A Diamond in the Rough (v1.1) by Andrea Pickens Page B

backside full of buckshot. His friend was right. It would be unforgivably rude to spurn this generous show of hospitality by the local gentry, but as his gaze swept over the assembled guests, he found both his manners and his patience close to deserting him. Spotting several large botanical prints that promised to be of more interest than any of the people present, he made his way over to the quiet nook where they hung. Though the plants were a rather obscure native variety with which he was unfamiliar, and the quality of the line and colors unusually fine, they failed to lift his spirits for more than a brief moment before his mind strayed back to what had him in such an unsettled mood.
    That this unexpected wager had turned his meticulous, well-ordered life on its ear still rubbed him raw. He had worked so hard to avoid being at the mercy of chance, and yet despite all his careful planning, his future was to be decided by something just as serendipitous as the turn of a card. His mouth quirked at the bitter irony of it. The odds of emerging a winner certainly seemed stacked against him. Perhaps it would have been better had the match with Hertford been scheduled right away rather than in several weeks. That way, he thought with a tightening of his jaw, his defeat would have been mercifully swift, instead of having to endure this tortuous round of small humiliations. Why, even this afternoon, a mere lad had shown him to be hardly more than a fool, and an arrogant one at that—
    “Lord Marquand?”
    His head jerked around from the gilt frame.
    “I fear the mere mention of winged targets makes our host fly into a description of the joys of hunting in the Highlands which even a devoted marksman might find trying.” A tall, rather gaunt gentleman whose receding silver hair only accentuated his long, narrow face and beaked nose peered at the Viscount through a pair of
    silver-rimmed spectacles with a faintly bemused expression. “I hope he has not left you feeling too neglected?” Marquand managed a civil reply.
    The other man stole a glance at the engravings that the Viscount had been studying. “Have you an interest in botany, my lord?”
    He merely shrugged.
    The fellow did not seem undeterred by the lack of an answer. “I am Mr. Walter Kildare, professor of literature at the University and a cousin of our host. Since he is occupied in regaling your friend with yet another hunting story, perhaps you would permit me to introduce you to some of our other guests?”
    “Of course.” Marquand turned away from the pictures and tried to look as if it were not he who was feeling like a stalked creature.
    Several other faculty members were brought forward, along with the rector of United College. Kildare’s dark hazel eyes then took on a decided twinkle on reaching for the hand of the next person “Ah, in case you were beginning to think us a sadly misogynous group, please allow me to present Mrs. Edwards, widow of one of our esteemed colleagues and a lady whose tireless efforts on behalf of those in the local orphanage are much admired by all of us.”
    The Viscount expected someone of ascetic mien, without an extra ounce of good humor or joviality to her thin frame, so his eyes betrayed a flicker of surprise on being presented. The older lady’s graying hair and modest attire could not dull the fact that she had been a rare beauty in her day. Even now, her porcelain skin and generous curves would have drawn a glance of admiration from many a gentleman—and from the stealthy looks cast by her surrounding company, it still did.
    “Lord Marquand.” She gave a playful smile as she dipped a graceful curtsy. “Let me add my voice to that of Mr. Kildare in assuring you that not all Scots are quite as bloodthirsty as our host.”
    Ha! Her words brought to mind his combative caddie, who had looked ready to knock his head off with a baffing spoon only hours earlier. Still, the obvious dry humor in her tone caused his own lips