The Science of Romance

By Sophia S. Sterling

When Christian St. John, the tenth Viscount of Surrey was instructed to host a dinner party by his mother for her guests, he never thought it would entail a shameless hypocrite that would awake his sleeping Johnson. Absent from any interaction with the stronger sex save for those in his family by blood or marriage. Christian was not prepared for the likes of Lady Sierra Leone Elizabeth Montgomery Evert John as she stepped into his life, wreaking havoc in her wake.
Too old, too rich and set in her ways, Lady John could do as she pleased. With wealth, name, and power at her beck and call, she did not have to abide any that did not want her in their presences. Lady John knew some might not think of her as a peer of the realm, even though her family’s name and lineage are connected with kings from around Europe. Furthermore, everyone in her family knew there were a few ancestors that wed and breed women of other races to muddy their gene, but she did not care one wit.
For she was bold enough to claim all that was given to her by her forefather’s and father. Nonetheless, Lady John would have never considered anyone or anything could rile her perfect composure. Despite being perpetually thrown into the loop of a certain Viscount with his salt and pepper hair and his vociferous vocals. She did not mind his angry handsome face or that he incessantly irked her poised nature at times. But what she could not abide was the intense flipping emotions she had towards the loud, annoying ass of an old Viscount.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sophia S. Sterling
• Release date: Jun 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9789769598225

Book preview

The Science of Romance

When Christian St. John, the tenth Viscount of Surrey was instructed to host a dinner party by his mother for her guests, he never thought it would entail a shameless hypocrite that would awake his sleeping Johnson. Absent from any interaction with the stronger sex save for those in his family by blood or marriage. Christian was not prepared for the likes of Lady Sierra Leone Elizabeth Montgomery Evert John, as she stepped into his life, wreaking havoc in her wake.

Too old, too rich, and set in her ways, Lady John could do as she pleased. With wealth, name, and power at her beck and call, she did not have to abide by any that did not want her in their presence. Lady John knew some might not think of her as a peer of the realm, even though her family’s name and lineage are connected with kings from around Europe. Furthermore, everyone in her family knew there were a few ancestors that wed and bred women of other races to muddy their genes, but she did not care one wit.

For she was bold enough to claim all that was given to her by her mother and forefathers. Nonetheless, Lady John would have never considered anyone or anything that could rile her perfect composure.

Yet she was perpetually thrown into the loop of a certain Viscount, with his salt and pepper hair and his raucous tone. She did not mind his angry handsome face, or that he incessantly irked her poised nature at times. But what she could not abide was the intense bloody cravings she had towards the loud, annoying ass of an archaic Viscount.

Chapter 1

Surrey England - 1869

I’ve always hated the fact that I was a woman to some degree. A point that could not be hidden by my massive breast and feminine visage. However, I’ve always loved the epoch that God and my mother produced me, where women were bellowing madly for equal rights. I was also honored that my family was considered an eccentric horde. We’re considered extraordinary with money and muscle. And you cannot fight money or brawn, however avant-garde and enigmatic the package it came from.

My mother Lady Margareta Evert John, Marley by those who were close to her, told me for the thousandth time in her charming way, You have too many theories, and I should write it all down.

When I consider the number of years of being advised to write my thoughts down, I heeded her words. And when I started, I wrote a book and another, and now I was a writer of verses. Just by the share will of her utterances. My mother was a force to tussle with.

It was by her share will that I was compelled to attend, yet another dinner with one of her dear, dear close friends, not mines. I adored my mother to pieces and would never truly consider opposing her for anything. But, when I was summoned by her to attend any function, she cast my way, I knew some fish she was baiting to hook me amongst.

You see, I was past the age to give her grandbabies or a son-in-law, but she never gave up on me with her hopes. Yet I knew the reality of who I was and where I came from. I was sort after by the weaker sex to fill their fantasies of romance on paper. And the so-called stronger sex to make theirs into reality, if they could just catch me with their silver tongues.

Nevertheless, I was brought up with such strong-willed women, that men sometimes bow and break to my will. And when they saw the ground before them, they would depart enraged that I toyed with them, when I became matured and sagacious.

The last silver tongue made my skin crawl, and the meals I had eaten days gone by to resurface in my mouth. And my imposing grandmother on my mother’s side would forever say such things like, I had a wicked, dirty streak in me, and she would love to cut it out. Then she would embrace me when I glared at her hatefully, with the same hue of eyes she had.

My grandparents all had something to say of a wise adage. The John women, my grandfather would state, were the Devil's bliss that the angels miss. His tongue was silver you see.

For the summons to my mother’s friend dinner. I was told to dress to catch an eye, which was strike one. Alas, I wished not to catch any eye. I was also informed, Her friend loved my books, strike two. For women, their age honestly could not have feelings under their umbilicus, so I was trapped to smile and answer all and any questions to my mother’s companions.

I was not young as I said, I am a season thirty-seven-year-old maid, with free will all John women were granted. When others curtsy to show cleavage to gain the attention of silver tongues for the security of a home, I wrote a bank draft and traveled where my fancy led me. And most time, it landed me in trouble. Hence, I was somewhat cast about by a few. No, I cannot lie to myself, I am shunned by many, but they adored my money and power. So, even then, I was welcomed by all.

Looking around the impressive library in a country home in Yorkshire, I was amazed that my mother knew someone with more than a dozen books. For you see, books made me giddy, and there were thousands of books crammed in every corner. Tomes that were written by the Greeks, Chinese, Japanese philosophers, and all sorts of scholars.

Of a few female avant-garde fables and their experience, plays, and poetry. You could have named almost any book, and this library would procure it. I was in my written heaven, and my mother knew I would love to stay and visit the books than her friend.

As I stood staring at a ghostlike image of a window holding a book to my bosom, I felt a tad regretful of what I was doing. I would much rather be home writing, instead of waiting to speak or listen to anyone.

Therefore, I came up with a plan to end my evening expeditiously. Anyone inspecting me would have said I was a thespian. With my short untidy wig haphazardly on my head, plain brown wool dress with holes, I took from a shelter and my caked boots. If whomever, my mother desired to latch me to, could not see the mere fact that my boot was mud-covered without a drop of rain for weeks, and not question that simple detail.

He was indeed devotedly a blind fool.

I made myself up quite well too, with my face smudged like Cinderella. The character I created to play was an outspoken maid. Like the one, I have at home. The one that refused to aid my quest to end the night quickly, declaring, I was a wicked child to do this to my loving mother. Ha! I loved my dear mama profoundly, but if I was wicked and she created me, what were the fault of her impish character?

With a pang of guilt as I looked around the library again, with its books and comfortable seating arranged by someone who appreciated manuscripts, and knew how a library should be adorned. I felt a little remorse that I would be leaving this little haven momentarily.

Sighing heavily as I placed one of my novels on the empty desk, I was ready to start and complete this farce. With my hands on the doorknob to leave, I was yanked forward with such force that I slammed into a wall with buttons.

Rubbing my forehead with a frown on my brow, I looked up and saw something that could have been an image out of my imagination, for one of my heroes in a novel to be.

He did not have a typical handsome face, but his eyes, they were . . . I was at a loss for words as he stared at me with a grave scowl. The man was tall, broad shoulders with salt and pepper hair that was thick and wavy. Lips too appealing on any man but were on him. If I were my true self, I would have said as much to him, but he looked more the surly sort that never procured words for flattery.

What the devil was she staring at, Christian St. John, the tenth Viscount of Surrey wanted to yell at the dumb little chit. As he squinted from the crown of her head to the heel of her dirty boot, leaving mud with her every step, made his hackles rise aspiring to roar at her. And wondered how and where did she traipse to have dirt on her, when there was not a drop of rain in weeks?

Shaking free from his speculative thoughts, knowing his mother’s guest would soon arrive at any moment, he did not wish to induce fear in anyone from his elevated voice. Taking a much-needed deep breath, Christian tried to plaster a smile on his face so the chit would walk away untouched from his person. Yet she seemed more eager to leave his company as she took a step around him, but Christian could not let her go.

See what you have done? he said, entering his realm, he saw everywhere the child walked. Grinding his jaw, the Viscount saw that she even sat by his desk and was reading one of his books. The fucking fast fowl, Christian growled as he stared at the mud and the woman.

God forgive him, he should not have phrased. But look at his rug, it was a mess. He would have her swab it clean before the night was over. Taking a deep breath while trying to massage the wrinkles away from his forehead. As his nieces said to do whenever his temper would approach a scolding point, which seemed every waking minute.

Looking at his beautiful expensive rug, Christian brought back from Asia, as it laid ruin with mud all over it, he sent a glare piercing her very core.

Closing his eyes as he pulled her into his library and barred the door behind him. He needed to think about what to do with her and his rug, to feel a steering heat land on his hand. Jumping back as he slammed into the door, as he looked around where that feeling came from. Christian cast his eyes to see the chit folding her arms under her ample breast that could not be cloaked in her ugly frock. Her bosom looked to be . . . What the hell was happening to him?

He was ogling a servant's breast, he barely looked at her, but he was staring at her chest. And her touch. She was the heat that caressed his hand, he felt the touch soaked through his clothes, his hand, and shot right through his half--beating heart.

Wanting some distance as he rubbed his hand and walked far around her. He needed space from the woman as he sat behind his massive desk to gather his thoughts with his eyes closed again.

Sir, your guests appear to be arriving.

Christian looked up at the maid and honestly gave his full attention to who spoke to him. She was a woman. She had women parts, she was filthy, and he was staring at her breast again that was seen even hidden in that awful brown wool garment. Beyond her clothes, he saw more. Her skin was dirty, but she looked tan like she worked outside with the gardener.

Sighing, he would have a word with his groundsman, for allowing a woman to work so hard and look so poorly. As it was a statement on his household. Beyond everything that he considered, she drew him to her.

Sir, you are staring.

Christian could not remember the last time when a female outside his family reprimanded him for staring. That alone made him snap out of his funk. Standing his full height as he approached her, thinking she would step back or look fearful at her master. The chit looked him in his eyes and smiled.

What a wicked thing she must be? As a servant and a new one for he never saw her in his home before tonight. To make something that was asleep for an exceptionally long time twitch.

Wanting to be free from her, Christian wrenched his library door open, almost rooting it out from its hinges, and stomped off to greet his mother’s friends.

I, Lady, Sierra Leone Elizabeth Montgomery Evert John, was never a person to be fazed by anyone. I was blessed with wings to FLY and MONEY, the end factor of all that her family had. But that strange man had her at a loss for words and dumbfounded. Staring at him as he walked away, I wondered who and what he was to the family? Whoever he was, I would love to see him again, before I departed for good from this residence. With a smile on my face, I was ready to perform for my mother and her friends.

Chapter 2

Massaging his forehead while walking towards a loud commotion at his front door, Christian needed to forget that ghastly, dirty servant who made him . . . Made him feel something. Something best was forgotten. And as he rounded the corner to where his mother and her friend were making such a mêlée, he knew he needed to compose his irritable mood, post haste. But was accosted by none other than his youngest brother Matthew, and dragged away to his study.

Christian looked at his baby brother pacing in his study like an incarcerated beast, and wondered what had him in such a tormented guise. As the oldest brother, he should spend the time to find out what was Matthew’s quandary, but he had his hands filled with his mother’s wish to have her guests stay with him for a week. And he required a strategic goal to be rid of his mother, her friends, and all other family members.

As the head of his clan, the Viscount adored his family immensely, but all in small doses for a day or two, not a week, and definitely with no guests. Taking a step to rest his hands on his baby brother's shoulders, to stop his pacing and look him in his eyes, Christian saw tears streaming down Matthew’s face. Making his heart swell for his baby brother, forgetting about the guests.

What in cocks blazes is wrong boy? was all that he could have uttered, not some soft platitudes of concern, but the simple cut and dry question that was his most natural character.

Matthew loved his brother’s dearly; all of them. But Christian knew how to get straight to the point and how to dissect a situation within minutes for an enhanced outcome.

Well? Christian enquired again impatiently

Being the youngest brother of the St. John family, his latest issue might be a stab to Christian’s heart, and should spare his words, but could not. What he needed to say would injure him nevertheless. So voiced his dilemma. Heather is with child again.

Christian stared at Matthew for a second and walked away to his fifty-year-old scotch, to pour a glass and down it, then poured another two, handing one to his brother to sit on the armrest of his Chaise Longue.

Matthew stared and waited for Christian to say something, or cast his eyes on him, but his brother remained blank, not even setting his glare on him.

Well, congratulations are in order, Christian declared, downing his scotch to embrace his baby brother, suddenly and forcefully to exit his study saying, Let’s meet mother’s guest, shall we.

Matthew wanted to run after his brother, but stopped when he got a glimpse of his eyes and knew he should have talked to one of his other four brothers before Christian. He knew his mother would be thrilled to have yet another grandchild, boy or girl. But Christian and his . . .

Groaning feeling like a dumb ass, Matthew wished he had a little more common sense, as he strolled behind Chrisy and his slumped shoulders.

"Christy baby, where have you been hiding, I’d like to introduce my dear, dear, dear new friend." There were three dears, which meant his mother was keeping her new friendship at all cost until one of them dies. Plastering a smile on his face as he came to his beautiful mother, who for the most, never took a breath in between when speaking, pulled him in for one of her constricted hugs. Bending down to kiss her forehead, he smelled his childhood and closed his eyes, remembering days of joy, letting go a twitter of a sigh.

Christian, is everything all right?

Stepping back, he saw his mother knew he was hurt somehow. The woman knew and saw into his heart and perhaps his very soul, but wanting the evening to begin on a lighter note, he whispered, Yes mother. As he walked around to stand before, yet another short woman that looked the motherly type, in all her fluff and splendor.

And you must be Lady Marley Evert John, Christian said with a genuine smile on his face as he bowed and kissed her soft, wrinkled hand to look up and see a sly smile on her face in return.

Christian wondered what his mother told her dear, dear, dear friend about him, generating a quizzical look in her eyes. With the possibility that he was the reason this dinner was arranged, he hoped his life story was not to be the focal point of the evening, as he looked around for his other guest who was to make the party of two.

Oh! Lady Marley looked about for her missing child that was sure to show up before the night was over. Never mind who was supposed to be here tonight. We are here and now, aren’t we St. John? Lady Marley fixed her new friend with a look of expectancy.

Then I welcome you into my home. Christian bowed as he saw a flash of that ghastly brown wool pass behind him. Wanting the evening to go smoothly and over fast, he turned and placed his hands behind both sneaky mothers back, directing them to his living room.

Taking a slight breath, to regain his Equilibrium as he was a bit off his game from the library with that servant. He would need all the support from his brothers, their wives, and all the children to distract his mother and her ploy. However, he knew it was just him and the mothers for now until the rest of his family arrived their usual late time, the St. John curse for tardiness.

I was never a meddler, God knew I hated them, but I was extremely interested in that man and now knew who he was. He was my intended match, my mother wanted to hook my poor soul too. God forbid and to hell with him and his wretched superior stare, even though it made her want to . . . Flipping hell, one meeting and I wanted a chance to . . . to what?

Sighing, I was feeling tired all of a sudden, needing my bed and solitude to deal with these emotions that came so inexplicably. Being anywhere in this house with that man about was the worst possible place to feel this jostle of emotions. However, it could not be helped as I found a place where I could have snuck away from any watchful eyes.

Looking around the dining hall, I could not avoid a smile as my mother knew how to make friends with the rich and powerful, making our modest faction further influential. If the library was a show of wealth, the rest of the house was ablaze with its prominence, and the dining room was no step back to it.

The height and design of the ceiling looked to be gold with what seemed like real gold frames that hung on the wall. Forgetting what the structures held, but on a closer look, showing the edging was a work of art, and the walls were not some flower-scented design. There were delicately written words, and with what little young eyesight I had left, I tried to read what was on the wall when a door opened behind me.

Hoping to have a bit of a breather away from those mothers, Christian chance his dining room where the servants would be preparing for all the guests to arrive so they can eat and be gone. Pulling out a chair to sit at its head he felt a presence, and saw a tan yarn trying to sneak past him, and the sight made his sleeping Johnson twitch more than natural in one night. Thank God he was seated, or that curious woman would see something no one had for years.

Perfect, it was him. Wanting to be far away from his stare, I tried my best to slink away, but knew I was caught when I heard his deep alto free his windpipe. Standing to my full height, I turned and gave him back his glare in spades. To take a deep breath making my already smashed breast look more visible, forcing his eyes to drift where they should not.

Are you looking for something? Christian could not believe he was watching the likes of her. This was the lowest as a Viscount he’d ever succumbed to. Gaping at a poor servant.

There you are Christy, we were saying the older we become, hunger creeps up utterly fast. And we need sustenance. So, feed us. His mother said, flopping down beside him to tap his cheek with Lady Marley flanking him.

With both ladies sitting beside him and his poor Johnson still in shock that it knew how to feel aroused by the sight of a female, a messy one at that. Christian was in a hard spot to move. But remembering the brown wool chit that was still trying to sneak out, he would set her free from his presence posthaste in his dire state.

You there, he knew all the names of his staff, their birthdays, anniversary, and all that made him appeared that he cared about his employees. Which he did. But the brown wool was new, and he did not have her name. What is. . . what is your name? Christian wished he asked her in the library because the constant prattling from the mothers was stopped when he asked.

And both mamas looked at him and her with a strange glint in their eyes. Not wanting to be rude, but he needed the woman out his sight, and the faster she did her task he would no longer have to gaze at her. Thus, rose his voice a notch too loud to make her fetch their supper.

And don’t spill anything, Christian said as she walked out with her back stiff, going the wrong way. Lord, he hissed. She did not even know where the kitchen was, and he wondered how long she was in his employ. With a sweet smile plastered on his face, Christian prayed that the mothers would not question his hiring standard, as he turned and saw them staring at him with their eyebrows raised, he knew he was in for it as he closed his eyes.

Christy, how long have you had that girl in your home? And why do you have her looking so poorly? If your father were alive, he would . . . his mother stopped, and when he looked at her, Christian saw the grief at the mention of his father. It was true, his father would have his waking prick in a sling just for looking at a servant. Far less having her appearance so un-kept, as she was.

What’s her name? Lady Marley asked as she walked around and tapped his mother’s shoulder sitting beside her. How could he have answered that without looking like a fool?

My name is Linda ma’am.

Another hard twitch, this time making it completely impossible to stand and help serve his mother like he always did. Her voice was not something unique to his ears, as he heard her speak in his library, but his prick relish to heed her voice it would seem. He needed her to leave, now, not just his atmosphere, but his estate. That would be all.

Aren’t you letting her serve us? Lady Marley asked.

No, my dear, Christy loves to dish out my meals when I dine with him, is that not right Christy baby. His mother stated, patting his cheek, smiling proudly after revealing his pet name again. In his family, Christian heard so many variations of his name, but the one he could not abide at all was Christy.

When he was much younger, his father clarified, that his mother wanted a girl, so nicknamed him Christy, hoping she would have a girl to name as such. Yet she was never blessed with a girl. Thus, Christy was stuck on him from his mother.

Just what he did not want, it was his plight tonight. I’m, I . . . I was hasty to send her off. Please, Linda, serve us, please. Christian looked directly at the woman and saw a smile on her face. What the devil was that smile about . . . God forgive him, he was all out hard and in pain now. Groaning, she was a wicked thing he would have out his house tonight.

As soon as she served the mothers, she came to dish out his meal, and he smelt her, genuinely got a whiff of her. Groaning, he had to hold onto the table with his eyes barred securely. No servant could afford that fragrance. He knew that smell for it was her scent, that cost him all of his allowances on his trip too . . . How could someone like her have that smell and work for him? And why did he not notice her aroma before?

Would that be all Sir? I was in my glee. The night launched into a