The Viscount's Kiss. Margaret Moore
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as if it had been made for a slightly taller woman.
Excusing himself from the group surrounding him, he immediately made his way toward her.
“Good evening,” he said with a bow when he reached her and kissed her gloved hand, keeping his attention on her solemn face.
It took every ounce of his self-control not to glance down at that gaping bodice.
He’d want to hit any man who did, even if it was one of his friends. Especially if it was one of his handsome, charming, interesting friends.
“Good evening, my lord,” she said, her expression impassive, her eyes unreadable, as she inclined her head and he realized her gloves didn’t fit properly, either.
“How is Thompkins?” she asked as she pulled her hand away.
“Well on the road to recovery,” he replied. “He won’t be able to drive for a few days, though.”
“I’m glad to hear he’ll suffer no permanent injuries. We shall require a different driver, though. Perhaps you, my lord?” she suggested, giving him a questioning look that both embarrassed and delighted him.
“I’ve given up my career as a driver. Much too risky.”
Her beautiful eyes widened. “Unlike travelling around the world to all sorts of savage places looking for spiders?”
“Ah, but I don’t attempt to captain the vessel. I’m merely a passenger.”
She laughed, a lovely, musical sound that went straight to his heart.
For the first time, he understood how his friends had fallen so deeply in love with their wives, and so quickly. He had always found that baffling, for they had all been men of the world who’d had other liaisons with beautiful women before meeting the women they married. Or in Brixton Smythe-Medway’s case, realizing the woman who would make him blissfully happy had been his acquaintance from boyhood.
Not that he was lacking similar worldy experience with women, but when Lady Eleanor laughed and her eyes sparkled as she looked at him, he felt as if she was the only woman he would ever want to be with for any length of time. Ever.
He immediately stepped back. She might be in trouble and he would help her if he could, but he had to be free of emotional entanglements.
“Ah, here’s the supper!” Jenkins announced, giving him the opportunity to beat a hasty retreat.
“You sit at the head, my lord,” the innkeeper invited, “since you’re the guest of honor.”
Bromwell acknowledged his request with an inclination of his head and took his place, relieved to see that Lady Eleanor was to be seated at the far end of the table covered with a long white cloth and sporting what was no doubt Mrs. Jenkins’s best Wedgwood china. He was also asked to say the grace.
Once that was over, he turned his attention to the food.
Or at least he tried to, for despite his wish not to become involved with any woman at this point in his life, as the supper of potato soup, roasted beef, stuffed chicken, boiled vegetables and fresh bread progressed, with wine and ale and fruit, he couldn’t ignore Lady Eleanor, even though he was pestered with questions.
They were the same ones he got asked every time he was in company, about the shipwreck and the cannibals. He tried to be patient and emphasize the various new species of plants, animals, insects and spiders they’d found, but nobody seemed very interested in that.
Except Lady Eleanor, whom he caught listening avidly as he described the spiders in Tahiti, although she blushed and looked away when she met his gaze.
He also noticed that Lady Eleanor ate the plain, wholesome, plentiful and delicious food with impeccable manners, as delicately and demurely as a nun, taking tiny bites. Every so often, however, she would lick her soft, full lips, a motion that was more alluring to him than the swaying of a naked Tahitian woman’s hips during a hura.
What might have happened if they had met in London, at Almack’s, or a ball, or one of Brix and Fanny’s parties? Would he have felt the same powerful attraction and found a way to be properly introduced, or would he have thought her simply another rich heiress of the sort his father was forever pestering him to marry, and avoided her completely?
Such speculation was pointless. They had met under very unusual circumstances and he had most insolently and inappropriately kissed her. She must surely think he was a rake, a lascivious libertine.
If he could help her, it might make her think more highly of him and erase the poor first impression he must have made.
Whatever the outcome, he would do all he could to discover if she required his assistance and render any aid he could before he went on to the family estate.
And then he would never see her again.
A few hours later, Nell waited anxiously as the full moon rose and shone in through the mullioned window. She was going to have to leave without paying her bill. She had very little money left in her purse and no idea how long it might be before she could earn more.
The bright moonlight would mean it would be easier for someone to notice her as she absconded, but it also meant she would be better able to see where she was going. Since the only mode of transportation she could afford was her feet, she didn’t want to fall and injure herself.
What would her parents say if they knew what she’d done today, and yesterday and the day before that? They had tried to raise a good woman, sacrificing much to send her to an excellent school, to learn manners and deportment and etiquette, to be the equal of any well-born gentlewoman.
All for nothing. It was a mercy they were dead, so they would never know what had happened to her, and what she’d done.
Hoping everyone was asleep at last, she rose and, taking her valise in her hand, eased open the door and listened again. She heard nothing, save for the occasional creak of bed ropes from Lord Bromwell’s room.
Perhaps he wasn’t alone. It had sounded as if he’d come up the stairs by himself after she had retired; nevertheless, she wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he had a woman with him—some comely serving maid or one of the women at supper who had been gawking at him. She could well believe women had vied for his favors even before he’d become famous, and he must practically have to beat them off with a stick since his book had been published.
If he had come to expect such a reaction, it was no wonder he’d kissed her and then sought her out before dinner, even though it should have been obvious she didn’t want to have anything more to do with him. She couldn’t.
Sighing, Nell crept cautiously into the hall and closed the door behind her. The hall was as dark as pitch. Putting her hand to the wall, she carefully made her way toward the stairs.
“The coach isn’t due to depart for some hours yet.”
There was no mistaking Lord Bromwell’s voice.
Nell turned. Although she couldn’t see his face clearly in the dark, his body was as close as it had been in the coach, and if she could only see the vague outline of his body, she could feel his warmth as if he were embracing her.
Fighting to calm her racing heart, she gave him the excuse she had prepared. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d see if I could find some wine.”
“You felt it necessary to wear your pelisse and bonnet, as well as take your baggage, to get a nocturnal beverage?”
“I was afraid I might be robbed if I left my valuables in my room.”
He stepped closer and she could see him better now, although it was still dark. He wore only his boots, buff trousers and shirt open at the neck. “You must have a lot of valuables.”
“No, but I can’t afford to lose what little I have. I’m sorry if I disturbed you,” she said, continuing toward the stairs.
He put