The Viscount's Kiss by Margaret Moore Page A

to open the door of the coach and lower the step.
    A tall, imposing gentleman appeared, wearing an indigo greatcoat with four capes and large brass buttons. As hestood on the step, his gaze swept over the yard until it came to rest upon Lord Bromwell.
    As if announcing the end was nigh, the man threw out his arms and cried, “My son!”

Chapter Five
    Of course Drury won the case, as expected. We’re having a little dinner party to celebrate, but nothing that you should mourn to miss.
    I trust you’re handing your pater and mater with your usual savoir faire when you’re not taking refuge in your sanctuary, although how you can concentrate in such surroundings is beyond the limited powers of my comprehension.
    â€”from a letter to Lord Bromwell from the Honorable Brixton Smythe-Medway
    T here had been many times in his life that Bromwell had craved his father’s attention.
    This was not one of them.
    â€œMy lord,” he said, dreading what this sudden, unexpected advent signified as he walked quickly toward the Earl of Granshire, who actually deigned to alight in the yard in spite of the gawking servants, other travellers and the mud.
    Normally his father only left his estate for the opening of Parliament, or if some important business matter madea visit to his banker or solicitor in Bath necessary. Even then, more often than not, such men came to him.
    He hadn’t even gone to Dover when his son had returned after two years at sea.
    â€œI came to bring you home to your mother,” the earl announced.
    As if he were a child who’d run away after a fit of pique, Bromwell thought, his jaw clenching, very aware that Lady Eleanor was watching from the taproom door.
    He’d noticed her at once, of course, drawn to her presence like a migrating swallow to Capistrano, feeling her proximity before he saw her. Like his ability to know what time it was without consulting a watch or clock, he couldn’t explain the phenomenon; it simply was.
    As she was simply lovely, and exciting, and the most desirable women he’d ever met.
    â€œYour poor mother was beside herself when we received your message about the accident,” his father declared, making Bromwell instantly wish he hadn’t sent it, even if his delayed arrival might cause her to worry.
    â€œNever fear, my dear, I said,” his father continued, raising his hand as if calling upon supernatural powers, “I shall retrieve him!”
    Bromwell doubted any actor currently appearing at the Theatre Royal could deliver those lines better. Indeed, at this precise moment, he could well believe his father had missed his true calling.
    â€œI regret giving Mother any cause to worry,” he said. “There really was no need for you to come. I’m quite all right.”
    â€œPerhaps, but it could have been otherwise. That’s what comes of selling your carriage and travelling in a mail coach!”
    â€œPlenty of people travel in mail coaches without mishaps,” Bromwell said, although he suspected it was useless to try to make his father appreciate that such accidents weren’t common.
    â€œ Plenty of people are not the heirs of the Earl of Granshire,” his father retorted. “Fortunately, I have come to spare you any further indignities.”
    It took a mighty effort for Bromwell not to roll his eyes. “Naturally, I’m grateful. If you’ll wait in the taproom, I’ll settle the bill with Mrs. Jenkins and then we can be on our way.”
    The earl’s lip curled at the corner, as if his son had suggested he wait in a cesspool. At nearly the same time, however, a cool breeze blew through the yard and the door of the kitchen opened, sending forth the aroma of fresh bread.
    â€œVery well,” the earl agreed. “Quickly, though, Bromwell. Your mother is prostrate with worry.”
    That was likely true, Bromwell thought as he followed his father across the yard. She was