The Runaway Governess. Liz Tyner

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      ‘I didn’t. When she didn’t meet me as planned, I found her crouching behind Wren’s and without thinking I took her through the place, hoping I might see the cutpurse and have him contained.’

      ‘I could not believe what the others are saying, but I have heard the tales of your courting the women of the demi-monde. You are known in every gambling hell and tavern in London. And yet, you say you were with an innocent miss. If she weds you I will know you tell enough of the truth. If she doesn’t, I forbid your name spoken to me and I’ll not have it said in my presence that I have a son.’

      He stopped mid-turn to the door and then returned his gaze to William. ‘Should I trust you enough to spend the day at the club laughing at the tale Sylvester is telling because he thinks to get me to switch funds his way and a jest got out of hand?’

      ‘Yes.’ The word had the strength of a church bell.

      He turned his back to his son. ‘I will explain this fluff to your Aunt Emilia and she will begin combating the tales. But you must produce this sweetheart of yours and she must be at your side. And she’d better have red in her hair.’

      Every rail on the bannister sounded to have received a thwack from the cane as the Viscount left the house.

      William went to the window. His mouth was dry. He put a hand on the wooden shutter running the length of the door. No, the houses across the way were not like his. He swung his leg back, planning to kick out the window, but returned his boot to the carpet. He could not. If he did, they would think him the one cracked and no one would believe him innocent.

      He would marry. Isabel must understand. His future depended on her saying yes.