The Viscount's Kiss Read online

  “Afterward, I discovered she’s in some difficulty, so I invited her to stay at Granshire Hall. She’s there now, enduring my parents. It’s her situation that requires legal advice.”

  “Ah.” Drury steepled his fingers that, while better than they’d been when he’d first returned from France, were still misshapen. “Was this woman an elderly grandmother or a middle-aged matron?”

  “No. She’s young.”

  “Pretty?”

  “Very.”

  Drury raised a dark brow. “Does she like spiders?”

  “Sadly, no. But at least she didn’t run out of my laboratory when she saw my collection.”

  Drury’s other brow rose. “You invited her into your laboratory?”

  “She, um, was walking in the woods and I met her near it, so yes, I did.”

  Bromwell saw no need to explain that he’d spent the night in the lab so he wouldn’t have to see her, or think about her sleeping a short distance down the corridor in Granshire Hall.

  Drury held up his hand. “Perhaps this should wait until we’re home. Otherwise, you’ll just have to repeat these details to Juliette—or would you rather this was strictly between us?”

  Bromwell thought a moment. It wasn’t a situation he was eager to share. On the other hand, Juliette was a kind, bold, clever woman who’d had her share of troubles, so she might have some valuable advice. And although he had every faith that Drury would keep this discussion private if he requested it, he wasn’t keen to put secrets between a man and his wife. “No. I think Juliette’s opinion might prove helpful, too. Brix and Fanny are still visiting with Edmond and Diana in Lincolnshire?”

  “Yes. You’d want their advice, as well?”

  He shook his head. “Gad, no!”

  He could just imagine Brix’s merry interrogation regarding the circumstances of his first encounter with Lady Eleanor and Diana would probably want to use it in the opening of a novel. Even worse, Edmond might take it into his head to compose a sentimental poem. He still hadn’t gotten over Edmond’s Ode to an Arachnid. “That is, I don’t think the lady in question would care to have too many others know her troubles.

  “How is your new house?” he asked, turning the conversation away from Lady Eleanor and to Drury’s recent purchase.

  On the edge of Mayfair, it wasn’t the most prestigious location, but Drury had never cared about the trappings of success. Indeed, he hadn’t even owned a town house until he’d gotten married. Until then, he’d lived in his chambers at the Inns of Court. He’d chosen this town house, he’d explained, because it was well built, with the latest in modern conveniences, and sure to increase in value over time.

  “Fine, although Juliette is full of plans for painting and curtains and those sorts of things. I confess, old friend, that there are times I seek sanctuary in my study.”

  Bromwell shared a companionable smile. “As I flee to my laboratory when my parents try my patience to its limit.”

  That building could be a sanctuary for other reasons, too, as he’d recently discovered.

  The cab rolled to a stop and as Bromwell looked at the white Georgian town house, he had to agree that Drury had spent his money wisely. Built across from a small park, it was in excellent condition with tall windows so clean they sparkled.

  A young man in butler’s attire opened the door as they got out of the cab and went up the steps.

  “Good God, that’s not Mr. Edgar, surely?” Bromwell cried, for the fellow was the spitting image of Drury’s longtime servant, although at least twenty years younger.

  “It’s his son,” Drury replied. “We call him Edgar Minor.”

  They had barely crossed the threshold and given Edgar Minor their hats when Drury’s wife came rushing down the stairs right into her husband’s arms.

  “If you please, my dear,” he chided even as he held her close, “we have company and the door to the street is still open.”

  Despite his frown, he wasn’t fooling Bromwell or Edgar Minor or his wife, either. His eyes were too full of love and laughter.

  “Oh, Buggy doesn’t mind, do you, my lord?” Juliette asked after giving her husband a hearty kiss.

  She left her husband’s arms and hurried to Bromwell, kissing both his cheeks in the French manner. “Welcome! Of course you will stay for supper and tell us all about the plans for your expedition.”

  “Of course,” Bromwell agreed with a smile. He had liked Juliette from the moment he’d met her. Although Drury had never said so, Bromwell had guessed his friend had suspected him of harbouring a tendre for the French seamstress.

  He hadn’t. There hadn’t been any woman who’d touched his heart until Lady Eleanor landed in his lap.

  “Buggy has a friend with a legal dilemma,” Drury said as they entered the comfortably appointed drawing room done in soothing tones of blue and cream. It was much smaller than the drawing room at Granshire Hall, but Bromwell would trade this for the other in a heartbeat.

  “Oh? I hope it is not a serious one,” Juliette said as she took a seat in a wing chair by the Dutch tiled hearth.

  After her husband had joined her and Bromwell was sitting on a brocade-covered chair opposite, she picked up a small item from the sewing basket beside her, set it on her lap and threaded a needle.

  Bromwell studied the fabric for a moment before he realized it was a small nightgown. A baby’s nightgown.

  “That looks a little small for Amelia,” he said, referring to the recent addition to the family of the Honorable Brixton Smythe-Medway.

  Juliette glanced at her husband and smiled, her brown eyes shining. “It is not for Amelia.”

  Bromwell followed her gaze to his friend, who was trying to appear nonchalant.

  And failing miserably.

  It didn’t take a genius to realize what that, and Juliette’s slight illness, must mean. His friend was going to be a father, too.

  At once Bromwell envisioned this house as his, with Lady Eleanor seated by the hearth in the evening, sewing a little garment for their child.

  Never before had he imagined a domestic future for himself. When he’d contemplated marriage, he had never thought beyond the ceremony and even that as some distant event, when he was too old to travel.

  But now, here, this vision of a future with Eleanor struck him like a blow, a sudden, sharp, powerful pang of longing.

  “I thought you would be happy for us,” Juliette said, her brows knitting.

  Bromwell came to himself with a start and smiled. “Oh, I am!” he said, hurrying to shake Drury’s hand and kiss her cheek. “Delighted for you both. I envy you, that’s all. That leaves only Charlie and me unmarried and childless.”

  Juliette resumed her sewing. “Someday, a woman will win your hearts and you will both be as happy as my Drury and me.”

  “I hope so,” he answered, although the vision receded as he remembered his plans for his expedition. “In the present, however, I need your husband’s help with my friend’s dilemma.”

  He proceeded to describe Lady Eleanor’s recent history and when he was finished, Juliette was wide-eyed with dismay. “Oh, the poor girl! To be forced to marry an old man!”

  She looked at her husband, who was equally upset, although a stranger would probably have assumed he wasn’t at all affected by what he’d heard. It took long acquaintance to see the subtle changes in the set of Drury’s jaw and the glint in his dark eyes to realize he was disturbed.

  “British law requires that both parties consent to any marriage,” Drury said, “so it’s a good thing she returned to England.”

  “And by herself, too!” Juliette exclaimed. “A brave girl, and clever, too, no doubt.”

  “Very,” Bromwell confirmed.

  “Unfortunately, as far as the law is concerned, she is her father’s chattel until she’s married, and then she becomes her husband’s. However, if her parents are in Italy, we might be able to have her godfather declared in loco parentis. Jamie will know for sure, but even if t
hat’s unlikely to succeed, the legal suit might cause her parents to reconsider their position.”

  Bromwell felt better already.

  “Perhaps if their daughter were to find her own husband, especially a wealthy and titled gentleman, they would relent even faster,” Juliette suggested.

  Bromwell flushed, but spoke just as firmly to her as he had to his father. “I have no intention of marrying anyone until I’m no longer able to travel, provided Lady Eleanor would even consider it.”

  “I did not necessarily mean she should marry you,” Juliette returned, her hands as steady as her voice. “Maybe she will meet someone at your father’s hunt ball. You wish her to be happy, do you not?”

  He did—although the thought of her being happy with anyone else wasn’t a welcome one.

  “The first thing to do,” Drury said in his usual logical, businesslike tone, “is to see what Jamie has to say about the law in such matters. Until then, everything is mere speculation, and I would much rather speculate on the subject of Edmond’s new book. Apparently he’s taken it into his head to write about something called a vampyre.”

  “Indeed, he has. He wrote to me about them, because they’re not unlike spiders in some aspects,” Bromwell replied, happy to leave the subject of Lady Eleanor for a while and speak of other things.

  Even if she was never far from his thoughts.

  The day after Lord Bromwell went to London, Mrs. Fallingbrook took Nell on a tour of Granshire Hall. It was indeed a magnificent house, although it was more like a museum than a home.

  She spent another few days wandering about on her own and attempting to avoid the earl, who bored her nearly to death talking about his plans for the house and gardens. He was considering waterworks on a scale to rival Versailles, or so it seemed, and she had to wonder how the cost for such a venture would compare to the cost of his son’s proposed expedition.

  The countess kept mostly to her room, and the servants were busy and preoccupied preparing for the hunt ball, as well as the guests who would soon arrive in anticipation of that major event.

  She walked in the garden and occasionally to the viscount’s laboratory, where she dusted the jars and found herself studying the contents not with revulsion, as when she’d first seen them, but with increasing interest. She was surprised to discover how many kinds of spiders there were, and how different they could be from one another. Some of them were even rather beautiful.

  Afraid she might disturb Lord Bromwell’s work in some way, she hesitated to do more than dust the jars and wash the few dishes. She did open the narrow drawers of the wooden cabinet carefully and slowly, to find even more specimens of spiders, dried and mounted. They were like little jewels, lying so still in their trays.

  This morning it was too damp to go to the wood and or the laboratory, so she decided to go to the library and find a book to read. It was one of the more comfortable rooms in the house, and as she strolled around the perimeter she remembered being here with Lord Bromwell, wondering if he was going to kiss her…hoping that he would….

  Such thoughts would avail her nothing, she told herself, and she tried to concentrate on finding a book to read for education, if not amusement, since most of the volumes were histories of ancient Rome or Greece, Italy, England and France, or philosophy and religious sermons.

  She gave up hope of finding anything appealing after she had gone around the entire room and found herself once again by the door. Sighing, she pushed it half closed and glanced at the shelves behind it.

  The Castle of Count Korlovsky by Diana Westover was on the middle shelf, right at eye level. She’d heard of that book, and also the author, the wife of Viscount Adderley. Their marriage had been something of a sensation not so long ago. Indeed, Lady Sturmpole had been so fascinated by the gossip, one would think the author was one of her relatives, although she was not.

  Nell pulled out the book and read a little of the first chapter. Then a little more. Taking the volume, she was about to head for a chair to spend the rest of the morning reading when another book, on the far end of the shelf almost completely hidden by the door, caught her eye:

  The Spider’s Web.

  This must be how Lord Bromwell felt when he discovered a new kind of spider, she thought as she eagerly pulled it from the shelf, happy for another reason, as well. This meant his father had kept a copy, after all.

  She hurried to one of the large chairs near the window and settled down to read. She would save Diana Westover’s book for later; first, she must read Lord Bromwell’s.

  As she expected, the viscount’s book was no dry, scientific report about spiders or the other various species of flora and fauna he encountered and collected.

  In spite of the many scholastic elements of The Spider’s Web, it was also a rousing adventure, full of exciting events and danger, as well as humor and wry observations not just about foreign cultures and habits, but about life aboard ship. Many times Nell could practically smell the salt air and hear the crew’s colourful language.

  Nor did Lord Bromwell leave out the less attractive facets of life in close quarters. Often she could almost smell the bilge water and taste the hard biscuits, see the rats and hear the snores.

  It was no wonder he didn’t want to take a wife on such a voyage.

  Then there were the dangers, not just the hurricane that had wrecked their ship, killed some of the men and left the others stranded on an island little more than a spit of sand, but the unpredictable inhabitants of the exotic lands who might welcome visitors, or kill and eat them. Lord Bromwell, the captain and the rest of the crew had never been quite sure which sort of encounter it would be until they landed.

  Some of their experiences with the natives were of a distinctly pleasant nature. He spoke of their food, their social customs, their tattoos and their dances, and she realized he’d been doing something called the upa upa by the pond. As for other, more intimate, activities between the native population and their visitors, Lord Bromwell was discreet and couched his language carefully, but she could read between the lines. She was fairly certain he hadn’t kept aloof from the women.

  And he had done more than dance.

  Yet through it all, running like a thread of spider’s silk, were two obvious themes—Lord Bromwell’s passionate interest in his subject, and his modesty. And if he hadn’t already proven to her that he was a capable, intelligent, admirable man, she would know it now.

  A man cleared his throat loudly.

  Startled, she looked up, half-expecting to see Lord Bromwell himself, as if reading his book had conjured him all the way from London like a magic spell.

  It was not Lord Bromwell; it was his father, who stood with his chest out, his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels and regarding her gravely.

  “I’ve been looking for you, Lady Eleanor,” he announced. “There is something I wish to discuss with you.”

  For a horrible moment, she wondered if he’d discovered she was not who she claimed to be, until she realized he would surely be more angry and direct if he had.

  No, it must be something else he wished to talk about, so Nell subdued a sigh and girded herself to hear more about fountains, or water pumps, or the difficulties of shipping Italian marble.

  Instead—and what proved even more unnerving—the earl didn’t say anything at first.

  She shifted uncomfortably, but wasn’t about to venture a remark.

  “I presume you know that my son is the only living child of my wife and I?” the earl said at last.

  “I had assumed so, since no one ever spoke of siblings,” she replied.

  “Which means that, in due course, he will be the Earl of Granshire, a most noble and ancient title.”

  Nell inclined her head in silent acknowledgment of that fact.

  “He will be a very wealthy man. This estate and the house in London will be his, as well as a considerable fortune. His wife would, therefore, have every luxury and comfort.”

  “She w
ould also have your son, a not inconsiderable reward,” Nell pointed out.

  “Provided she could get him to stay in England and not go haring off after more bugs!” the earl said with a frown, clapping his hands behind his back and starting to pace.

  Nell didn’t know what to say to that, so she didn’t reply.

  “He could have been anything,” Lord Granshire grumbled as he marched back and forth. “A statesman—even Prime Minister. He was the cleverest boy at his school. All the masters said so. Instead he wastes his time and talent on bugs! They even called him Buggy Bromwell at school. My son, the heir of Granshire, a viscount, smartest lad at Harrow—Buggy! It’s enough to make a man tear out his hair!”

  “Surely you must be proud of him now,” she protested, dismayed by his attitude and alarmed by his vehemence.

  “How can I be proud of a son who studies bugs? Who dances with savages? Who won’t do his duty and marry and get an heir?”

  “I’m sure he’ll marry some day and hopefully there will be children.”

  The earl stopped pacing to fix her with a searching gaze that, at the moment, reminded her of the son he seemed to hate. “If my son could be persuaded to marry and especially if he could be persuaded to give up this notion of another voyage, I would be very grateful. His bride could count on a very generous wedding gift from his grateful father.”

  His meaning was unmistakable. He was offering her a bribe to marry his son.

  “And you need not think he’ll be lacking in the bedchamber,” his father continued. “His book provides ample evidence that—”

  She leapt to her feet before he went on. “By God, sir, you should be ashamed of yourself! What kind of a father are you? Are you truly that stupid, that blind to the merits of your son?

  “You should be proud of him. He could have been a rakehell, a cad, a scoundrel. He could be a gambler or a sot. He could be getting into debt or spending his money on Cyprians. Instead, he’s contributing to the sum of human knowledge. He’s doing something good and honorable. I’m sure there are many other men who would envy you your son and not belittle his work or consider him lacking, as you so obviously do.