Читать книгу The Viscount's Kiss - Margaret Moore, Paul Hammerness - Страница 13

Of course Drury won the case, as expected. We’re having a little dinner party to celebrate, but nothing that you should mourn to miss.

I trust you’re handing your pater and mater with your usual savoir faire when you’re not taking refuge in your sanctuary, although how you can concentrate in such surroundings is beyond the limited powers of my comprehension.

—from a letter to Lord Bromwell from the Honorable Brixton Smythe-Medway

There 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.

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.