My Scandalous Viscount by Gaelen Foley

glanced over at her; he could tell by the nervous look on her pale face that she did not relish going in there, either.
    She turned and met his gaze. “Here we are.”
    “Ready? You remember what you’re going to say?” he murmured. They had discussed it before leaving Dante House.
    She nodded.
    “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine,” he assured her softly. “How’s the head?”
    She touched her bandage with a self-conscious look. “Not too bad.”
    “Let me see.” He reached over and turned her face to see if any blood was coming through the bandage, but there was no stain, no seepage. “I think you’re in good shape.”
    She smiled wryly in the darkness. “You owe me a hat.”
    “Right,” he agreed with a rueful nod. “Right, then. Let’s get on with it.”
    They walked up to the front door, exchanged an uneager glance, then Carissa stepped in first, with Beau right behind her.
    The activity in the house resembled that inside a chicken coop invaded by a fox. There were such squawks and cluckings and hysterical flappings-about of all the female inhabitants, the likes of which Beau had never seen.
    Lady Denbury was beside herself; the governess was crying; the two famed termagants known as the Denbury Daughters were bellowing at the maids.
    All of this chaos only intensified when the women saw the bandage around Carissa’s head and the blood on his coat. How could the old man bear it? Beau wondered, but when Lord Denbury himself came striding through the hubbub, the three of them fled into his study alone, and the earl shut the door. Whereupon, they jointly presented her powerful uncle with their excellent cock-and-bull story.
    Side by side, they told the stern, patrician chairman of countless parliamentary committees how Carissa, feeling ill in the stuffy theatre, had stepped outside to get some air. She explained how she had been harassed by a few of the skulking footpads who lurked in the square across the street after dark.
    Then Beau explained how he, while waiting for a “friend,” had heard her cry for help and rushed out to save her. But in scaring off the unsavory thieves who had been trying to snatch her reticule and her necklace—if not worse—one of them, while retreating, had turned and fired a pistol at him.
    “As you can see, it hit me in the arm.” He nodded down at the torn and bloodied sleeve of his coat, proof that what he said was at least approximately true. “I was shielding your niece, but Miss Portland wanted to see what was going on—”
    “Naturally,” her uncle muttered, raising an eyebrow at her.
    “When she peeked out from behind me, the bullet grazed the side of her head. As I told her, she’s very lucky. She could easily have been killed.”
    “So, you brought her to a surgeon?”
    “No, sir. There was no time to find out. I tended her myself.”
    “ What? ”
    “She was already unconscious, and, I must say, there was a lot of blood. From my service in the war, I am well versed in tending these kinds of wounds. But I had to take her to where I had the necessary supplies on hand and the space to work without a theatre full of gossips looking on.”
    “So where exactly did you take my ward?” he exclaimed.
    “Dante House.”
    Lord Denbury groaned, hiding his face in his hand. “Fortunately, I soon found the bullet had only grazed her,” Beau continued. “She needed a few stitches—as did I. As soon as I had her all bandaged up, I brought her here. I can assure you, sir, nothing dishonorable happened. You have my word on that. Unfortunately, we both know the ton won’t see it that way.”
    “Quite.” Denbury lifted his head from his hand and eyed him warily. “As you are a gentleman, I trust you know what this means.”
    “I do, sir,” he said firmly. “That’s why I’m here. I can provide your niece with a good life, and I see no reason why she’d be unsuitable for me.”
    Carissa and he exchanged a cautious glance.
    “Your family name is most