Free The Viscount's Kiss by Margaret Moore Page B

coach?”
    â€œI was in a mail coach.”
    â€œBecause you sold your carriage. Her father has at least two coaches and twice as many carriages.”
    Trust his father to remember a detail like that about another nobleman. “Perhaps she prefers to travel with people of another class. One can have some very interesting discussions with people of different backgrounds.”
    His father looked at him as if he had just announced that he believed himself the king of Tahiti, while his mother murmured something about contagious diseases.
    â€œMail coaches are faster than a post chaise,” he truthfully added, hoping his father would find that simple statement of fact enough of an explanation.
    â€œIf she’d been in one of the duke’s coaches, her maid probably wouldn’t have run off with her clothes,” his father said.
    â€œShe has no clothes?” his mother asked, looking as ifshe thought they meant Lady Eleanor was wandering about as naked as a newborn babe.
    â€œA few,” Bromwell quickly assured her.
    He then repeated the lie he’d suggested to Lady Eleanor. His parents hadn’t been staying at the London town house when that excuse had been used before.
    â€œOh, the poor woman, to have so many catastrophes at once!” his mother cried, moving as if she were going to get up, until his father threw himself into the nearest chair covered in emerald-green and gold brocade.
    â€œThat’s why I invited her here,” his father said. “Your son would have had her going to some hotel in Bath, despite the riffraff she might meet there. Besides, her father was one of my best friends at school.”
    â€œReally?” Bromwell said, not able to hide his skepticism. “I’ve never heard you speak of him.”
    â€œMaybe if you paid attention to dinner conversation once in a while, you would have,” his father retorted.
    Maybe if you conversed about something interesting, I would, Bromwell thought. Instead of voicing that thought aloud, however, he said, “I didn’t realize we had a connection to the family. I’ve never met them, have I?”
    That question didn’t increase his father’s opinion of his son’s intelligence. “You probably had your nose in a book the last time they were here. They’ve been in Italy for the past five years. I thought they were still there.”
    Bromwell racked his brain, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember meeting Lady Eleanor.
    â€œShe must make free of my wardrobe, if my clothes will fit,” his mother offered, “or they can be made over if they don’t.”
    â€œThank you,” Bromwell said, pleased by her generosity.
    â€œI’ve already directed Mrs. Fallingbrook to select some garments for our guest,” her husband said. “I’m sure the duke will be grateful for any assistance we can render his daughter.”
    Bromwell was quite sure the duke’s response would not be favorable if he ever learned they’d given sanctuary to his daughter as she fled a marriage they were keen to promote. Unlike his father, however, he didn’t care what the Duke of Wymerton—or anyone else—thought of him for helping her.
    All that mattered was that she was safe, and free.
    â€œHer looks have improved considerably, I must say. She’s grown into quite a beauty,” his father noted with an unmistakable significance that made Bromwell want to roll his eyes with frustration. “I’ve told you, Father, that I’ve no intention of taking a wife anytime soon.”
    â€œWell, you should!” his father growled, glaring at him. “I’m not going to live forever, you know, and it’s your duty to provide an heir, or this house, this estate—all that I and your ancestors have worked for—will go to that tosspot second cousin of mine in Jamaica. I won’t stand for it, Bromwell!”
    â€œNow Frederic,