THE VISCOUNT TO AVOID

  ALL THAT GLITTERS

  TAMMY ANDRESEN

  Copyright © 2024 by Tammy Andresen

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  CONTENTS

  The Viscount to Avoid

  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

  Epilogue

  Keeper of Secrets

  Keeper of Secrets

  About the Author

  Other Titles by Tammy

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  www.tammyandresen.com

  Hugs!

  THE VISCOUNT TO AVOID

  TAMMY ANDRESEN

  What if this princess didn’t wish to leave her tower?

  Fern has always enjoyed being alone, tucked away from the rest of the world. People have a way of disappointing her.

  But when a viscount knocks at her door, he makes her an offer she can hardly refuse…. Help him gain revenge on her evil stepsister, the very one who chased her into the tower, and he’ll give her the means to pursue any future Fern wishes.

  It’s the perfect solution except for one detail. Leaving her tower means facing the demons of her past. And as attraction crackles between her and her new partner, the viscount with a vendetta of his own and a million reasons to double cross her, she has to decide, is the adventure worth the risk?

  And what if all her reasons for hiding away from the world turn out to be exactly right?

  There is only one way to find out.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The bell by the door rang. Fern’s head snapped up as the sound pulled her from the book she was reading.

  Who could be here and why had they come?

  This wasn’t her weekly delivery of food, that had been yesterday.

  And her sister had made her bimonthly visit, scheduled Fern might add, just three days ago. Despite living on the same property and considering her sister to be her best friend out of necessity and choice, Fern preferred time to herself. So who…who would be ringing at her door?

  Rather than answer, she crossed to the window peering out, her long hair streaming out the third story window as she peered around the curve of the tower to see the locked door below.

  At least for the summer, she moved from her sister and her husband’s large estate to an outbuilding on the property. This tower had likely been attached to an old monastery, the ruins and foundation of the building still strewn about the lawn. But the tower had remained.

  Tucked in the woods, and unknown even to Fern until recently, it was the perfect hideaway.

  Some repairs had taken place, enough that the stairs were usable and the main living area clean. It was too drafty to stay for the winter, but for the summer…

  She’d needed a bit of healing. Time to herself. After living under her stepmother’s tyranny and her father’s death, she just wanted to collect herself and perhaps work through some of the anger that remained.

  And decide what she wished her place in this world to be. That was the most important part. Did she wish to rejoin the world? Would the world have her if she did?

  Her brother in-law, the Earl of Sanbridge, stood at the door, a missive in his hand. Drat. Correspondence rarely meant good news.

  Nor did an unannounced visit. “Eric.” She waved from her window, hoping that he could deliver the news quickly and without a formal visit. She was in the middle of an excellent chapter of her recent most read.

  A mystery titled, House of Whispers, the story was about a young heiress who inherited a home that she lived in alone. A detail Fern could really relate to, until strange events began occurring in and about the fictional house, including several deaths.

  “Fern,” Eric replied with a smile. “Would you do me the kindness of unlocking the door?”

  “Must I?” she asked, knowing she was acting like a petulant child. Eric was the best of men and a wonderful husband to her sister. What was more, he’d saved both her and Ella from a horrid future and Fern would be forever grateful. She’d just prefer to show her gratitude from a distance.

  Eric let out an easy chuckle. “Fern.”

  “Coming…” she sighed, leaving her window and making her way down the winding wooden steps that led to the bolted door. The air grew cooler as she moved lower, a dampness clinging to her skin as she reached the ground level and turned the heavy lock to yank the door open.

  Even the tower didn’t want to let anyone in, the door having swollen in its frame.

  But it finally gave and stepping back, she swept her hand for Eric to enter.

  Tall, dark haired, and extremely handsome, Eric was the dark to her sister Ella’s light. She and Fern shared the same blonde hair, same blue eyes.

  But where Ella was effervescent and outgoing, Fern was broody and quiet.

  Eric closed the door and then gestured for her to return up the stairs first. She led the way, breathing easier as she entered her tower room.

  Her bed, a simple mattress and rope frame, was pushed against one curved wall, stacks of books next to it for easy access.

  A small stove had been installed for cold nights, which doubled as a surface to cook on, and two chairs sat on one side, small enough to fit up the stairs and just right for her.

  Eric took one, looking ridiculously large in the slender piece of furniture.

  “You’re eating well, I see,” he said as he attempted to settle into the seat, shifting several times to get comfortable.

  “What makes you say that?” she asked, taking the seat next to him.

  “You’ve put on some weight. You and Ella were both so thin before…” He tapered off as Fern remembered how her stepmother would starve them as punishment. It was a reminder of how horrid her life had been, but also of just how much Eric had done for her.

  “I suppose I have.” She curled into the chair, tucking her feet under her. “I know I have you to thank for that.”

  He waved his hand, even as he stood, abandoning the chair and crossing to the stove. He opened the door and stoked the fire then set the kettle on the burner above.

  Which was so Eric. Ever kind. “I could have made you tea,” she said. “My apologies for not offering.”

  He gave her another of his charming smiles. “It’s quite all right. I don’t fit in that chair, and I’d rather be moving anyway.”

  Eric was so pleasant, it was easy to forget that he’d likely come here for a purpose. “Tell me, dear brother, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

  He laughed again. “We both know you are not pleased to see me.”

  She shook her head. “I am always pleased to see you. You might be the most likable person in all of England.”

  “Thank you,” he said with a wink, pulling down to mugs from the shelf and placing the tea leaves in the pot for steeping.

  “What I am less enamored with is whatever business has brought you here. I’m certain I won’t like it.”

  He shook his head, pouring the hot water from the kettle into the steeping pot. “You’re right. You won’t.”

  Her stomach clenched as he fetched the dish that held the cubes of sugar and staring down at the pot as though watching it would make it steep faster.

  “Just tell me.” She brought a hand up to massage her forehead.

  “You remember Miss Emily Cranston? She attended our wedding.”

  “Of course,” Fern said, her hand dropping. She’d liked Emily immensely. She’d been so kind. She’d reminded Fern that not every person within the elite class was a conniving witch. Only most of them.

  “Her brother has finally returned home,” Eric murmured. “And he’s coming here to pay his respects.”

  “Respects?” Fern asked, her spine straightening with suspicion. “For what?”

  “I don’t rightly know,” Eric confirmed. “But as he is a viscount and part of our inner circle of friends, I’d like for you to return to the main house for the duration of his stay.”

  She grimaced. She didn’t want to go to the main house. She was happy here. But Eric had indulged her in nearly every request she’d made since becoming her benefactor and she had no right to refuse him. Still, she tried. “Must I really? I’ve so many more volumes to read.”

  “Fern Cartwright.” A touch of sternness crept into his voice. “You can’t completely retreat from the world. We’re going to London for the next season, and as the sister of a countess, I still expect you to participate.”

  Eric had this silly notion that they needed to be seen amongst the ton after the way their stepmother had hidden them away from all of society for the past ten years. Even worse, he’d intimated she ought to allow men to court her. How did she even begin to explain to her wonderful brother-in-law that neither society, nor individual lords were likely to want her? Years of living in solitude, away from society, had made her sharp-tongued and rather un
ladylike.

  “Eager to marry me off?” she asked.

  He snorted, giving her a glare. “You know that isn’t true. You’re welcome to stay with us forever. I’m just not certain that’s what would make you happy.”

  She drew in a deep breath, calming the panic clawing its way up her throat. Being worried didn’t give her the right to be mean to Eric or to make that accusation. Eric wanted her to have all the options in the world that were available to her. The problem was, she didn’t want them. She’d be happiest just living in this tower forever.

  “Fine. I’ll come to the house for his visit. When does he arrive?”

  “The day after tomorrow. He’ll be here for a week.”

  Her tongue clicked against the back of her teeth. An entire week of conversation and lawn games, and lengthy boring dinners.

  How dreadful.

  Ash drew in a deep gulp of fresh summer air while slowing his horse as he made his way to the Earl of Sanbridge’s estate.

  He’d been lucky that it hadn’t rained in the three days it had taken him to make the trip, though he would have happily gotten soaked rather than ride in a carriage. Couldn’t stand the bloody things anymore.

  It was one of many changes his life had taken on in recent months. Changes he hoped to correct shortly…

  Funny how life moved in tight circles, players drawn together by happenstance and fate.

  How odd was it that the very villains who’d held him captive for ten months were related to the earl and his new wife? People who had met Ash’s sister, people who would willingly open their home to Ash.

  Staying in their estate was very convenient, indeed. Ash swiped a hand through his recently shorn hair, kicking his horse a bit faster.

  He’d left over a year ago for a four-month tour of Europe. But just as he’d been about to come home, his tour over, a group of men had attacked him on the docks in France. They’d knocked him out, stuffed a bag over his head, and loaded him on a ship. He’d awoken in a tiny closet where he’d barely fit.

  And though he hadn’t been beaten, and hadn’t been harmed, he’d gone slowly mad in that tiny space without reprieve.

  The first few weeks had been a blur but then…he’d begun to listen, to mark the days, to collect information. A difficult endeavor when one was fed intermittently from a tray stuffed under the crack in the door.

  Ash had begun to wonder if he’d ever be released and then one day, after nearly six months, the door had opened.

  He’d immediately been knocked out and then awoken to find himself on the docks of London.

  Thin and weak, he’d rushed to his family home only to discover that his parents were dead, and his sister gone.

  Panic had filled him. Weak after months of starvation and confinement, he’d attempted to take a carriage to his sister’s side, only to find that he couldn’t tolerate the bloody thing. Instead, he’d climbed on a horse and arrived just in time to watch Emily wed his childhood best friend.

  Jake had taken on Emily’s care after the death of his parents and had ended up marrying Ash’s sister.

  Which was wonderful, after one got over the shock.

  He was happy that his sister had found love and that his friend had cared for her when she’d been her most vulnerable.

  And as much as he had a viscountcy he needed to learn to run, not having Emily to care for meant that he was free to search out what he most desired…revenge.

  And with his mind clear, he’d set down to write all the details he’d overheard through the tiny window in his below deck closet.

  The name of the ship had been Windswept and its captain, Jack. What was more, for part of the journey, Jack had taken a lover. He’d heard her on deck and below. Her name…Melisandre.

  The crew didn’t like her. They’d called her Princess and Lady the way most men said curses, with rough hard voices.

  But she’d brought them several items, the sale of which had meant they tolerated her. And Jack…

  Jack had plans to wed her. Daughter of an earl…Ash had heard murmured about the crew.

  He didn’t know what either of them looked like, but he learned that Melisandre had once been the stepdaughter of the Earl of Sanbridge.

  Jack was harder. Likely because Captain Jack wasn’t his real name. And then the man had gone and married Melisandre and so both were now protected by a new name, whatever Jack’s real name was, and that meant that Ashton didn’t know how to find either of them.

  But he would. And when he did, he’d finally learn why they’d done what they did and then Ash would see them punished for their crimes.

  Lucky for him, he knew people who knew Melisandre and one way or the other he was going to track the couple down and then Jack would pay for what he’d done to Ash.

  A looming home rose above the trees, its spires and peaks out of a fairytale as a river wound its way around the property.

  It looked idyllic, and for the briefest moment, a pang filled his chest to know he was coming here to disrupt that perfection but then he waved his hand. Nothing was ever as it appeared.

  Not even himself…

  CHAPTER TWO

  Fern stood on the stairs, pressing out the skirts of her gown as a lone horseman made his way up the drive.

  Frowning, she looked down at herself, wishing she’d worn something else.

  Ella had chosen the gown.

  When Eric had proposed to Ella, and their stepmother’s and stepsister’s crimes had been revealed, Ella had confiscated their stepsister Melisandre’s massive collection of dresses.

  Melisandre had managed to escape with a few of her precious items, all of which had been purchased by their father. Their stepsister’s shopping habit was part of the reason the earldom had gone into such debt. Fortunately for them, many of the items remained and some of them had been sold to help repay the massive debts left behind.

  Only a few of items of value remained. The ones that did were either of exceptional value or had some sentimental pull for Fern and Ella.

  They might have been able to sell the gowns too, but Fern and Ella had been dressed in near rags. And Melisandre had possessed a queen’s collection of clothes. And so they’d taken the gowns for themselves.

  For Ella, Fern suspected, reusing Melisandre’s dresses was its own form of revenge. And Fern could understand. Not only did it save them money, but it also robbed Melisandre as she and Ella altered the gowns to fit themselves. Despite all of that, she hated the frocks. They were another reminder of the past, the one she was trying so hard to escape and feared she might never succeed.

  And so, wearing a gown she knew had belonged to her stepsister…

  She tugged at the fabric, wishing she could rip the fabric to shreds. Pale blue muslin, it would likely tear easily.

  Ella had insisted that the color would highlight Fern’s eyes. But she thought the dress might underscore her inner rage most. And the fact that she’d accomplished nothing on her own. Not even dressing herself.

  Her fists had clenched the skirts, and she very slowly unfurled her fingers, smoothing the fabric as their guest stopped his horse in front of the stairs.

  His rich brown hair was the first feature that Fern noted, the color warm and friendly. His eyes were next…

  Also a dark brown, they had warmth to the color that wasn’t matched by his expression. Every line of his face was etched into hardness.

  Only accentuated by the fact that he was exceedingly thin. Was he ill?

  It was odd for any person of the peerage to be that underweight. She and Ella had been, but that had been because of forced abuse.

  He swung down from his horse, his body lithe and fluid as he turned toward them. Despite his thin features, his was still a handsome man, his jaw square, his cheekbones adding a ruggedness to his face.