The Viscount's Kiss. Margaret Moore
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to stand while the earl hoisted himself to his feet. “On second thought, if I want it done properly, I had better attend to it myself. We wouldn’t want my coach to tip.”
Bromwell did not point out to his father that he had had no part in causing the accident, either through the improper storage of baggage or the mail, or by driving. Nor had he damaged the axel, put out the rock, or sent the dog running across the road.
“But I don’t…have a maid,” Lady Eleanor finished in a murmur as the Earl of Granshire marched out of the taproom like a soldier bound on an errand vital to the government of the realm.
Bromwell let out his breath in a sigh. “As you may have noticed, my father is the sort of fellow who won’t take no for an answer. If you don’t give in, he’s liable to demand why not and attempt to persuade you for the better part of the day.”
Lady Eleanor clasped her hands in her lap, looking pretty and vulnerable and uncertain all at once. “Since my godfather is gone from Bath, I’m grateful for his offer and gratefully accept.”
She flushed. “I hope you don’t think me a sinful wanton because of…because I…When you were leaving the room this morning, I thought we’d never see each other again.”
“Of course I excuse you,” he said. After all, how could he not, without condemning himself, too? “Just as I hope you don’t consider me a rakish cad.”
“No, and I’m sorry I said those things to you. Sadly, there are too many bad men in the world, and I was afraid to trust you.”
“And now?”
“And now, I believe I can.”
Feeling as if he was back on solid ground after being suspended and twisting in the wind, Bromwell smiled with relief. “Then let us assume our unusual behavior was due to the accident and begin anew.”
When she smiled in return, his body’s immediate and powerful response made a mockery of his determination to maintain his emotional distance. But he must, so he would, no matter how stimulated he was by her presence.
Her smile drifted away and a vertical line of worry creased her brow. “Unfortunately, there is one other problem, my lord. I don’t have a maid, or even proper clothes. Perhaps I should explain my circumstances to your father.”
“I think not,” Bromwell firmly replied even as he wondered what it would be like to try to kiss away that little wrinkle. “My father would no doubt say it’s your duty to obey your parents and write to your father at once. And as it happens, a friend of mine faced a similar situation not long ago, when the lack of a maid could have led to awkward questions and explanations. We shall tell my father that your maid has run off and taken most of your clothes with her.”
“You’d lie to your father?”
“In this instance, yes.” For your sake.
She didn’t seem quite convinced. “Won’t your father expect the authorities to be summoned if he thinks there’s been a robbery?”
“Not if I offer to take charge of the investigation. Even if he doubts my competence, he’ll be happy not to be bothered with such matters.”
She stared at him with wide-eyed surprise. “Surely he can’t doubt your competence after all you’ve done, the places you’ve been, the dangers you’ve faced and survived?”
He was pleased that she was so surprised and thought so highly of him; even so, he answered honestly. “As you heard, he can and he does. However, the important thing is that you’ll be safe at Granshire until your godfather returns.”
Her green eyes sparkling like emeralds, Lady Eleanor finally acquiesced. “Very well, my lord. I shall accept your father’s generous invitation and—woe is me!—my abigail has run off with my clothes!”
Riding in the earl’s fine coach should have been enjoyable, for the weather was fine, the vistas lovely, the coach well sprung and the seats upholstered in thick silk damask and cushioned with horsehair. Nell had a whole side to herself and, with Lord Bromwell across from her, the journey could even have been quite entertaining. She’d always liked to read histories of Britain, and she was sure a learned man like Lord Bromwell could tell her even more about this part of the country, and the Roman settlement and spa so close to Stonehenge.
Unfortunately, Lord Bromwell’s father was also in the coach. Worse, he apparently felt silence in a coach some kind of sin, so he talked the whole way while they were forced to listen, trapped like flies in a web. He complained about the sorry state of the roads, the exorbitant cost of building supplies, the inefficiency of the mail, the generally terrible government and the difficulty in finding good servants.
Once she caught Lord Bromwell’s eye and gave her companion-in-captivity a sympathetic smile, but that proved to be something of a mistake, for his eyes brightened and his full lips began to lift, instantly reminding her that he was a very attractive man who kissed with passionate, consummate skill.
Blushing yet again, ashamed yet again of her wayward, lascivious thoughts, she turned her attention back to the boastful earl, who had now moved on to the subject of the renovations to his estate and his hall.
“The very finest situation in the county since I’ve rebuilt the house,” the voluble earl noted, as if he’d personally laid every brick. “The gardens were designed by Humphrey Repton. Cost a fortune, but worth every penny, I think you’ll agree.
“Nothing but the best for the earls of Granshire and their heirs, my lady. Yes, it’ll be a lucky young woman who marries my son, provided he can be persuaded to stop gallivanting all over the world after those insects.”
“As I’ve explained to you before, Father,” Lord Bromwell said with an air of long-suffering patience, “spiders are not insects.”
“All right, spiders,” the earl said. “Disagreeable things they are, too.”
Lord Bromwell opened his mouth, then closed it again and gazed silently out the window.
“While they can be a little unnerving up close,” Nell said, coming to their defence for his sake, “I understand most of them are harmless—and I’d rather come upon a spider than a wasp.”
She had her reward when Lord Bromwell looked at her as if she’d just announced she was Mother Nature and going to provide him with a sample of every spider in existence.
His father’s expression was only slightly less impressed. “So, you like spiders, my lady?”
While she was happy to help Lord Bromwell, or at least defend his interest, there was a significance in his father’s look and manner that was all too easy to understand, and that ought to be nipped in the bud.
“I can’t say I like them as much as your son,” she admitted with a bland smile, “but I suppose most people don’t like them as much as your son.”
“No, they do not,” the earl replied, as if Lord Bromwell wasn’t there. “He’d spend hours staring at them spinning webs in the stable or outbuildings when he was a boy. His mother and I thought he’d ruin his eyes.”
“Obviously he didn’t,” she said.
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