If You Give A Girl A Viscount ib-4

by Kieran Kramer

  Daisy.

  He liked it.

  It suited her.

  Not that it mattered. It didn’t matter at all.

  But when she moved aside and the dark-haired siren took her place, he felt a lack—a lack he couldn’t put his finger on.

  Yet it was there, just the same.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Daisy hadn’t taken two steps when her stepmother repeated Perdita’s question: “Who is your fiancée, Lord Lumley?”

  Daisy stopped moving.

  Lord Lumley stared intently at her.

  She stared intently back.

  Come on, she was thinking. Think of a name!

  “Lord Lumley.” Mona’s demanding voice grated on Daisy’s ears. “Who is your fiancée?”

  Yes, who was she?

  “She stands here before me,” the viscount said in a rough voice.

  Who? Who stood before him?

  Daisy’s palms began to sweat. He’d spoken as if he’d had to recite that line in a very bad school play when he was ten years old.

  She locked gazes with the viscount’s and prayed he’d come up with a convincing tale.

  “She is Miss Montgomery,” he went on in a rather sick voice.

  Daisy looked over her shoulder, but there was no one there.

  He couldn’t mean—

  Gasps were heard from every member of her stepfamily. Daisy wanted to gasp, too, but she felt if she opened her mouth, she might scream.

  Swinging her gaze back to the viscount’s, she saw the sheer, dogged determination on his face to lie through his teeth and knew she was in for trouble.

  “Through letters,” he practically whispered, “Miss Montgomery—Daisy—has consented to become my wife. Her godmother, after all, is my grandmother. So it seemed perfectly natural, when I realized my obligation as the heir, that we align the two families.”

  Good heavens!

  Daisy felt a pinch on her arm.

  “You’ve never spoken of this,” Cassandra said through tight lips.

  “No,” Daisy whispered, rubbing her arm. “I haven’t.”

  “You don’t act engaged,” Perdita said, her hands clenched into giant fists.

  “Oh, but we are.” Lord Lumley took two steps forward, leaned down, and kissed Daisy right on the lips.

  It was her second kiss, and once again Daisy’s mouth felt scorched. She wasn’t sure if it was a bad or good feeling, but she took no time to wonder because she was furious at the viscount! So furious she could no longer breathe.

  I have to learn how to breathe immediately, she thought, because it’s too late. This kiss is already happening, and unlike the last one, it’s not stopping.

  She also had the fleeting thought, I hate this man. What has he done? But she had to give that thought up to concentrate.

  The kiss was passionate one second and tender the next, so tender that she was aghast to realize she felt like weeping with the sheer wonder of it. Lord Lumley hugged her tighter, and she put her arms around his neck—his firm, solid man’s neck. The kiss grew passionate again, hot and demanding on both sides, as if they were in a battle of wills.

  Who could kiss better … and longer?

  She couldn’t help responding to the challenge, even though she knew it was in her best interests to stop. Mona, Cassandra, and Perdita were standing right there. They’d tease her mercilessly later; Mona would say hateful things about how she couldn’t kiss worth two cents and would make a terrible hussy (Mona hated all competition).

  But kissing the viscount was like being tickled against Daisy’s will. Her mind screamed no, but her lips—her whole body—screamed yes.

  “Stop it, both of you!” Perdita shrieked.

  Which threw an immediate splash of proverbial cold water on the whole incident.

  Daisy’s and the viscount’s lips came apart.

  Whew. For once in her life, Daisy felt she should be grateful for her loud stepsister. But she wasn’t.

  She was frustrated. Kissing was the best thing she’d ever done. And she longed to try it a third time. The viscount smiled down at her, although the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m the happiest man on earth.”

  He picked up Daisy’s hand—which made her jump—and folded it tightly beneath his arm.

  “There, there, dear,” he said, as she tried to curl her fingers into a fist to better pull away, but he held her in an iron grip. “It’s all right. You’re supposed to find your future husband irresistible.”

  Perdita flapped her arms, which caused a waft of air to stir all her ruffles. “I hate you more than ever now, Daisy.”

  Mona tapped her foot. “How could you keep this a secret?”

  Daisy was afraid to make eye contact with her stepmother, and so she stared at the floor to compose herself as her mind attempted to devise a lie and failed. “I—I was afraid to tell you,” was all she could produce.

  A most feeble story.

  “She’s being kind.” The viscount patted her hand. “The truth is, I told her not to tell you until I was ready. I’ve been doing my best to complete some unfinished business so we can be together, but it’s taken longer than I thought, and—”

  “And what?” Mona asked.

  Daisy’s mind raced.

  “And she missed me,” Lord Lumley filled in. “She missed me so much she’s been crying. Every night. And I had to come see her in person to prove my devotion.”

  Cassandra peered at her. “I have noticed how red and swollen her eyes are lately.”

  “Me, too,” said Perdita.

  God, Daisy hated her stepsisters sometimes!

  Well, all the time, if she were honest.

  “And you missed me, as well,” Daisy said through gritted teeth to the viscount. “So much so that you—you cried every night, too.”

  Mona and Cassandra stared at each other and then back at him.

  “He doesn’t look the type,” Cassandra said.

  “No,” Mona added speculatively.

  “I didn’t cry,” the viscount insisted, completely unruffled and still gazing at Daisy adoringly. “I merely moaned. Once. In my sleep. I think it was indigestion.”

  “But you said it woke the neighbors,” Daisy said, looking deep into his eyes. It was so difficult to appear besotted when you were aggravated. “And you told them that was the last straw. You had to come see me. You said something about how love was better than … petting a lamb with brown eyes. Or a pudding.”

  “Funny,” he answered her, his eyes sparking with a message that she read loud and clear as: You. Will. Pay. And it won’t be pretty. “I don’t remember that part.”

  “I do,” Daisy said, feeling nervous as a result of that threatening message of his, which he disguised well beneath his own cloying version of a besotted gaze. “We simply couldn’t stay apart any longer. He came here to win you over, Stepmother, despite his unfinished business.” She sighed. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

  Oddly enough, a corner of Mona’s mouth went up. “Don’t be. Finally, you’re showing some much-needed wiliness. A trait to be nurtured.”

  And then she laughed—a slow laugh that built into a crescendo that sent Jinx flying from the room, her tail cocked to the ceiling and puffy, like a thistle in full bloom.

  “Very well,” said Mona, seemingly satisfied with the explanations, thank God. “We’ll adjust. But we don’t have room for you in the castle, Viscount. We’re already cramped. You’ll have to sleep elsewhere.”

  “Don’t tell me,” he said with a weary sigh. “The byre?”

  “Right.” Mona wagged a finger at him. “And don’t think you can hide there. If you want to become a member of this family, prepare to be worked to the bone. No man will be allowed to steal my stepdaughter’s virtue without paying heavily for it, if not with gobs of money—which you apparently don’t have at the moment but is my preferred method of restitution—then with arduous labor. In fact, I need you to move this sofa immediately. Closer to the east wind
ow.”

  She pointed to the extremely large sofa the viscount himself had lounged upon not a few minutes before.

  “Very well,” he gritted out, and sent Daisy another you-will-pay-and-it-won’t-be-pretty look.

  It’s your fault, she sent back.

  “Shall I tell you the story of my life, new brother?” Perdita yelled in his ear.

  He winced. “I don’t believe now’s the time,” he replied in grim tones, moving small tables and footrests out of the way of the sofa’s path to its new resting place beneath the east window.

  Nevertheless, just as he hoisted one end of the sofa with ease, Perdita began to regale him with a tremendous lie about her amazing ride on the back of a camel that she’d paid a nickel to ride down the Broad-Way when it had come to New York with a traveling circus.

  She really ought to write books, Daisy thought, engrossed in the fantastical tale despite herself. They’d never been to New York or seen a camel.

  But Daisy was even more engrossed in the way Lord Lumley’s form was shown to perfection when he lifted that sofa.

  He was a virile man. Shivers of awareness ran through her from head to toe. She was to pretend to be the viscount’s fiancée? Eventually, Mona, Cassandra, and Perdita would find out she was not.

  She was trapped.

  Trapped.

  But meanwhile, she was looking after her own best interests: hers, Hester’s, and Joe’s.

  Even with that thought to comfort her, she still felt completely hemmed in by the situation, in more ways than one. Behind her was a solid low table beneath which Jinx had returned to splay herself, belly exposed hopefully, for potential scratches.

  To her right, Cassandra glared at her. To her left stood Mona, who clapped her hands loudly, startling Daisy.

  And then she saw why. Joe had entered the room, his cap doffed respectfully. “Pardon me, missus.”

  “Get out,” Mona barked, and waved her hand toward the door.

  “Can you not see we’re busy?” Cassandra added.

  Joe’s face fell, and Daisy couldn’t help blurting out: “He’s here to tell us something important, Stepmother. He never comes in unless he needs help.”

  “Shut up, girl,” Mona said. “Whatever it is, we’ll take care of it later.”

  Girl.

  Mona always called her that.

  Joe, his face ashen with distress, hunched his shoulders and limped out the door again, not making eye contact with Daisy, even though she wished he would with all her heart.

  Daisy hated her stepmother more than ever.

  Mona immediately swept round the table, lowered herself upon the sofa in its new location, and patted the cushion next to her. “Do sit, Lumley. I must tell you about the drawbridge. It sags. You’ll begin work on it tomorrow.”

  She raked her bold gaze over his tight, if a bit torn, buckskin breeches.

  He stared at her. Then slowly came forward. But he didn’t sit.

  Daisy could hardly breathe.

  Mona opened her mouth to speak again, but the viscount cut her off.

  “I won’t stand by and allow you to treat your servants and stepdaughter so cruelly.” He exuded all the cold hauteur one would expect of a viscount.

  “Yes,” huffed Perdita. “She treats me like the veriest toad. Why, just yesterday—”

  “Not you,” Lumley interrupted her.

  Perdita’s mouth hung open for an appalling second, exposing a row of yellow teeth, and then shut. “Then whom?”

  Daisy wanted to swat her for being so stupid!

  “Your stepsister Daisy,” the viscount explained to Perdita, his patience running thin, judging by the dangerous edge to his voice.

  “You misunderstand me.” Mona paused to indulge in a light yawn. “I have only Daisy’s best interests at heart.” She threw her arm over the back of the sofa and stared off into the distance, her overlarge bosom thrust out rudely.

  “I think not,” the viscount said. “And your lack of compassion to an elderly servant is equally reprehensible.”

  Mona turned and glared at him.

  He glared right back.

  “Mine is a family that doesn’t tolerate cruelty.” He addressed Mona in a low, threatening voice that sent tingles down Daisy’s spine. “Have a care if you want to be received into it with any consideration for your own comforts. For soon your stepdaughter will be my wife, and I won’t tolerate your viciousness.”

  Perdita whimpered.

  Mona frowned at her. “Listen to him, and you’ll lose the upper hand.”

  “Oh, right,” said Perdita.

  Daisy had to restrain an exasperated sigh. Perdita would never have the upper hand with anything, even if it were handed to her, much less the upper hand over someone as intimidating as the viscount.

  He turned to Daisy, his eyes still snapping with fury. Mona’s was such a nasty soul. But there was also something else in his gaze Daisy couldn’t name. Perhaps it was a bit more comprehension of her situation than she’d let on in the letter to his grandmother.

  There was no particular kindness in his eyes, she noted. Simply a better grasp of the magnitude of her problem.

  “Miss Montgomery,” he addressed her, “shall we go visit your servant and attend to his needs?”

  “I’d love to.” Daisy put her hand through his arm and, despite everything, felt a tiny bit happy and hopeful for the first time in a long time. The viscount might not be what she’d expected, but things were already changing. Just as she’d felt in her bones they would.

  CHAPTER SIX

  It had been a momentous day. Daisy had kissed the viscount. Twice. And now she was pretending to be engaged to him. He’d also captured an escaped lamb, who’d been bleating for its mother high on a rocky hillock Joe couldn’t possibly climb. It was a minor feat of heroism for which she’d longed to kiss Lord Lumley again but didn’t dare.

  Hester had called everything a “shocking turn of events” even before Daisy had whispered in her ear that the engagement was a ruse. After she’d learned the truth, Hester had amended her description to a “shocking, scandalous turn of events.”

  And it had been scandalous!

  All afternoon and early evening, Daisy couldn’t help thinking back to her initial conversation with the viscount, to how she’d slapped away his hand, exchanged bold words with him, and been pulled into his arms. Of course, the next thing she knew, they’d shared that first kiss.

  It had been short and sweet, even more delicious and unexpected than turning a corner and seeing a rainbow ahead. Or waking up, sliding into your chair at the breakfast table, and seeing a lovely cup of chocolate when all you thought you had in the house was tea.

  The second kiss defied description. Thinking about it brought on shortness of breath.

  Now it was dinner, and Daisy gathered her courage. She must face the viscount and decide exactly what to do with him—other than kiss him, that is.

  The gown she wore, a castoff from Cassandra, wasn’t the prettiest in the world, but she’d added a bit of lace trim to the sleeves and neckline that gave her an extra boost of confidence.

  “I don’t know why I feel the need to impress him,” she whispered to Hester, while the servant laced up the back of her dress. “But I do.”

  “It’s because he’s so handsome,” Hester said, adjusting Daisy’s curls. “Even though he’s got Sassenach blood, he’s the Golden Prince, all right. It’s uncanny.” She took Daisy by the shoulders and turned her toward the looking glass. “And you’re the Golden Girl.”

  Daisy blushed. “His being handsome has naught to do with it,” she tried to convince herself. “I must impress him for practical reasons. That’s why. He’s the key to keeping Castle Vandemere.”

  But she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be held in his arms again and kissed once more, without interruption.

  Hester made an impatient noise. “We’ll have none of that talk. Ye’re going to enjoy yourself tonight.” She draped the bol
d family tartan sash over one of Daisy’s shoulders. “Don’t ye be worryin’ about the feu duty. Not this evening.”

  Daisy stroked her hand over the sash that had belonged to her mother. “Yes. Who knows when I’ll ever be engaged in truth? I’ll do my best to enjoy it. And at the very least, if the viscount can help us keep possession of the castle, then I’ll be happy.”

  Hester sighed. “Happy? How can we be with the Furies in residence?”

  “We must endure them,” Daisy said. “Perhaps they’ll grow tired of Scotland and leave. They hate it so.”

  “I wish they would.”

  “Until they do, we’ll work around them,” Daisy said.

  Mama had taught her that. In the old days, she’d brought Daisy with her to her little bungalow that Papa had built her, to sit at her feet while she painted. “You have to work with the paint,” she’d told Daisy, “and work with whatever the day brings you. If it’s a wee bit dreary out, you paint it. But paint it so it makes you glad to be inside near a cozy fire.”

  “Just think how much better our nightly chats in the kitchen are because we know the Furies are too lazy and rude to join us,” Daisy said.

  “True,” the housekeeper replied with a sigh.

  Daisy grinned. “I vow if they weren’t appallingly close, the shortbread and milk wouldn’t taste half so fine. Nor would our jokes be as entertaining.”

  “I never thought of it that way.” Hester patted Daisy’s rear. “There must be enduring,” she said, “but there must also be true living. Which includes men and women falling in love.”

  “Hester.” Daisy felt her cheeks pinken. “You speak much too hastily.”

  Hester chuckled. “I dinnae say falling in love right away, although it can happen. I meant when the time is right, lass.”

  It won’t ever be right, Daisy reminded herself.

  And then went back to thinking about the viscount’s mouth. When he spoke, his lips appeared hard and firm with a cynical curl to the upper edge of them. But when he’d kissed her, they’d turned soft and teasing.

  His hand about her waist had been possessive, yes, which had almost riled her, but she’d also experienced the wonderful sensation of being held close as if she mattered.