Viscount/viscountess Novels & Stories

she said, her voice tinged with concern. Curiosity piqued, I instructed her to show the visitor in. Moments later, a woman with a regal aura entered the room. She exuded an air of confidence and power that immediately caught my attention. Her name was Victoria Lawson, a prominent socialite and philanthropist known for her extravagant parties and influential connections. Victoria took a seat opposite me, her eyes locked with mine. "Anna, I've heard about your recent success at the competition," she began, her voice laced with intrigue. "I have a proposition for you—a challenge, if you will."

He's allergic to it. Crossing the 31st Fort Liberty Bridge, Lissie spit her curiosity aloud. “Who is the woman?” “Her name is Andy Moore, Missus Vistagra.” Kenneth is the only person who told her about the girl's name. She did not expect it. The shock painted a barren image in her mind. Among all the women that could be his mistress, why does it need to be her? Her blood abruptly boiled, and her mind has been poisoned with anguish.

Until it wasn't. Vessa rounded the far corner with two of her personal attendants, dressed in the way that seemed designed to always place her pack house existence in context-that of a goddess presiding over her kingdom. She was speaking to the woman on her left, languidly, her hand moving in a delicate arc as she stressed a point I couldn't hear. I kept walking. At a steady pace, head slightly bowed, body angled slightly away, posture carefully neutral. She lifted her head and our eyes met for one second and I dropped my eyes immediately and kept walking.

EVE I took a deep breath, brushing off the non-existent lint off the long velvet sleeves of my dress, and straightened my shoulders. Grabbing the handle of the door, I pulled it open and walked inside, the smell of coq au vin and calvados hitting my nose and making the hunger that sat in my stomach ten times worse. I then noticed how different the place had looked since the last time I came here, although that had been in the daytime. Beingeam dark out already, the place went from a brunch-time bistro to a candlelit rendezvous for honeymooners.

Her hair was in an elegant updo with jewels around it like a shining hairpiece. Charlotte's lips watered at the riches and splendor pouring from every core of Viscount Lamington and his dear wife. Now, Charlotte knew she didn't want to mess up this chance at all. Viscount Lamington had lots of lands, estates in different countries and owned a lot of art galleries and fine arts as well. Behind Charlotte stood two maids who held trays of freshly baked cookies, and fresh pomegranate juice.

The air inside the top-floor sanctuary was thick, fragrant with the scent of crushed wild roses, rich lavender body oils, and the electric, undeniable musk of total surrender. Valerie Vance lay nestled in the center of the dark crimson silk sheets. Her sheer obsidian robe lay discarded on the floor below, leaving her porcelain skin exposed to the warm air. Her dark hair was sprawled across the velvet pillows in a glossy, dark wave, her dark obsidian eyes glowing with a heavy, unhurried passion. On her right forefinger, the heavy silver signet ring of the Rossi Consigliere caught the warm overhead light, a quiet reminder of her absolute, unchallengeable standing.

I instantly cringed. Mates don’t wear wedding rings. Phanteon didn’t adopt this kind of tradition from the humans. “Oh, he is married ladies and his wife is more than beautiful than all of you combined,” Viscount Daniel reasoned, smirking. “So, what?” The women chorused, not at all offended by this. They didn’t even mind the fact that they were talking to the owner of the cruise they’re in.

she grumbled. Vanessa exchanged glances with me and we burst into laughter while Brooke grumbled some more. "Sorry Brooke. It's not my fault they look nice," I said between laughs. "Well, Brooke isn't completely wrong," Vanny put in. I raised an eyebrow in question. "Let me explain," Brooke said. "Unfortunately, I can't remember the names of the security guy, the gardener and the cleaner but they both look good though the gateman looks like he could have a family. Your cook, what did you say her name is again? Your cook is very lovely. In fact, she's beautiful and also looks like a married woman. If her husband is as fine as she is, then her children must be drop dead gorgeous."

Trying his best to ignore the way his stomach clenched and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, he continued to read through his missives and then the company’s books. Later that evening, a note came from a delivery boy. Marcus quickly paid the lad, and then read. In Gabe’s own handwriting, the note said he hadn’t discovered much information about Viscount Lockwood, except the man was underhanded and deceitful. The bloke had a way with women and seemed to know how to charm widows into giving him money or land. Apparently, the viscount was quite a frequent patron of the gaming tables, too. Although Gabe didn’t know this, what he’d discovered about the viscount was extremely helpful. No

Silence. "Permission to speak, Sir," a woman's clear voice cut through the silence like a hot knife on butter. Every head turned to the source. Resmeia, King Trevino's favorite Trevian, raised her gaze and met the King's victorious smirk, calm and steady. Some of the eyes turned to the King's consort and saw her eyes turn deep black at the sight of her. Resmeia may lack crystal formation in her body, a tell-tale sign of a weak constitution, but her face was as perfect as possible. Having fewer crystals covering her petite form made her seem more appealing to the eyes. The image of her-- softer, smaller, leaner than the average Welkin woman-- was making a fool out of every man in the room.