If You Give A Girl A Viscount ib-4

by Kieran Kramer

  “You really don’t need to—” Miss Montgomery began.

  “I’m coming,” her stepmother said.

  Perdita stopping chewing long enough to say, “If there’s to be a Highland experience at the Keep, I want to be there.”

  “But you really should stay here,” Miss Montgomery told her. “This will be a gathering of sportsmen. And perhaps bird-watchers. You wouldn’t enjoy yourself.”

  “No,” said Perdita, scarfing down a glass of wine. “There. There is where I’ll be.”

  “We’re going to the Keep, and that’s that,” her mother said.

  The woman was full of vague threats, Charlie noted.

  What’s what. That’s that.

  What next?

  Miss Montgomery stood. “I’m off to the village.” Apparently, she’d decided a change in subject was best. “I plan on walking there now.”

  “And I’m accompanying her.” Charlie also stood and turned to Miss Cassandra. “Miss Montgomery is much too busy to make sashes. They’re completely unnecessary.”

  Miss Cassandra sucked in a breath.

  “Nor will we need a queen of the hunt or a female posing as a lucky talisman at the games,” Charlie told her mother.

  Mrs. Montgomery scowled and opened her mouth, no doubt to berate him, but Charlie put up a hand.

  “What we’ll need,” he said firmly, “are beautiful ladies to impress our guests, ladies who don’t appear fatigued in the least. I suggest you lounge about today, playing cards, reading, eating bonbons. Miss Montgomery can pack your trunks when she returns from her thankless errand to Glen Dewey.”

  He leaned forward. Stepmother and daughters bent toward him, almost as if they were under a spell.

  “You don’t want to have to mingle with the villagers,” he whispered to the spoiled trio. “Leave that sort of drudgery to the workhorses.”

  He cast a discreet glance at Miss Montgomery, then turned back to the rest of the company and winked.

  “You’re a man after my own heart, Viscount.” Mrs. Montgomery chortled and pushed her chair back. “I’m off to take a nap. Cassandra and Perdita, eat the remaining chocolates from the basket and be sure to lounge about as much as possible. You mustn’t appear fatigued tomorrow.”

  And she left.

  Cassandra and Perdita jumped up, anxious to be indolent.

  “I get the chair by the front window,” Perdita called, and practically raced her sister out of the room.

  Only Charlie and Miss Montgomery were left.

  He ignored the odd glimmer in her eyes. “We’ll repair to the Keep tomorrow morning. If all goes as planned, we’ll have guests in place there by tomorrow afternoon.”

  She didn’t say a word, only sent him a basilisk stare.

  “I had to do it,” he said. “At least they won’t be coming with us now. You’ve got to admit it was genius.”

  “Genius? I’ll be up all night packing their trunks. Enduring their tantrums.”

  God, yes. She would be, wouldn’t she? “But you’d be doing that anyway,” he dared to say. “Correct?”

  She didn’t say a word.

  “I’ll make it up to you,” he promised her. “I’ll do anything. Anything you ask.”

  “Anything?” Her gaze was speculative.

  “Yes. I’m supposed to, anyway. Godmother’s orders.”

  “Huh.” She kept observing him.

  He couldn’t help it. He put on his best peer-of-the realm expression: intimidating, cold. In control. He always did that when he was in trouble.

  But she wasn’t cowed in the least. Instead, the corner of her mouth turned up. “I’m going to hold you to that promise, Lord Lumley,” she finally said.

  And swept out of the room.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Glen Dewey should be charming, Charlie thought that afternoon. It had all the ingredients to make it so: a quaint, colorful high street; chapped, smiling faces at every door, each person ready to greet you and invite you to linger; smells that would make a full man hungry again—roasting lamb, baking bread, simmering pudding.

  But something was lacking. To be charming, one had to be free of worry. If one looked closer, the houses of Glen Dewey had been repaired umpteen times. The puddings were thin. The smiling faces were strained.

  The village was clearly in trouble.

  “Nothing’s happened here for the past five years,” Miss Montgomery told him on the way down Ben Fennon’s slope. “I hope we can do something.”

  They parted ways, each on their own mission.

  Two hours later, Charlie saw Miss Montgomery through the window at the village shop, speaking with all the local ladies. He waved, and she came running out to meet him.

  “Success?” Miss Montgomery’s expression was hopeful.

  “What do you think?” He grinned.

  “Same here!” She clasped her hands together. “It’s going to be wonderful.”

  “We’re on target,” he affirmed.

  On the way back up the hill to Castle Vandemere, she scampered up the narrow road ahead of him.

  “Joe will be so pleased his shinty sticks finally saw some use,” she said over her shoulder. “He’s made so many over the years, and they’ve been sitting in a small closet off the kitchen, going to waste.”

  Charlie liked seeing the extra skip in her step. “He told me he’d watch the game from one of the fields below the castle.”

  “Oh, that makes me glad for him.” Miss Montgomery threw Charlie a grateful smile. “But what gave you the idea that shinty would bring the men together?”

  He gave a little laugh. “No man can resist an opportunity to compete. I knew when Joe showed me the sticks, along with a ball to hit, that nothing would be able to prevent the men from playing. And by the end of it, all their differences seemed puny. They agreed to hold the hunt.” He paused, reflecting on his success. “Not that the gathering was trouble-free at first. They were leery, and a few unfriendly remarks were exchanged that I managed into jokes. But Joe’s whisky was also an irresistible lure and made it easier for the men to get past their awkwardness with each other.”

  “You’re quite the diplomat.” Miss Montgomery said it as if she truly admired him.

  “Do you really think so?”

  “I know so.”

  Her confidence in him was flattering. “Tell me more about what happened with you and your ladies.”

  She sidestepped a pothole in the road, and Charlie followed her lead. “They almost walked out on me, saying they didn’t have time to waste,” she said. “Their daily work is hard and unforgiving. But then I told them about the ceilidh at the conclusion of the ten days, and they forgot to be wary around each other. They grew excited at the idea of dressing up for it. Everyone loves a good dance. They’re even willing to cook and clean for the visitors—I think a bit of pride in the village began to come out by the end of the visit.”

  “You sound like quite a diplomat yourself. Or perhaps it’s your dimples. I know they’ve charmed me.”

  She slanted her gaze back at him. “That’s enough of that, my lord.” Her voice was a bit breathless, and he didn’t think it was from the climb.

  She resumed her forward stride, her hips angling right and left as she picked her way over the rough road. “The best thing of all,” she said without looking back at him, “is that Mrs. Gordon gave the women everything they’d need to look lovely for the ceilidh.”

  “You’re a clever girl.” He meant it, too. “How did you get Mrs. Gordon to donate all the fripperies?”

  Miss Montgomery paused in her hiking and turned to look back at him. “I had to give her the only inheritance from Papa that I’ve been able to hide from my stepmother, a beautiful ring with lovely stones that was more a precious memento than anything of great value. Nonetheless, it was enough for Mrs. Gordon. I … I hope Papa would have understood.”

  She looked as though she really weren’t quite sure. Traces of guilt lingered around her eyes.

 
The wind picked up and blew mournfully around them, at odds with the sunny day.

  “No doubt he’d have given you his blessing completely,” Charlie reassured her.

  He saw her brow soften a little at that, which made him glad. But the truth was, he hated that she’d given away her cherished keepsake. Although he wouldn’t tell her—no need to make her feel the absence of her ring even more.

  “Did you pick out a dress for yourself?” he asked her, and wished with all his heart that he could have paid for the gowns.

  “No,” she said, her voice light. “I have one with which I can make do very well.”

  “You should spoil yourself, too.”

  “What I wear that night won’t matter,” she said with a stiff shrug. “I’ll have more important things to think about, such as how the visitors and villagers are enjoying themselves.”

  It was no use arguing with her. The woman was stubborn. And perhaps she needed a little more convincing that she deserved to don a beautiful gown.

  That was his secret project.

  He put down the bag of shinty sticks. “How about a break to take in the glorious view?”

  And before she could answer, he turned his back to her, made great fists, and stretched his arms above his head as high as they could go. He was mildly sore from the shinty, had even taken a hit to his lower back that still stung.

  But the stretch felt good. He felt good. He dropped his arms and sighed. In spite of the soreness, he felt brimming with vitality.

  And there was a certain young lady behind him who quickened his blood to fever pitch.

  She arrived at his elbow, put her hands on her hips, and took in the vista of mountains, loch, and sky. “It is magnificent, isn’t it? I could stay here all day and gaze.”

  “Aye,” he said softly.

  The word came naturally to him up here in the Highlands. It was such a pleasant, easy utterance, and he certainly felt a hundred times more relaxed in this corner of the world than he did in London.

  Who couldn’t forget their worries when they were surrounded by such beauty? Including the unspoiled beauty of the woman at his side, a woman who didn’t believe she deserved a pretty dress.

  But she did. He only wished she knew.

  “I think what you’re doing to save Castle Vandemere is grand,” he said. “But what you’re doing for the ladies of Glen Dewey is equally as generous.”

  She shook her head. “Anybody would do as much.”

  “Not really. I know plenty of people who don’t think any further than themselves. Myself included.”

  She laughed. “You are a rather self-centered viscount. Although today in the village, you were simply—”

  “What?”

  “A good man.”

  “Is that so?” He pulled her close. “I’ve known you but a day. Why does it seem longer?”

  “I wonder that myself,” she said. “I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

  Forever.

  She pulled away from him, grinning. She clutched her skirt in her hands and took small steps backward, up the slope.

  “Where are you going?” he asked, climbing after her.

  “Nowhere,” she whispered, a teasing lilt to her voice.

  She kept backing away.

  He kept following.

  And then she stood still. “I didn’t know it would be like this.” She released the hold she had on her skirt. Her expression was serious, yet there was also a gleam of something happy in her gaze.

  She was so beautiful then, he could hardly bear to blink. “You didn’t know what would be like this?”

  “Meeting a man. Feeling as if I know him already.” She hitched her shoulders.

  “I’m honored.” He allowed himself a grin. “I think.”

  Her mouth curved in a small smile, and she pulled a lock of hair out of her eye. “But I also feel that I’m a bit in danger around you. A pleasing danger.”

  He grabbed her waist. “There’s nothing to fear.”

  “I think there is,” she whispered, and moved a fraction of an inch closer to him.

  He was touched. When one was in danger, one usually moved away.

  “I’m afraid my stepsister will find out,” she said. “And she can’t. I’m frightened for Hester and Joe. And I’m afraid that I’m selfish.”

  She bewitched him with her honesty.

  With her vulnerability.

  “I won’t let your stepsister find out,” he assured her. “Joe and Hester will be fine. And you’re the opposite of selfish.”

  He held on to her, and they stood still for a moment, listening to the sough of the wind through the glen.

  She looked up at him with her fairy blue eyes.

  And he saw trust.

  Trust.

  Funny how that twisted his heart.

  Funny how it made him almost speechless.

  Almost.

  “All I can think about right now is kissing you,” he confessed, his voice hoarse with longing.

  He wouldn’t apologize or pretend to be a cool, sophisticated London bachelor. With her, he couldn’t. He’d tried, in the dining room. But it was stupid. And false.

  He wasn’t that man.

  Beneath his expensive clothes and behind his illustrious name, he was like any other man. And that was a good thing. A relief.

  He’d felt different for so long. Left out. Bound by his family’s expectations and society’s rules.

  But in that moment, standing on the slope of Ben Fennon, he felt closer to what being a man is all about than he ever had before. He still wasn’t sure what it meant to be one entirely, but here in the Highlands, with Miss Montgomery keeping him on his toes—and trusting him at the same time—he felt the stirrings of understanding.

  She peeked at him from beneath her lashes. “You’ve kissed a lot of women.”

  He nodded. “That’s what Impossible Bachelors do.”

  “What’s an Impossible Bachelor?”

  “A silly title given me by Prinny himself. It means I’m adept at charming women and avoiding legshackles.”

  She put her hands on his chest. “Prinny named you this?”

  “Yes, His Royal Highness himself. It was a lark, of course. He lives for amusement. As I have always done.”

  Until now, he wanted to add. But he didn’t want her to know he was enjoying the newfound sense of responsibility he felt as a stand-in for his grandmother.

  God forbid anyone knew.

  Miss Montgomery tilted her head. “So why should I let you kiss me?”

  “Because I think you’re beautiful.” His hands were splayed across her back, and he felt her rib cage still.

  She wasn’t even breathing.

  “I’m not just saying that,” he reassured her.

  She started breathing again. “You’re not?”

  “No.” How could he get her to believe what he said was true? “Don’t get me wrong. A lot of men say that to … to get women to kiss them, but I mean it. You are beautiful. You’re full of fire, and your eyes get to be a stormy blue when—”

  “Sssh.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

  It was exactly the tonic he needed!

  The kiss went on …

  And on.

  The sun warmed the back of his neck, and the smell of the heather mixed with the scent of her skin tantalized him. He couldn’t get enough of her sweet mouth.

  Finally, after endlessly frustrating but glorious kisses, he picked her up.

  She laughed. “Where are you going with me?”

  “Over there.” He angled his chin at a fine patch of soft grass off the road. Above it a slab of rock jutted out toward Glen Dewey. It looked like a set of stairs. Below it was a grouping of three larch trees, standing sentinel on the mountain.

  “No one can see us from above or below,” he said, “and if someone decides to come up or down the road, we’ll hear them well before they get here.”

  “You’ve brought me to the Stone Steps,” she said
, and kissed that vulnerable place beneath his chin. It was rough from lack of shaving. “It’s the best place to be to get a view of Glen Dewey, and the mountains behind form a marvelous backdrop. But a warning to the newcomer.”

  “Yes?”

  “Right next to the steps is the worst place to be.” She pointed to a copse of trees to their left. “Binney’s Bog lurks behind those pines. Stay far away. You’ll sink and never be found if you accidentally land in it. And that’s not a barmy Scots legend—it’s the truth. Mr. Binney was the first on record to have lost his life there, some four hundred years ago.”

  “Thanks for the cautionary tale. I’ll heed it well.”

  She kissed him beneath his chin again, lingering as he walked with her.

  They’d arrived at the perfect spot.

  “Here,” he said, and lowered her to the grass.

  He took the pins out of her hair one by one, until the tight bun was released and her long golden locks lay across her shoulders and down her back.

  When he fell down beside her, she immediately turned to kiss him. Her eagerness made him so heady, he pulled back. “Miss Montgomery—”

  “Can’t you call me Daisy?”

  “Daisy.” He bent and kissed her, luxuriating in the feel of her satiny-soft lips against his own. Their tongues collided and played, and she sighed when he caressed her waist and moved to her breast.

  By sheer strength of will, he stopped and pulled her close, so close her face was buried in his chest.

  “I want you desperately,” he said to a small boulder and a stalk of wintergreen behind her. “But I respect your honor. You’re my charge, too, so I can’t—I mean to say, in a moment, after a few more of these lovely kisses, we’re going to stand. And then we’re going to head up the road to the castle. After we fix your hair, of course. I couldn’t resist letting it down.” He reveled in the silkiness of her hair against his palm and the feel of her lithe body against his own. “Oh, and you must call me Charlie.”

  “Charlie!” Her muffled voice tickled his chest. “I can’t breathe.”

  He immediately pulled back. When she looked up at him, she had the faint impression of one of his jacket buttons on her cheek and that vaguely smashed look people get when they’ve been sleeping on a pillow in one position too long.