a shake.

  He didn’t want a wife.

  Certainly not one as tempting as her.

  But as he looked into the dark pools of her eyes, he let out a slow breath. “Marriage it is.”

  Chapter Two

  Gabriella looked down at her worn frock’s frayed hem and dingy fabric. Then she glanced up at the man talking to her father.