The Viscount's Kiss (5 page)

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 off his shirt and press her lips to his naked skin.

She began to bunch the tail of his shirt in her hands and lift it until, with a gasp, he broke the kiss and stepped back, his eyes wide in the dawning light.

His chest heaving, his brow furrowed with scholarly concentration. “Once again, forgive me. Being a civilized human being, I should be able to overcome my primal urges.”

His
primal urges? This time, she had been the one to act upon hers.

He put his hand on the latch. “I wish you well, my lady.”

“And I, you, my lord,” she whispered as he slipped out of the room.

 

Nell moved away from the door toward the bed. She had never been more ashamed, not even when she was stealing from Lord Sturmpole.

What came over her when she was with Lord Bromwell? How could she behave with such wanton disregard for the risk she was taking, and that his fame engendered?

She had barely sat on the end of the bed before Mrs.
Jenkins blew into the room carrying a steaming pitcher of hot water.

“Good morning,” she said as she set it on the washstand. “All ready for an early start, I see. It's a fine day for travelling, I must say. Breakfast will be ready shortly. I'll just make up the bed, if you don't mind.”

Nell quickly went to wash.

“Quite a fine fellow, isn't he?” Mrs. Jenkins asked.

“Who?” Nell asked, although she was sure she knew to whom Mrs. Jenkins referred.

“Why, Lord Bromwell, o' course,” the woman replied as she plumped the pillow. “You're a very lucky woman, my dear.”

“We were fortunate he was with us with the coach overturned. We might have worsened Thompkins's injuries if he'd not been there to tell us not to move him.”

“That's not what I meant. I wasn't born yesterday, my dear,” the innkeeper's wife replied.

“He's never brought a woman here before, though, nor have any of his friends,” she continued as she worked, “and a fine lot of scoundrels they can be, or so I've heard, all but the lawyer. He's as grim as a ghost, that one. Hard to believe he's married now, but then, I'd have said I'd never see the day Lord Bromwell would bring his—”

“I fear you're under a misapprehension, Mrs. Jenkins,” Nell interjected, wondering why she'd let the woman go on for so long. “Lord Bromwell didn't
bring
me and I am not his anything. I was merely a passenger in the same coach.”

Again, Mrs. Jenkins straightened, but this time she frowned. “Say what you like, my girl, but the floors creak something fierce. You weren't alone in this room.”

“I was upset after the accident and couldn't sleep. You simply heard me moving about. By myself.”

Mrs. Jenkins shook her head. “There's no point lying to me. I've never seen Lord Bromwell look at anything the way he looked at you last night, 'cept the time he caught the biggest spider I ever laid eyes on in the stable.”

“I hardly think it's a compliment or a sign of affection if he regards me as he would a spider,” Nell retorted in her best imitation of a haughty young lady. “If indeed, he does regard me with anything more than mild interest.”

“You sound just like him, too, when he's going on about his spiders,” Mrs. Jenkins said with a sigh, apparently not the least put off by Nell's imperious manner. “Can't follow the half of it. He's got a lovely voice, though, ain't he?”

He did, but Nell wasn't going to agree in case the woman took that for additional confirmation of her suspicions.

The innkeeper's wife fixed her with a worldly-wise eye. “And then, I saw him leaving your room.”

That wasn't so easy to explain. Nevertheless, she tried. “He merely wished to ascertain if I had been able to sleep despite the accident.”

“You're a smooth one, I must say,” Mrs. Jenkins replied with a wry shake of her capped head as she wrestled the featherbed back into place. “But there's no need to lie to me. I don't blame you a bit, even if others might. Why, if I was twenty years younger and unmarried, I'd be the first to…”

She cleared her throat and her broad cheeks pinked. “Well, I'm not, so never mind. I just wanted to say this before you go. He's a good man, and a kind one, so I hope you won't break his heart.”

“I am in no position to do so,” Nell firmly assured her, “nor will I ever be and I say again that he came to my room only to ascertain if I was all right.”

“Have it your own way then,” Mrs. Jenkins replied, clearly still not believing her explanation.

This situation was getting worse and worse, Nell thought with dismay. She was a decent, respectable young woman—or had been until six days ago. Now she could be branded a thief and immoral into the bargain, especially if Lord Bromwell paid for her accommodation.

On the other hand, Lord Sturmpole would never suspect the woman he was chasing was the same woman others believed to be the mistress of the famous Lord Bromwell.

“Have you informed Lord Bromwell of your conclusion?” she asked.

“If it was anybody else,” the innkeeper's wife replied, “I'd have thrown them out the minute I realized what was goin' on. Jenkins and I run a respectable inn, we do.”

So she had kept her suspicions to herself, which was a relief. “Thank you for your kindness and discretion,” Nell said. “Lord Bromwell and I are most grateful, especially if you'll continue to keep our secret.”

“Worried about losing sponsors for his next expedition if word gets out, is he?” Mrs. Jenkins asked with triumphant satisfaction.

Nell hadn't known the viscount intended to sail again, but she hid her surprise and nodded, for a scandal would surely hamper such efforts despite his previous success.

“Well, my dear, you can count on me. But mind what I said about breaking his heart, or you'll have me to reckon with!”

“I shall,” Nell promised, even as she noted the good
woman didn't seem to care about the state of
her
heart. Perhaps Mrs. Jenkins considered her simply mercenary, with no heart to break. “Do you know where Lord Bromwell is now?”

“In the stables, I think, probably looking for another spider.”

Nell suppressed a shiver as she hurried from the room.

 

It didn't take her long to find Lord Bromwell. He was standing by the stables, talking to one of the grooms.

He still wore no hat, and his hair ruffled slightly in the breeze. He also had on dark trousers, white shirt, light green vest and the same shining boots and well-fitting gloves. He leaned his weight casually on one leg, and she could hear him laughing.

His laugh was as nice as the rest of him.

She hoped he never found out the truth about her. That way, he might remember her with affection, as she would certainly remember him.

Before she could catch his attention, a large black coach with an ornate coat of arms on the lacquered door came barrelling into the yard. The driver, dressed in scarlet and gold livery, shouted and pulled on the reins with all his might to stop the coach, while the footmen at the back held on for dear life as it came to a rocking halt.

No one in the inn's yard moved—not even the dogs—or spoke as one of the livered footmen leapt down, staggering a bit as he went to open the door of the coach and lower the step.

A tall, imposing gentleman appeared, wearing an indigo greatcoat with four capes and large brass buttons. As he
stood on the step, his gaze swept over the yard until it came to rest upon Lord Bromwell.

As if announcing the end was nigh, the man threw out his arms and cried, “My son!”

T
here had been many times in his life that Bromwell had craved his father's attention.

This was not one of them.

“My lord,” he said, dreading what this sudden, unexpected advent signified as he walked quickly toward the Earl of Granshire, who actually deigned to alight in the yard in spite of the gawking servants, other travellers and the mud.

Normally his father only left his estate for the opening of Parliament, or if some important business matter made
a visit to his banker or solicitor in Bath necessary. Even then, more often than not, such men came to him.

He hadn't even gone to Dover when his son had returned after two years at sea.

“I came to bring you home to your mother,” the earl announced.

As if he were a child who'd run away after a fit of pique, Bromwell thought, his jaw clenching, very aware that Lady Eleanor was watching from the taproom door.

He'd noticed her at once, of course, drawn to her presence like a migrating swallow to Capistrano, feeling her proximity before he saw her. Like his ability to know what time it was without consulting a watch or clock, he couldn't explain the phenomenon; it simply was.

As she was simply lovely, and exciting, and the most desirable women he'd ever met.

“Your poor mother was beside herself when we received your message about the accident,” his father declared, making Bromwell instantly wish he hadn't sent it, even if his delayed arrival might cause her to worry.

“Never fear, my dear, I said,” his father continued, raising his hand as if calling upon supernatural powers, “I shall retrieve him!”

Bromwell doubted any actor currently appearing at the Theatre Royal could deliver those lines better. Indeed, at this precise moment, he could well believe his father had missed his true calling.

“I regret giving Mother any cause to worry,” he said. “There really was no need for you to come. I'm quite all right.”

“Perhaps, but it could have been otherwise. That's what comes of selling your carriage and travelling in a mail coach!”

“Plenty of people travel in mail coaches without mishaps,” Bromwell said, although he suspected it was useless to try to make his father appreciate that such accidents weren't common.

“
Plenty of people
are not the heirs of the Earl of Granshire,” his father retorted. “Fortunately, I have come to spare you any further indignities.”

It took a mighty effort for Bromwell not to roll his eyes. “Naturally, I'm grateful. If you'll wait in the taproom, I'll settle the bill with Mrs. Jenkins and then we can be on our way.”

The earl's lip curled at the corner, as if his son had suggested he wait in a cesspool. At nearly the same time, however, a cool breeze blew through the yard and the door of the kitchen opened, sending forth the aroma of fresh bread.

“Very well,” the earl agreed. “Quickly, though, Bromwell. Your mother is prostrate with worry.”

That was likely true, Bromwell thought as he followed his father across the yard. She was probably lying in her chaise longue with a maid hovering nearby.

The earl halted in mid-step at the sight of Lady Eleanor. “Who is that charming creature?” he asked, not bothering to subdue his stentorian voice.

God give me strength! Bromwell thought as he hurried forward to make the introductions, wondering if he should omit the mention of her title, as she had before.

She spoke first, saving him that decision. “I am Lady Eleanor Springford,” she said with a bow of her head, “and I owe my life to your son.”

Bromwell was torn between wanting to admit the situation hadn't been as dire as Lady Eleanor painted it and kneeling at her feet.

The earl drew himself up and placed one hand on his hip. “I would expect no less of my son.”

“Her ladyship was quite an angel of mercy to the poor coachman,” Mrs. Jenkins interjected, coming up behind her like a large and vibrant acolyte. “They make a lovely couple, don't you think?”

Bromwell's heart nearly stopped beating. What the devil had prompted Mrs. Jenkins to make such an observation—and to his father, of all people! It could only have been worse if she'd said it to his mother.

“Indeed,” his father replied, running a measuring, arrogant gaze over Lady Eleanor, who endured his scrutiny with amazing aplomb.

“Perhaps we'd all be more comfortable inside,” she suggested.

“Yes, of course,” the earl agreed. “Justinian, you may attend to your business while I share some refreshments with Lady Eleanor. Come along, my lady.”

With that, he swept her inside, calling for wine as he went, and left Bromwell standing in the yard.

Fearing what his father might say about him in his absence, Bromwell immediately followed them inside and paid Mrs. Jenkins what both he and the lady owed for their night's accommodation.

It struck him as a little odd that the innkeeper's wife didn't make any comment about his payment of both bills, but he was in too extreme a state of agitation to dwell upon it. No doubt she thought he was merely being a gentleman.

That done, he hurried to join his father and Lady Eleanor by the hearth, taking note that there were only two glasses of wine and his father had already finished his.

“Ah, Bromwell, here you are!” the earl exclaimed as if
his son had been miles away instead of across the room. “Were you aware that Lady Eleanor's father is the Duke of Wymerton? I went to school with him, you know.”

No, he hadn't known that his father and the Duke of Wymerton had been at the same school, although perhaps he should have guessed. His father seemed to have gone to school with eighty percent of the nobility. That might explain why so many were, like his father, woefully ignorant of anything except the classics. Even then, their grasp of those subjects was often rudimentary at best.

“Did you indeed, Lord Granshire?” she asked. “He's never mentioned it.”

That didn't please his father, but at least he didn't accuse her of lying. “What brings you to Bath at this time of year, my lady?”

“I'm going to visit my godfather, Lord Ruttles.”

“I don't think so.”

Lady Eleanor started, as well she might, at his father's firm response.

“He's hunting grouse in Scotland and won't be back for at least a month,” his father continued.

Unfortunately for Lady Eleanor, that was probably true. His mother had a prodigious correspondence and kept abreast of all the nobility's comings and goings.

“Rutty always was absentminded,” the earl remarked, then he smiled as if he'd just solved all the world's ills. “You must come and stay at Granshire Hall until he returns, Lady Eleanor. My wife and I would be delighted to have you.”

Bromwell didn't quite know how to react. On the one hand, as he himself had said, that would be the safest place for Lady Eleanor. On the other hand, perhaps that wasn't the best idea after all.

Unfortunately, and despite his best efforts, he seemed incapable of maintaining a due sense of propriety and decorum in her presence. It was as if he imbibed some sort of potent brew that took away all restraint when she was nearby—and it seemed she had a similar reaction to his presence. How else to explain that second passionate kiss? That had certainly been at her instigation, not his, even if he'd been too thrilled and aroused to end it at once.

As he should have.

Lady Eleanor looked equally confused and hesitant. “Oh, my lord, I don't think I should impose—”

“Nonsense! It's no imposition at all,” the earl interrupted. “Indeed, you would be doing us a great favor. My son has been too much among sailors and other savages. He needs to spend more time with civilized people and young ladies in particular, or I despair that he'll ever attract a suitable wife.”

Bromwell nearly groaned out loud. His father had been told more than once that he wasn't ready to marry and wouldn't be for years. “Father, it may be that Lady Eleanor would prefer to arrange—”

“You see, my lady?” the earl cried. “His manners are distinctly wanting. You must come to Granshire Hall and stay for as long as you like. Summon your maid and have her bring your baggage. Bromwell, see to it, will you?”

As was usually the case, there was no room for discussion, not even for Lady Eleanor.

Giving in to the inevitable, Bromwell dutifully started 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.