My Scandalous Viscount by Gaelen Foley Read Free Book Online Page A

immediately, the pack of vicious guard dogs rushed around to greet him.
    He kicked the door shut and roared at them in German to shut up. The black-and-tan beasts sat and cowered.
    “Gray!” Beau bellowed.
    The old butler came running while Beau carried the senseless lady of information into the nearby parlor and laid her down carefully on the couch.
    He realized he was shaking. Jesu, what was wrong with him? He’d been hurt worse than this himself over the years and had never reacted so badly.
    But this was different. She was an innocent. A civilian. She had no part in this. She was just a girl.
    The butler rushed in. “Sir?”
    “The lady’s hurt.”
    “You brought her here?” he cried.
    Beau glared at him but only realized then that, inexplicably, he had, perhaps, panicked a little.
    Well, it was too bloody late now to sit around and try to think up another plan! “Damn it, man, she needs help! Fetch hot water and bandages. And bring lamps, candles. We need more light in here. I’ll get the medical bag. Go! Keep the dogs out!” he added. “The smell of blood might set them off.”
    “Yes, sir—your arm!”
    “Never mind that. Hurry!” he ordered, yanking off his elegant, ruined coat.
    Gray whisked off to do as Beauchamp had ordered, dutifully shutting the door behind him to prevent the fierce guard dogs of Dante House from coming in to bother them. Beau felt sorry for the beasts. Poor creatures barely knew what to do with themselves ever since their master, Virgil, had been killed. Lud, he wished the old man were there right now.
    With the thought of the agents’ gruff, Scottish handler, who had dealt with more gunshot wounds and broken heads than he could count, Beau flinched. He did not think he could stand another loss right now of somebody he cared about. He was already haunted enough. How the hell was he going to explain this to Rotherstone, anyway?
    No, I didn’t seduce the girl, of course, but I’m afraid I got her killed. Sorry, old boy. Your wife’s going to have to find a new best friend. He swallowed hard. No. She had to be all right. He bent down to smooth her forehead gently. So pale. He clenched his jaw. “Hang on, sweet. I’ll be right back. You’re going to be fine, I promise.” And then I’m never letting you out of my sight again, you dear little pain in the arse.
    Unsure where that possessive thought had come from, he tore himself away from her, strode over to the bookshelves, where he grasped what looked like an ordinary bookend in the shape of a small bronze statue, and twisted it.
    At once, with a mechanical click, the hidden door disguised as one of the built-in bookcases popped away from the wall. Beau went and pulled it open.
    Pausing, he glanced over his shoulder at Carissa one more time. She was still out cold. Then he slipped inside the secret passageway and ran to get the medical bag.
    C arissa was having the strangest dream. It was lovely and terrifying at the same time, a feverish mix of blood and sensuality. She dreamed that Lord Beauchamp was gently letting down her hair, loosening her gown, untying her stays so she could breathe more easily.
    His hands on her were warm and sure, and when she dragged her eyes open and met his stare, his own blazed hotly into hers. “It’s all right,” he whispered, as she panted and clung to him in fear.
    “Trust me,” he breathed again, his hand at the side of her neck, cupping her nape, melting her protests. She closed her eyes, giving in. But why was he always saying that?
    Trust him ? It was such a silly thing to say, coming from a libertine.
    She felt him pressing warm wet cloths to her head, then heard him wringing them out, bloody rags, in a bucket of water. “That’s good. Good girl,” he whispered.
    When she looked again, she whimpered at the sight of her own blood, reddening the water. “I don’t want to die, Beau.”
    “You’re not going to die,” he said calmly, sounding much more certain of that now than he