League Rule Number 5:
A man's best lover is a spirited lady, but one should treat spirited ladies the way one would a wild horse, with a firm hold and gentle voice.
Excerpt from The Quizzing Glass Gazette, April 21, 1821, The Lady Society Column:
Lady Society is in mourning. The dangerous rakehell Viscount Sheridan has been rendered blind. She cannot help but miss those dark brown eyes that scorched more than one innocent young lady's heart as he watched them from the shadows of a ballroom. Oh, my dear Viscount Sheridan, won't you come out into society again? Lady Society is issuing you a challenge. Do not hide from her, or else she will unearth those secrets you hold most dear.
Perchance there is a lady who might yet tempt your sightless eyes and convince you to live again. Would you not like a woman once more to warm your bed? A woman to tame your wicked heart?
London, April 1821
Using his silver lion's head cane, Cedric, Viscount Sheridan, rapped it harshly against the cobblestones of the winding path in his London townhouse garden as he tried to navigate his way to the fountain. All around him the world was a winter gray. Yet his other senses assured him it was spring. Sunlight warmed his face and arms where he'd rolled up his sleeves. A flower—scented breeze tickled his nose and tousled his hair. Cedric took seven measured steps, counting them in his head.
Seven steps to the center of the garden, then five steps to… He caught the tip of his boot on a raised stone, stumbled and collided with the ground. He stifled a cry as stones bit into his palms and the bones of his knees cracked.
Panting, every muscle tensed, he lay on the ground for a long moment, fighting off the waves of shame and the childish urge to whimper with the pain. His eyesight hadn't been the only thing he'd lost. It seemed sense and balance had abandoned him as well.
Finally he picked himself up, patted the ground around himself to find his cane and rose unsteadily to his feet. He was a grown man of two and thirty—he could and would bear this pain as any well—bred gentleman was expected to.
It was a small mercy none of his servants were around to witness this moment of weakness.
Once more. Five steps to the fountain, he reminded himself, and taking care to lift his feet higher, he avoided any more raised stones. He should know this path by now, as he had walked it a hundred times. Yet he still couldn't see it as clearly in his head as he knew he should. When the tip of his cane rapped lightly on the stone fountain's base, he bent over and reached out to find the ledge and, with a great sigh of relief, sat down.
Every hour of every day, from the moment he rose for the day until he retired to bed, he lived in constant fear of toppling precious family heirlooms, embarrassing himself in front of his friends or family, or worse, causing further damage to his body. It was a cruel twist of fate to have once been a virile man afraid of nothing, and reduced to someone who woke each morning only to remember he was forever trapped in darkness.
Too often in the last few weeks, he'd sat at his desk, head buried in his hands, the heels of his palms pressed deep into his eyes as he tried to bring back the vision he desperately needed.
His despair was too strong, and he couldn't summon the will to care.
Thank God for this garden. Peace, quiet, no one to see him in this state. Moments like this were a blessing. There were no social callers, no awkward visits from people who didn't understand the trials of being blind. Out in his garden, he could exist without worries, without anxiety. The fresh air, warm sun and the sounds of birds and insects made him feel alive again, as much as a broken man could. The temptation to remain outside forever was a strong one, but his hands burned from being scraped raw and he'd have to come inside to sleep and eat.
A bee hummed somewhere to his right, probably skimming the budding flowers. The twitter of birds in a nearby tree teased his ears, filling the silence with a delicate trill that was distinct and clear. He could make out every note, each singular melody and the changes in tempo and pitch as the birds talked to one another.
No more could he focus on the tiny details of sight, like the faces of his sisters and his friends as they laughed and talked, or the way wind would stir the trees into rippling waves of emerald in the summer, or the way a woman's mouth turned that perfect shade of red when kissed by a lover. Sounds, scents and touch were his only companions now. He clung to the sound of Audrey's delicate giggles, and the softness of Horatia's hand when she held his while guiding him around.
The light steps of a footman on gravel disturbed him from his thoughts. The sure—footed steps had to be Benjamin Abbot, one of the older footmen. He'd learned so much about his servants in the last few months. The maids by their voices and the sounds of their skirts, the footmen by their heavier steps. Each servant was unique. It was one of the things he'd learned to value most after losing his sight. He'd always had a good relationship with his servants before, but now he relied on them more than ever.
"There is a young lady here to see you, my lord."
"Oh?" Cedric didn't bother looking in Benjamin's direction. There seemed little point in looking at a person if one could not see them. "Did this lady give you a name?" he asked the footman.
"Miss Chessley. Baron Chessley's daughter," the footman replied.
Cedric drew in a sharp breath.
Anne is here? Why?
He'd been with many women over the years, seducing his way from one bed to the next. But not with Anne Chessley. She was different. She'd intrigued him, resisted him, and challenged him. A veritable ice maiden in her ivory tower, yet each time he caught her eye, for a brief second heat would flare, so bright and hot it made him hungry for her. She was a challenge, and he'd always been one for a good challenge.
