Viscount Bridgerton の小説・ストーリー

Outside. Currently, the average looking man was tailing his target for the evening, a man in his late 50's who was currently being accompanied by a young woman who appeared to be in her late 20's and a few armed guards at a distance to give the couple some space. His name is Lord Stevens Von Earshire and he is a Viscount for this country. The man was following these people at a distance to keep them from picking up on his trail while thinking about the events that lead to him even being in that mansion that night. '.....If only I didn't owe him that favor, I wouldn't have been forced to do this crap job.'

He’s been great company, handsome and manly too, in a way that makes me doubt his age of twenty-five sometimes, but it’s never been more than that. I’ve had casual dates, too many to count in the last year, but nothing substantial and real enough to last past the initial date. I’ve been too busy between school and crossing things off my bucket list to pursue romantics, anyway. I was good. I really was. Until I stumbled upon news of the Viscontis in spring. Rumors swelling around the recently divorced billionaire seen on multiple occasions with a heiress from a wealthy American family, and talks of a possible marriage.

the voice said grabbing their attention, the two alphas had looked over to see a figure that was under the rain, her head tilted to the sky, she just let the rain pour, her body was already soaked, her clothes shrunken and hugged the right places accentuating her figure and beauty, almost see through, her pale skin with no blemish nor even a bite mark to show she was claimed and was mated The viscount was frozen, he was shocked, never in his life had he seen an unparalleled beauty that could make him question his own sanity, she had then turned to the maid who had run forward with a large towel, wrapping it around her, The princess felt eyes were on her, she looked up to see four pairs befor

It’s hard to just keep walking when they are asking questions about the trials and today’s verdict and Alex stops to speak to try and direct attention to the wonderful charity work, we are here to support instead. This doesn’t stop them so we carry on ignoring them and glide on inside. We are greeted by Lady Veren and Viscount Roland. When he sees me walk in his face goes from politely bored to excited. He looks me up and down in my dress and I would be a liar if I said I wasn’t a little turned on from the heat in his eyes while he looks at me and the slow, sexy smile that speads across his face. I have to remind myself why I am turning this man down. I need maybe a cold glass of water, or a

Gee, a viscount would be just fine. She’d missed out marquesses, but Clare didn’t correct her. ‘Viscount Bonmouth. Created 1781.’ ‘Five years after the start of the War of Independence,’ Bridget said in an awed tone. ‘Yes. He’s a friend of mine. He’s got a house in London and a country estate in Hertfordshire. I’m sure I could wangle an invitation to dinner.’ ‘Gee, I'd be real honoured.’ Clare appeared to have scored a gold star, several gold stars. ‘I’m seeing him tonight. I'll ask.’ She was trapped. There was no going back now. She'd just have to delay the inevitable. She felt bad about that, but not that bad.

I had pictured Marquess Montclair to be a black haired devil with a mischievous smile. Moreover, that was exactly how his friend, Viscount of Bart, Viscount Neville looked; his black hair was brushed- or gelled-, to perfection, no single strand out of places, his lips curved in a mischievous tilt as he appeared to listen with rapturous attention to what Abigail was saying to a small group of the crowd around the table, him included. But as I moved around replaying glasses and plates, I noticed that his eyes kept wandering down her cleavage. Despicable, I concluded.

Lord Griffin Blackwood-Carter, Viscount Torrington, the future 10th Duke of Richmond, stood before her, with enough tension emanating from his body to fire a rocket to the moon. “Oh… Griffin,” she breathed unnecessarily, her mind at once accepting that he was the most sublimely handsome male she had ever seen and rejecting that fact at the same time.

Crystal still looked at her target without taking her eyes off, she watched the whole process of the waiter giving it to him, and him receiving it and opening the piece of paper. But before she could meet his eyes, an unwanted person blocked her view. Crystal, slowly looked up at the person that blocked her view and the faint smile that was on her face was nowhere to be found again, "Weren't you supposed to come up to me as soon as you arrived here?" The so-called fiancee of hers walked over as Crystal sighed. "Can you at least move out of my way... You are blocking my view." She glared at him and tried to look over his shoulder but he blocked her yet again.

His arm wrapped around my waist protectively. “Sit down, babe. I got this,” he whispered. I nodded silently, sinking back onto the bed. “How may we help you?” he asked Charlotte with a frown already forming on his face. She winked at him — actually winked — like I wasn’t sitting right there, like she still had some claim over him. But Adrian didn’t even blink. He stared at her with such coldness that I almost smiled. “Uhmm,” she began, biting her lower lip, “I’m looking for my necklace.”

Elizabeth can't help but imagine what he might be like based on the painting and the aura it portrays. She envisions Mr. Dominic Bradford as a refined gentleman, exuding an air of authority and sophistication. Perhaps he possesses a commanding presence, with a strong jawline and piercing eyes that reveal a keen intellect. She imagines him to be impeccably dressed at all times, his demeanor exuding confidence and grace. However, Elizabeth also recognizes that appearances can be deceiving, and she acknowledges the need to reserve judgment until she has the opportunity to meet Mr. Bradford in person. She realizes that her role as a maid will provide her with insights into his character and pref