The Viscount and The Vicar's Daughter

THE VISCOUNTANDTHE VICAR’S Daughter MEARA PLATT Copyright © 2023 Myra Platt Kindle Edition Cover Design by Dar Albert This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional. ISBN 13: 978-1-945767-16-6 TABLE OF CONTENTS Title Page Copyright Page Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Epilogue Author’s Note Sneak Peek from A Duke for Adela Free Novella Also by Meara Platt About the Author CHAPTER 1 Ardley, England June, 1823 ALEXANDER DAYNE, THIRD Viscount Ardley, emitted a roar as someone dumped a pail of cold water over him while he lay flat on his back in…where in blazes was he? Blast. He was beside the vicarage house of St. Martin’s Church again. He coughed and sputtered, trying to clear his fogged brain as he sat up with a groan and raked his hands through his hair to brush back the strands that had fallen over his eyes. When he looked up, all he saw was the lavender sky of breaking dawn, the golden sun burning through the last tendrils of mist and clouds, and the highly irritating Miss Viola Ruskin casting her slender shadow over him. Her presence boded no good for him, but at least her lithe, little body shaded him from the glare of the early morning light as she hovered close. “Do you have a death wish, Miss Ruskin?” “No, my lord. But obviously, you do,” she said, her voice as soft and lovely as a summer breeze despite her irritation. He wiped the last of the droplets from his eyes and glowered at the pretty perpetrator who happened to be the local vicar’s daughter. She was also known as the Ardley Angel, not only for her good deeds but also for her exquisite looks. However, she was quickly becoming the devil’s bane of his existence. “What have you to say for yourself?” she asked in a schoolmistress voice that sounded surprisingly gentle to his ears because there really was no evil in this girl, just an irritating primness that he, much to his horror, was finding quite to his liking lately. Her stunning, brandy-colored eyes were ablaze as she shook her head in disapproval. A lock of her dark brown hair had fallen over her forehead and her cheeks were flushed as though she had just exerted herself. “Need I remind you that I am a grown man and do not need you to act as my mother.” But he sank back onto the soft grass and groaned again, for the sky and ground seemed to be spinning around him and tossing him off balance. “Did you move me off the roadway?” “Yes, my lord. It is the third time this week.” It galled him to be obliged to the girl, but he hadn’t sunk quite so low yet as to deny she had now saved his hide more than once. For a sprite of a girl to drag his big body safely aside was no small feat. “Thank you.” She knelt beside him and put a delicate hand on his shoulder. “I do not need your gratitude. What we all need is for you to come to your senses and behave in accordance with the honor of your title.” Behave? Other than drink himself into oblivion, he thought he had held himself together fairly well in the two years since his world fell apart. Hardly misbehaved at all. Which probably explained why he was noticing Miss Ruskin’s lush, pink lips within dangerously close reach of his. They were incredibly attractive lips even when pursed, for she had a lovely, generous mouth. Her bosom was also generous. She must have noticed the lowering direction of his stare and gave him a disrespectful shove before scrambling back to her feet. “This is exactly what I mean.” He rolled to his feet, ignoring the jolt of pain that shot into his skull as he did so, and took hold of her hand before she could storm away. “If I wish to drink myself into a stupor every night, that is my business and none of yours.” The impertinent sprite was not in the least intimidated by him even though he now stood a full head taller than her modest height. She wasn’t small, but of average height, and yet there was something in her appearance that reminded him of a kitten, something small and worthy of a cuddle. He was not about to cuddle this pillar of innocence as she stood there tossing daggers at him with her eyes. “None of my business?” She gave a huff that raised her chest magnificently. “It is entirely my business when you insist on passing out in front of the vicarage like some destitute vagrant for all the parishioners to see.” He did not care what he looked like. It was the way she looked that troubled him, so much beauty wrapped up in so much innocence. He groaned inwardly, irritated he had been studying her and inexplicably finding her irresistible. This wasn’t like him at all. Why her? And why now? “There is no danger of your father’s parishioners seeing me. It is early yet, not much past dawn if the glint of sunlight is any indication. You are the only one out here at this hour.” “Fortunately for you. But you may not be so fortunate next time.” She shook her head and emitted a sigh of exasperation. “You are Viscount Ardley, lord of the big manor overlooking our small enclave. Most of the villagers are dependent on you for their livelihoods. How do you think they would feel if they were to see you passed out in a ditch? Well,