Kieran Kramer - If You Give A Girl A Viscount

“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 window.”

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.

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.