The Viscount's Kiss by Margaret Moore Read Free Book Online

one.
    Remembering 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.”
    â€œThis 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.”
    â€œActually, 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.”
    â€œPerhaps. I’m unfortunately certain they’re searching for me, although I hope they’re still looking in Italy.”
    â€œYou’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.”
    â€œTravelling alone wasn’t as difficult as I feared,” Nellsaid, 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.”
    â€œI 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.”
    â€œI shall gladly assume that cost.”
    She was sure he could afford it, so she didn’t protest. “Thank you, my lord.”
    â€œDespite your success thus far, I am not comfortable allowing you to continue your journey alone and short of funds. Would you consider accepting