The Viscount's Kiss. Margaret Moore

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      Nell moved away from the door toward the bed. She had never been more ashamed, not even when she was stealing from Lord Sturmpole.

      What came over her when she was with Lord Bromwell? How could she behave with such wanton disregard for the risk she was taking, and that his fame engendered?

      She had barely sat on the end of the bed before Mrs. Jenkins blew into the room carrying a steaming pitcher of hot water.

      “Good morning,” she said as she set it on the washstand. “All ready for an early start, I see. It’s a fine day for travelling, I must say. Breakfast will be ready shortly. I’ll just make up the bed, if you don’t mind.”

      Nell quickly went to wash.

      “Quite a fine fellow, isn’t he?” Mrs. Jenkins asked.

      “Who?” Nell asked, although she was sure she knew to whom Mrs. Jenkins referred.

      “Why, Lord Bromwell, o’ course,” the woman replied as she plumped the pillow. “You’re a very lucky woman, my dear.”

      “We were fortunate he was with us with the coach overturned. We might have worsened Thompkins’s injuries if he’d not been there to tell us not to move him.”

      “That’s not what I meant. I wasn’t born yesterday, my dear,” the innkeeper’s wife replied.

      “He’s never brought a woman here before, though, nor have any of his friends,” she continued as she worked, “and a fine lot of scoundrels they can be, or so I’ve heard, all but the lawyer. He’s as grim as a ghost, that one. Hard to believe he’s married now, but then, I’d have said I’d never see the day Lord Bromwell would bring his—”

      “I fear you’re under a misapprehension, Mrs. Jenkins,” Nell interjected, wondering why she’d let the woman go on for so long. “Lord Bromwell didn’t bring me and I am not his anything. I was merely a passenger in the same coach.”

      Again, Mrs. Jenkins straightened, but this time she frowned. “Say what you like, my girl, but the floors creak something fierce. You weren’t alone in this room.”

      “I was upset after the accident and couldn’t sleep. You simply heard me moving about. By myself.”

      Mrs. Jenkins shook her head. “There’s no point lying to me. I’ve never seen Lord Bromwell look at anything the way he looked at you last night, ’cept the time he caught the biggest spider I ever laid eyes on in the stable.”

      “I hardly think it’s a compliment or a sign of affection if he regards me as he would a spider,” Nell retorted in her best imitation of a haughty young lady. “If indeed, he does regard me with anything more than mild interest.”

      “You sound just like him, too, when he’s going on about his spiders,” Mrs. Jenkins said with a sigh, apparently not the least put off by Nell’s imperious manner. “Can’t follow the half of it. He’s got a lovely voice, though, ain’t he?”

      He did, but Nell wasn’t going to agree in case the woman took that for additional confirmation of her suspicions.

      The innkeeper’s wife fixed her with a worldly-wise eye. “And then, I saw him leaving your room.”

      That wasn’t so easy to explain. Nevertheless, she tried. “He merely wished to ascertain if I had been able to sleep despite the accident.”

      “You’re a smooth one, I must say,” Mrs. Jenkins replied with a wry shake of her capped head as she wrestled the featherbed back into place. “But there’s no need to lie to me. I don’t blame you a bit, even if others might. Why, if I was twenty years younger and unmarried, I’d be the first to…”

      She cleared her throat and her broad cheeks pinked. “Well, I’m not, so never mind. I just wanted to say this before you go. He’s a good man, and a kind one, so I hope you won’t break his heart.”

      “I am in no position to do so,” Nell firmly assured her, “nor will I ever be and I say again that he came to my room only to ascertain if I was all right.”

      “Have it your own way then,” Mrs. Jenkins replied, clearly still not believing her explanation.

      This situation was getting worse and worse, Nell thought with dismay. She was a decent, respectable young woman—or had been until six days ago. Now she could be branded a thief and immoral into the bargain, especially if Lord Bromwell paid for her accommodation.

      On the other hand, Lord Sturmpole would never suspect the woman he was chasing was the same woman others believed to be the mistress of the famous Lord Bromwell.

      “Have you informed Lord Bromwell of your conclusion?” she asked.

      “If it was anybody else,” the innkeeper’s wife replied, “I’d have thrown them out the minute I realized what was goin’ on. Jenkins and I run a respectable inn, СКАЧАТЬ