The Viscount's Kiss. Margaret Moore

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СКАЧАТЬ door opened below and heavy footfalls sounded on the wooden floor of the taproom, then started toward the stairs.

      She mustn’t be found here, especially with him, especially dressed as he was.

      She turned and ran back to her room. He followed and before she could get the door shut, he was inside the room, closing it behind him.

      Chapter Four

      Someday, we may learn what forces move the salmon to make that dangerous journey upstream to spawn, or why a dog will sit for hours by the bed of its deceased master. Yet for now, there remain instincts and emotions, reactions and defensive intuitions, unknown and mysterious, that govern every living creature upon the earth.

      —from The Spider’s Web, by Lord Bromwell

      Panting, aghast, Nell’s whole body shook as she faced him. Yet in spite of her distress, she stayed silent, for the footsteps came up the stairs, then past the room. Another door opened farther along the corridor. Mrs. Jenkins’s voice mumbled a sleepy greeting to her husband, who muttered something about a sick horse before the door shut again.

      “Get away from the door,” Nell ordered with quiet ferocity, gripping the handle of her valise, prepared to swing it at Lord Bromwell’s head. She had been trapped by a man before and fought her way free, and she would do it again if necessary.

      Unlike Lord Sturmpole, however, the viscount addressed her not with arrogant outrage, but as calmly as if they were conversing in a park on a summer’s day. “Are you planning to walk to Bath in the dead of night?”

      His tone and his distance were a little reassuring, but she wasn’t willing to trust him. “I’ve told you what I’m doing. Now let me pass!”

      “There’s no need to be frightened,” he said, still not moving any closer. “I won’t hurt you. I’m hoping I can be of service to you.”

      Service? What kind of service did he have in mind? Lord Sturmpole had claimed she would benefit from his attentions—and suffer if she refused.

      Yet there was one important difference between her situation in Sturmpole’s study and this. She had been horrified by Lord Sturmpole’s advances; she had not been by Lord Bromwell’s.

      Nevertheless, she wasn’t about to let him know that, or to have anything more to do with him. “Perhaps my impulsive reaction to your impertinent embrace has given you the wrong idea, my lord. I assure you that I do not go around kissing men to whom I’ve not been introduced. Or those to whom I have been introduced, either,” she added.

      “I’m delighted to hear it, but the service I wish to offer is not the sort you seem to be assuming. Despite my lapse of manners earlier today, I’m not a cad or scoundrel who seeks to take advantage of a woman. It’s obvious something is amiss here, and my only intention is to find out what it is and help you if I can.”

      “By holding me prisoner?”

      He ignored her question. “If all is quite well, why are you travelling alone, wearing gowns that don’t fit properly and neglecting to use your title? And why, my lady, are you attempting to leave this inn in the middle of the night?”

      It felt as if the room had grown very cold. “I am not a lady.”

      “You’re not Lady Eleanor Springford?”

      Nell struggled to hide her growing panic. She wasn’t Lady Eleanor, or any kind of lady. She’d heard that name in school, from one of her fellow students who was forever bragging about her lofty, if distant, relations. Nell had thought it wise to use a name similar to her own because it would be easy to remember.

      That seemed the most ridiculous of reasons now.

      But surely if he had met Lady Eleanor, he would have known at once that she was an impostor and said something before this, or summoned the law.

      “No, I’m not and I never said I was,” she replied, wary and determined to reply with more care. “Nor am I running away. I’m going to visit my uncle in Bath. As for my gown, I thought you were an expert on spiders, my lord, not ladies’ fashions.”

      “It is my nature to be observant.”

      “My modiste had a terrible seamstress in her employ. Unfortunately, there was no time to find or hire a better one before my departure.”

      She crossed to the window and turned with an indignant huff, despite her trembling legs and the trickle of perspiration down her back. “There is the door, my lord. Now that I’ve explained, please use it.”

      He planted his feet and crossed his arms. “Not until I’m sure you’re not in trouble.”

      Oh, God help her. She believed he meant that, and that he had no selfish, licentious motive—but why did she have to encounter a chivalrous gentleman here, and now? “Your aid is quite misguided, my lord. I am in no trouble.”

      “Then, unfortunately, I must assume you’re attempting to renege on the payment of your night’s accommodation.”

      She stared at him, aghast, her mind working quickly. He was right, after all, but of course she couldn’t admit that.

      She thought of one excuse he might accept. “There may be another explanation for my wish to leave this room, my lord.”

      He raised a querying brow.

      “Has it not occurred to you that I might be afraid to be sleeping so near the man who so impertinently kissed me? Who can say what else you might be capable of, as your presence in this chamber attests?”

      His eyes widened. “You fear I would attack you?”

      “Why should I not believe you are capable of such an act? You did, after all, embrace me without my consent or invitation, accost me in the corridor, follow me into this bedroom and you refuse to leave.”

      “I’m a gentleman, as my friends and associates will tell you, or the Jenkinses.”

      “I don’t call your behavior today very gentlemanly.”

      He ran his hand through his hair before he answered. “Nor can I,” he admitted. “However, it is not unknown for people to behave under duress as they never would otherwise. I believe it was so in my case. I was not quite myself after the carriage overturned.”

      Neither was she.

      Still, she wasn’t going to let him think he could behave any way he would, and she would accept it. “The women on that island you were describing at supper—would they consider you a proper gentleman, if they knew what behavior was expected of one?”

      “Yes, they would,” he firmly replied. “I acted in complete accordance with their customs and beliefs.”

      “As I have done nothing wrong.”

      “Perhaps not,” he replied, “but either you are some kind of cheat or criminal, or you’re running from someone or something. If it is the former, I am duty-bound to hold you here. If it is the latter, I ask you again to allow me to be of assistance. But whatever your answer, I’m not going to allow you to go wandering about the countryside СКАЧАТЬ