The Viscount Always Knocks Twice (Heart of Enquiry Book 4)
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Authors: Grace Callaway
Tags: #regency historical romance
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The Viscount Always Knocks Twice
© Grace Callaway, 2016
ISBN
: 978-1939537072
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
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A Hoyden’s Prejudice
A spirited and unconventional miss, Violet Kent has a taste for adventure. All she wants is the freedom to be herself—and to not be judged, especially by that stuffed shirt Viscount Carlisle, her best friend Wickham’s older brother. When an impulsive act brings her into scandalous contact with Carlisle, animosity flares, along with shocking, smoldering desire…
A Gentleman’s Pride
A man of duty, Richard Murray, Viscount Carlisle, has always protected his brother Wickham, whose latest trouble involves a debt to a cutthroat. To survive, Wick must marry an heiress; instead he’s distracted by that improper minx Violet Kent. As Richard strives to extricate his brother from Violet’s wiles, the last thing he expects is to find
himself
ensnared by passion…
When Murder Leads to Love
Sparks fly when Violet and Richard are thrown together at a house party. Yet their forbidden passion and blossoming romance are not the only adventures afoot. For a guest is soon discovered dead—and Violet and Richard must join forces to solve the mystery and protect their loved ones… before the murderer strikes again.
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Praise for Grace’s Books
“
Her Husband’s Harlot
is a pleasing, out of the ordinary read.”—
Dear Author
“Erotic historical romance isn’t as plentiful as many would think, but here you have a very well-written example of this genre. It’s entertaining and fun and a darn good read.”—
The Book Binge
“
I devoured this book in a couple of hours!…. If you love a story with a heroine who is a wallflower with a backbone of steel or a damaged hero then you will love this one too.”—5 star review from
Love Romance Passion
on
Her Wanton Wager
“I found this to be an exceptional novel. I recommend it to anyone who wants to get lost in a good book, because I certainly was.”—A Top Pick from
Night Owl Reviews
“I thoroughly enjoyed this story. Grace Callaway is a remarkable writer.”—
Love Romance Passion
on
Her Prodigal Passion
"The depth of the characters was wonderful and I was immediately cheering for both of them."—
Buried Under Romance
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Explore other books by Grace:
HEART OF ENQUIRY
The Widow Vanishes
The Duke Who Knew Too Much
M is for Marquess
The Lady Who Came in from the Cold
The Viscount Always Knocks Twice
Never Say Never to an Earl (Fall 2016)
MAYHEM IN MAYFAIR
Her Husband's Harlot
Her Wanton Wager
Her Protector's Pleasure
Her Prodigal Passion
CHRONICLES OF ABIGAIL JONES
Abigail Jones
Abigail Jones and the Asylum of Secrets (2017)
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Chapter One
At the Yuletide ball, Violet Kent was having the time of her life. She adored dancing, and her favorite partner was her friend Wickham Murray. Nobody spun her like Wick. His turns were so outrageous that, twice so far during the waltz, they’d veered within a hair’s breadth of neighboring dancers before twirling away at the last possible second. Once, they’d actually crashed into a plaster column, laughing uproariously when it teetered.
Dancing was
tip-top
—as much fun as galloping through an open field or playing cricket with the lads back in Chudleigh Crest, the village where she’d lived most of her life. After her beloved papa’s death three years ago, she and her four siblings had moved to London to be near their eldest brother Ambrose. For Vi, the transition to Town had been rocky, but she’d kept her chin up and eventually found a band of merry cronies much like the ones she’d had back home.
The number ended all too soon, and Wick escorted Vi off the dance floor. The fete was a crush, the
crème de la crème
herding into the festively decorated ballroom and grazing on the abundant food and drink. Wick steered her to one of the niches lining the room’s perimeter. From an archway festooned with ivy and holly, she cast a furtive glance around the room; seeing no sign of her chaperoning family members, she expelled a sigh of relief and sank onto the red velvet bench, her butter-yellow skirts settling in a silken swish.
A bit more freedom before the watch comes looking
, she thought.
Wick sat beside her and stretched out his long legs. “Fancy some lemonade or punch?”
“What I’d truly like is another dance,” Vi said wistfully.
As always after physical activity, she felt at home in her own skin. Her heart pumped pleasantly; her mind—which her exasperated papa had compared to a frog leaping about on hot coals—was calm and clear. “But Emma will have my head if you and I dance for a third time. Of late, my sister has become an authority on proprieties.”
“I suppose that’s part and parcel of being a duchess?” Wick’s hazel eyes twinkled.
Vi didn’t bother to stifle a snort. “Seeing as Emma wed the most notorious rake in all of London, I fail to see how she’s suddenly an expert on proper behavior.”
At present, Violet resided with her eldest sister Emma and brother-in-law, the Duke of Strathaven, and she loved them both. Yet ever since Em had given birth to Olivia, she’d become even more of a mother hen—and she’d always been broody, having raised her younger siblings after their mama’s death almost a dozen years ago. At present, Em fussed over Vi as if she were the same age as Olivia rather than the mature age of two-and-twenty.
“You’re no longer in Chudleigh Crest,” Emma would lecture. “Here in London, your tomboyish antics will land you in the suds. I’m not saying you need to change completely… but can’t you curb your instincts a little, Vi? For your own good?”
Easier said than done
, Vi thought ruefully. She tried, she really did, but curbing her instincts was like stopping the flow of the Thames. An impossible task.
There was no denying that she was the eccentric one in her family… which was saying
a lot.
As unconventional as her siblings might be, however, none of them had Violet’s history of getting into scrapes. She didn’t
mean
to fall from high perches (trees, fences, horses, et cetera), hit unintentional targets during slingshot practice (Tabitha, Em’s cat, still held a grudge), or blurt out inappropriate things, yet trouble had a way of finding her.
Vi had learned to live with her own shortcomings. Whenever she did something mortifying without thinking, she’d learned to laugh and shrug the whole thing off. She simply kept her chin up and carried on. The last thing she wanted was for others—especially her family—to witness her embarrassment or hurt.
She’d never been a watering pot or one to wear her feelings on her sleeve. Pulling herself up by the slipper laces was her preferred strategy and one that she’d had to employ frequently since her three eldest siblings had all married titles, plopping the middling class Kents in the midst of the
ton
. In Society, one was expected to follow rules—a skill Vi could not claim as her forte. At times, she fancied herself an explorer in an exotic jungle, hopping from foot to foot to avoid the steaming pits of Scandal and Ruin.
“All older siblings are experts. Or, rather,” Wick said with a touch of aspersion, “they
think
they are. My brother Carlisle being a case in point.”
At the mention of Viscount Carlisle, anger ignited in Violet’s chest, her gloved fingers curling in her lap. Typically, she didn’t take offense easily and let bygones be bygones. But Wick’s older brother had earned her hostility fair and square.
At a ball last month, the high and mighty viscount had been overheard making disparaging remarks about her, his callous words becoming fodder for gossip. Being fair-minded, Violet could understand if she’d actually done him wrong, but she and Carlisle had met only once before and briefly at that. She’d done
nothing
to deserve his scorn.
“I still haven’t forgiven Carlisle for what he said about you.” Wick ran a hand through his windswept brown locks, his ornate signet ring burnished by the light of the chandeliers. “Will you accept my apology on his behalf?”
Although Vi had no intention of forgiving Carlisle, she didn’t want to place her friend in an awkward position. Wick complained frequently about Carlisle… but family was family, after all, and she didn’t want to add to the tension between the brothers. Being a Kent, she understood loyalty and the importance of kin.
Sighing, she said, “You don’t have to apologize, Wick.
You
didn’t say anything.”
“But I feel responsible for my brother’s rudeness. Ever since he lost the family fortune, he’s been an ill-tempered tyrant.” Wick’s mouth took on a sullen edge. “If he had his way, I’d spend every waking moment heiress hunting. Can you believe he wants me to court the likes of Miss Turbett?”
“What’s wrong with Miss Turbett?”
“Her name sounds like a fish. And she looks like one, too.”