To Win a Viscount (Daughters of Amhurst) by Frances Fowlkes

his own agenda to kiss a gentlewoman. He is overstepping the lines of propriety—”
    “As am I.” Albina stalked over to her desk to retrieve the sketchbook and charcoal she kept close on hand for whenever the urge to draw consumed her. She needed a release this morning, a change of topic, a new direction for her thoughts, anything to force her mind off the ginger-haired groom and onto the marquess. The recollection of the marquess’s dark hair and hard, angular jaw always made her smile, as it did now. She simply needed to focus.
    “You cannot continue.”
    Albina glanced up at her sister’s face. “I cannot continue to sketch?”
    “No, continue to meet with the groom,” Sarah said with a sigh of exasperation. “The lessons. Mr. Abbot’s illness. The racing. Well, I don’t like it.”
    “You don’t have to like it. I did not ask for your acquiescence.”
    “No, only my help. Which I refuse to give, should you continue to participate in this madness.”
    Albina’s shoulders lifted with a shrug. “I no longer need your help. I only require the assistance of the groom.”
    “Then I shall report the groom to the earl.”
    Her stick of charcoal snapped as she pressed it against the sketchbook. “You wouldn’t,” Albina hissed. “You would destroy my chances with the marquess.”
    “Chances that are hindered by you kissing another man,” Sarah exclaimed. “Did you not stop to think what would happen should the marquess discover your training methods or how you pay for them? It is indecent. Far more than any ill-conceived tea I may contrive. Should you think our reputation stained now, it will sink farther still if knowledge of your exchanges is made known. I cannot in good conscience allow you to meet with the groom.”
    “Then put it out of your conscience entirely. I have no intention of letting this opportunity slip past me. My future with the marquess is at stake. My very happiness, Sarah. I need to race.”
    Sarah grunted and clenched her fists. “What of the groom? How do you know he will not take further advantage of you? Request more than a kiss? He is not a gentleman.”
    Her sister had a valid point. Albina knew nothing of Mr. White beyond his riding and kissing abilities. While he appeared kind and respectful with the horses, he could be a veritable rake with women. A leech. A man who may, in a few days, desire more than a kiss…
    Her face warmed. Surely he would behave himself.
    Unless… Albina’s heart raced. Unless she wanted him to do more. She rolled her lip between her teeth. He had been less than impressed with her first kiss, of her lips against his. It only made sense, then, that he should instruct her in both riding and kissing. His tutelage was required to make certain she did not disappoint the marquess. Sheer mortification would not begin to describe what she would experience should the marquess find their first kiss less than impressive .
    Which meant she may need practice and instruction in other areas as well. What those areas were, superficially, she did not know. Something told her the groom would know—and would be more than willing to show her.
    Albina flicked her charcoal across the paper, ignoring the way her heart fluttered at the idea of additional instruction with Mr. White. “He is not a gentleman. He is a servant. And one who is under the earl’s employ. Should he act out of bounds, or request anything I do not wish to give, I will report him to his superior.”
    “It is not how little you have to pay, but how much you are willing to give to capture the marquess’s attentions that concerns me. And there is still the matter of Mr. Abbot’s replacement.”
    “I serve as the replacement.”
    “The earl is not a simpleton. Do you honestly believe he will accept you, dressed as some unknown identity, a suitable replacement for his precious Thoroughbreds?”
    “He will if the groom recommends me. Which he will.” Albina spoke with conviction, though she was