The Viscount's Kiss. Margaret Moore
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what the driver had told her about Lord Bromwell’s father and the way he’d chastised his son, she put down her valise, which contained her clothes, her toilet articles and three of Lady Sturmpole’s gowns.
Spreading her arms in a gesture of surrender, she spoke as if reluctantly revealing the truth. “Very well, my lord. You are quite right. I am Lady Eleanor Springford and I am running from someone—my parents and the Italian nobleman they’re trying to force me to marry. The count is rich and has three castles, but he’s old enough to be a grandfather and lecherous into the bargain. He has twice as many mistresses as manors and, despite his age, gives no sign of wishing to be loyal to a wife. That’s why I ran away and have no maid or servant to accompany me.”
“This is the nineteenth century, not the Dark Ages,” Lord Bromwell said, his brow furrowed. “Surely you could simply refuse the betrothal rather than running away alone and putting yourself in danger.”
She walked to the washstand and toyed with the end of a towel. “I suppose one can’t expect a man who’s been free to travel the world to understand the pressure than can be brought to bear upon a woman to marry, especially if the groom is a very wealthy aristocrat and her family not as rich as people believe.”
“Actually, I can,” Lord Bromwell said from where he still stood by the door. “My parents were far from pleased with my choice of career and my mother begged me not to go on my last expedition, so I do know something about parental expectations and coercion. Yet surely they would have relented in time. I daresay they’re frantic with worry about you now.”
“Perhaps. I’m unfortunately certain they’re searching for me, although I hope they’re still looking in Italy.”
“You’ve come all the way from Italy by yourself?” he asked with undisguised awe.
She’d really come all the way from Yorkshire, but she couldn’t admit that, either. “Yes, our family went there for my father’s health.”
That was what Letitia Applesmith had told them and Lady Sturmpole had confirmed during an afternoon of gossip with a friend that Nell had dutifully endured.
Lord Bromwell’s frown deepened and she wondered if he knew something she didn’t about the Duke of Wymerton or his family, until he said, “Yes, I believe my mother mentioned that.”
“Travelling alone wasn’t as difficult as I feared,” Nell said, relieved. “Most people were very kind, especially the women, who guessed, I think, that I was fleeing an unhappy domestic situation. Sometimes a man made an unwelcome remark, but no one touched me until…well, until you, my lord.”
He blushed like a bashful boy, and she hurried on, not wishing to dwell on that encounter. “It must have been the shock of the accident that made me tell you my real name and I beg you not to reveal it. You’re so famous, the press is bound to hear about the coach overturning, and perhaps learn who was with you. I’m hoping to get to the home of my godfather, Lord Ruttles, in Bath as quickly as possible. He will take my side and protect me, I’m sure.”
“I see,” the viscount said, regarding her with such genuine, kind sympathy, she felt like the worst, most degenerate criminal in the world. “Do you have any money? Or is the lack of it the reason that you’re sneaking out?”
Trying to ignore his sympathetic expression, she said, “I have a little money left, but not enough to pay for this room.”
“I shall gladly assume that cost.”
She was sure he could afford it, so she didn’t protest. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Despite your success thus far, I am not comfortable allowing you to continue your journey alone and short of funds. Would you consider accepting an invitation to my family’s estate? It’s a few miles outside Bath. You’ll be safe from pursuit there, and you can send a message to your godfather to come to you there.”
His cheeks colored and his gaze drifted to the floor. “You need not fear that I shall attempt to take advantage of the situation, or of you.”
Recognizing his generosity for the disinterested kindness it was, she was grateful, even if she couldn’t accept his offer. “Thank you, but I couldn’t impose and I think it would be better if I don’t involve you or your family in my troubles, my lord.”
“As you wish,” he replied, his disappointment obvious, although his tone was still kind and concerned. “However, you must allow me to pay for your room tonight and provide you with sufficient funds for the rest of your journey.”
He reached into his trouser pocket and produced a wallet of thin, soft leather. He opened it and drew out several ten-pound banknotes.
She didn’t want to accept, but she needed the money. “Thank you, my lord,” she said, taking the bills he held out to her and folding them in her hand. “I shall never forget your generosity.”
Or your kiss.
“I shall repay you as soon as I can.”
Whenever, if ever, that might be possible, and provided she wanted him to learn that she had deceived him.
He smiled, looking incredibly handsome and virile in the moonlight. “I must say I didn’t expect to have such an exciting, eventful coach ride to Bath.”
“Neither did I. I don’t know what we would have done after the coach overturned if you hadn’t been there.”
“I’m sure you would have managed. You’re obviously an intelligent, resourceful woman.”
Coming from another man, that might not have seemed a compliment. Coming from him, however, she was sure it was. “As you are a most courageous, chivalrous man.”
He began to walk closer. She waited, holding her breath, expecting—hoping for—another kiss.
Until he immediately halted a few feet away. “I had best get back to my room before I’m discovered here and explanations are required. I wouldn’t want our reputations to be ruined, although mine is already subject to some speculation.”
Tucking the notes into her bodice, she followed him to the door, sorry for the lies, wanting him to know she was truly grateful, because she would never be able to repay him. After tomorrow, she would never see him again. “I really do appreciate your kindness and generosity, my lord.”
A cock crowed in the yard below and he gave her a wry little smile as he eased open the door. “Good day, my lady.”
“Wait!” she cried softly.
He turned back, his blue-gray eyes wide with query.
She couldn’t help it. She had to do it.
She grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled him forward and kissed him. Not lightly and tenderly, as he had kissed her in the coach, but passionately, fervently, as her desire demanded.
Lord Bromwell stiffened, motionless with either shock or dismay. For a terrible instant, she thought he was going to push her away—but then his arms went around her and he held her close, deepening the kiss, his tongue probing until she parted her lips. She relaxed against him, her knees soft as pudding, her breasts pressed against his hard, muscular chest.
How he could kiss! Excitement ran along her veins, her flesh, setting it tingling with need. She had recoiled from her former employers’ unwelcome embrace with all the force of her outrage, but she wanted nothing more than for Lord Bromwell to pick her up in his strong arms and carry her to the bed and lay her down and…
As if he could read her mind, Lord Bromwell moved farther into the room, taking her with him and shoving the door closed so that her back was against it. Still kissing her, he slid his hand around her side to cup her breast through her pelisse and gown.
Her breathing quickening, her body warming, she slipped her hand under his shirt, feeling his heated skin, the muscles bunching beneath. She had never been this intimate with a man, had never wanted to be, but every part of her mind urged her to tear