The Viscount's Kiss by Margaret Moore Page A

entered and posed by the hearth, his elbow on the mantel, shoulders back, chest out, in an attitude that, she suspected, he thought made him look imperial and impressive.
    â€œWhat a charming picture!” the earl declared as he regarded them with a condescending smile. “To think I have two of the loveliest women in England in my drawing room!”
    His wife blushed, while Nell gave the supercilious, boastful earl a meaningless smile. At least he wasn’t criticizing his son.
    â€œAnd of course, I wish to have two of the loveliest women in England at our hunt ball. You will stay for that, won’t you, Lady Eleanor?”
    She avoided looking at Lord Bromwell. She shouldn’t care what he thought of that suggestion, because she didn’t dare attend. Any such gathering might mean an introduction to someone who knew the real Lady Eleanor.
    â€œWhen is it?” Lord Bromwell inquired.
    â€œGad, Justinian, you should know. It’s always the first Saturday of November,” his father replied.
    â€œI was asking for Lady Eleanor’s benefit,” he calmly explained.
    A month. She didn’t dare to remain here a whole month.
    â€œI suppose you’ve invited the usual set?” Lord Bromwell asked his mother.
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œWill Lady Jemisina be attending?”
    Whoever Lady Jemisina was, Nell hated her instantly.
    His mother’s eyes brightened and she darted a swift, thrilled look at her husband. “I’ve already had her acceptance.”
    â€œAnd her father?”
    That question doused the happy light in Lady Granshire’s eyes, while Nell felt as if she’d unfairly maligned the harmless Lady Jamesina. “Yes, but Justinian, you must promise me you won’t—”
    â€œGad!” his father cried. “Do you hear nothing that I say to you? You will not pester our guests with requests for sponsoring another ridiculous expedition!”
    Nell looked swiftly at Lord Bromwell, expecting him to flush or frown or even leave the room. Instead, he merely raised a brow as he replied, “How do you know that I don’t have something of a more personal matter to discuss with Lady Jemisina’s father?”
    His mother clasped her hands as if she was about to receive her heart’s desire. “You do? ”
    In spite of her rational realization that there could be nothing between Lord Bromwell and her, Nell suddenly felt disappointed and dismayed—until Lord Bromwell gave her a swift, inscrutable glance and said, “I may—or I may not. I was merely pointing out to my esteemed parent that since he cannot read my mind, he can only guess at my intentions.
    â€œNow if I might make a suggestion, I think Lady Eleanor is rather fatigued. Perhaps, my lady, you’d like to retire?”
    â€œYes, I would,” she quickly agreed, thinking it best to get away from them all, but especially from Lord Bromwell, before she did something really foolish.
    Like fall in love with him.
    Â 
    Early the next morning, Nell slipped out onto the terrace and continued into the garden. Wrapping the cashmere shawl Lady Granshire had provided about her shoulders, she kept to the paved walks, for the dew was still sparkling on the grass.
    The yew hedges, shrubs and edges of the walks were all neatly and precisely trimmed. The flower beds were pristine, the plants evenly spaced, the roses expertly pruned. Every portion was formal and clearly planned to the last detail.
    Instead of being impressed, however, as the earl would no doubt expect, the formality and man-made arrangement made her yearn for wild, open country or a forest, where plants and trees grew untended and free.
    Perhaps that was another reason Lord Bromwell had gone to sea, to get away from the constraining regulation of his family’s estate.
    She encountered a ha-ha at the far end of the garden. The sunken fence was in a shallow moat and beyond it she could see a path leading