The Viscount Always Knocks Twice (Heart of Enquiry Book 4) Read Free

observing the revelry around her. Already she could sense the return of the restlessness that had bedeviled her since she was a child. She’d frustrated her scholarly papa to no end with her fidgeting and inability to focus on books and lessons. Unlike her brother Harry, who could work on mathematics problems forever, she felt ready to burst from her skin just moments after her bottom came into contact with a chair.
    Luckily, one of her favorite forms of distraction caught her attention. She followed the tantalizing smells to the queue at the heavily laden buffet table. When it came to her turn, she happily inspected the offerings and took one of everything. She was finishing the last bit of a tasty mince tart when her gaze caught on a gleaming golden spire peeping above a row of potted ferns.
    She headed over to investigate. Entering the ferny grove, she discovered that the spire was in fact the top of a champagne fountain that rose some twelve feet tall. A red-tinted beverage frothed from its three gold-plated tiers, and the bottom reservoir was wide enough to take a bath in.
    Impressed, she went to the side table, exchanging her empty plate for a champagne flute. She was approaching the fountain to fill her glass when a deep masculine voice caused the hairs to prickle on her nape.
    “Miss Kent, I’d like a word.”
    She pivoted, her eyes narrowing when she saw who’d joined her. As usual, Viscount Carlisle emanated an aura of arrogant authority, his booted stance quietly aggressive. Not for the first time, she was struck by the differences between the Murray brothers.
    Whereas Wick resembled a gleaming young Apollo, Carlisle wore his coal-black hair short and possessed a swarthy and rugged mien. Topping six feet, the viscount was far taller than his younger brother and at least three stone heavier, all of it heaped on in uncompromising muscle. And while Wick had a charismatic smile, entertaining all with his rapier wit, Carlisle was more apt to hammer one down with a glowering look.
    He bent at the waist; she returned the courtesy, matching her brusque motion to his.
    “Lord Carlisle.” The syllables rolled off her tongue like an epithet. “Hasn’t anyone told you it isn’t polite to sneak up on others?”
    “Being neither a thief nor a highwayman, Miss Kent, I do not make a practice of sneaking up on anyone. I cannot be blamed if the other is simply not paying attention.”
    Her cheeks heated. It was just like Carlisle to make note of one of her lifelong faults.
    To cover up her embarrassment, she said coldly, “I was about to get something to drink.”
    “I wouldn’t get it there if I were you.”
    Her teeth ground together. She didn’t like being told what to do—and least of all by some pompous prig . Turning her back to him, she marched to the fountain. Just as she held the flute out toward a stream of liquid, a loud belch rumbled from the fountain’s depths. She looked up… and saw a red wave spewing directly over her head. Before she could react, a muscled arm hooked her around the waist, hauling her backward. Champagne splattered on the parqueted floor where she’d been standing but an instant earlier.
    Shock sizzled through her. From the near escape, yes, but more so from the intimate contact with a man’s physique. Although she’d done her fair share of dancing, none of her partners had ever touched her this way before. With her back molded against Carlisle’s front, she felt every inch of his disciplined form: it was like being trapped against a wall of ridged iron.
    She became aware of the warm brush of his breath against her ear, the heat of his surrounding strength. His scent entered her nose, clean and ineffably masculine. Simultaneously, she registered his steely thigh wedged against her bottom. Despite the layers between them, she shivered, a strange hot pulsing at her core. Even though she’d just eaten, pangs gnawed at her lower belly.
    “Let me go,” she managed.
    He released her