Viscount Vagabond by Loretta Chase Read Free Book Online Page B

quietly into orders then, and Papa would have accepted it.”
    “And I’d still be in the same blasted predicament. Oh, well.” His lordship finished his wine and deposited the glass on the mantel. “Might as well get used to it. I’ll go see the Old Man later today. But if Edgar wants to send the girl back, you must promise to tell me straightaway.”
    “Why?”
    Lord Rand bent to kiss his sister’s forehead. As he straightened he said, “Because I’ve half a mind to go back with her anyhow. Maybe I’ve a choice word or two for her papa.”
    Catherine fretted over her dilemma while she sipped her tea. By dinnertime her host and hostess would be sure to ask unnerving questions. What on earth could she tell them?
    To run away from home and travel unchaperoned was enough to soil a young lady’s reputation. To have spent one night in a brothel and another in a bachelor’s lodgings was utter ruin.
    She would earn no credit for having managed to preserve her virtue. Appearances alone would make her an outcast, a disgrace to her family—unless, as Lord Rand had advised, no one learned of the matter. At present he was the only other person who did know. Since she was merely Miss Pettigrew to him, the Pelliston name was still unsullied. She had rather keep it that way. Her homecoming would be painful enough as it was.
    Besides, if she admitted her true identity, Lord and Lady Andover would never let her return home unaccompanied, and Catherine did not intend to bring witnesses to the humiliating scene with which she was certain to be greeted, especially if Papa had been summoned home from his bridal trip. He had no self-control at all, and if he was drunk, as he was bound to be —oh, there was no point thinking about that. Papa was sure to carry on in the most mortifying way.
    “There, Miss,” said Molly, jolting Catherine from her unhappy reverie. ‘You just lie down now and have a nice long nap, and I won’t bother you none ‘til it comes close on dinnertime. I’ll clean up your dress for you and press it,” the Abigail added, her gaze flickering disappointedly over the grey frock draped upon a chair. ‘You’ll be fine as fivepence and all rested too.”
    “Oh, no. That is hardly appropriate for dinner,” was the embarrassed response. “The peach muslin will do far better.”
    “Beg pardon, Miss, but there weren’t no peach muslin I could find, and I unpacked everything you brought. Just a brown frock and underthings and such.” The maid’s round, rosy face plainly expressed her bafflement at this paltry wardrobe.
    Catherine had been too agitated earlier in the day to take inventory of her belongings. Now, with a faint stirring of anger, she realised that the brothelkeeper must have stolen her one good gown.
    “Oh, dear,” she said quickly. “I packed in such haste that I must have forgotten it. How stupid of me. Yes, I suppose the grey frock will have to do.”
    Molly tiptoed from the room as Catherine crawled into bed. She did not expect to sleep, not with her mind churning so, but a few hours rest would help her think more clearly, as she should have done two months ago.
    She hadn’t been able to think because the hot temper she’d inherited from her papa had made her wild and blind. Though she hadn’t shown it, she’d become completely irrational, just as he always had, incapable of considering consequences. At the very least she should have prepared for every eventuality. She’d had weeks to reconsider, to at least think ahead.
    No wonder Lord Rand thought her an ignorant young miss. Now he thought even less of her. He’d called her a coward and a nonsensical one at that, which was no surprise considering the disgusting display of weakness she’d provided him. Twice at least she’d wept in front of him—she who abhorred tears. Was not weeping maudlin self-indulgence when done privately and a bid for pity when done in public? Aunt Deborah burst into tears at every fancied slight, which