Kieran Kramer - If You Give A Girl A Viscount

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 bold 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.

As if she mattered .

She’d no idea how Lord Lumley had managed that, especially as the act had seemed rather selfish and immature.

But during both kisses, she felt as if he’d never let her go. And when they’d parted, he’d had a gleam in his eye that made her breathless.

Before today, she’d never kissed a man. In the old days in Glen Dewey, there’d been many a fine, strapping lad, Hester had told her, but many of them had emigrated or been killed in the Wars. The few that were left were friendly, but none made Daisy’s heart race. None made her shy to look at them.

Earlier, when she’d brought the tea tray into the drawing room after the lamb-saving incident, she’d not wanted to meet Lord Lumley’s gaze. She wasn’t sure why, especially when she’d spoken so bluntly to him, shared kisses with him, and seen a piece of his flesh through a hole in the back of his filthy, travel-worn breeches when he was climbing that hillock.

He’d not been wearing drawers —

But perhaps she’d felt shy because around her stepmother and stepsisters, he’d seemed somehow different. He’d made an effort to be charming. Less brusque. As if he were giving Mona a chance to redeem herself. She didn’t deserve it, but Daisy supposed that was the gentlemanly thing to do.

Mona had responded beautifully, not asking him any difficult questions the way Daisy had. And after tea, he’d taken a walk about the estate with Cassandra, of all people, who usually hated traipsing out-of-doors. While they’d been gone, Daisy had carried hot water to the byre, refusing to let Joe and Hester bear the burden.

Now, at dinner, Lord Lumley was bathed, rested, and apparently recovered from his sore head, although his black eye gleamed blue in the candlelight.

Mona presided over the head of the table. The viscount was in the place of honor to her right. Cassandra sat next to him, and Perdita sat across from them.

Even though she was now supposed to be his fiancée, Daisy was relegated to the bottom of the table. A large epergne filled with gorgeous red velvet rose blossoms in the middle made it impossible for her to see any further than Perdita’s elbow on her left or Cassandra’s top knot on her right. As for the viscount and Mona, they might as well have been invisible.

Daisy was sure they couldn’t see her, either.

Mona had seated her this way at dinner ever since Papa had died, and it was laughable, really. Like something out of a farce, especially as Daisy was tasked with gathering all the flowers and greenery with which to hide her presence.

Hester thought it comical, too, usually.

But tonight was different. When Hester entered the room carrying the trout and potatoes, she made eye contact with Daisy—and Hester’s were not dancing with their usual mirth but gleamed with frustration.

Daisy allowed herself to feel the pang she’d been suppressing: finally, she was missing something worthwhile. She wanted to see the viscount, to be part of the party! She was pretending to be engaged to him, after all!

You want to be the belle of the ball, the way your father intended you to be, a voice in her head said frankly. But you can’t. And even more, you shouldn’t be.

The truth wasn’t easy to bear. Her heart knocked against her chest, so to recover her equilibrium, she pretended to look under the table for a missing hairpin—

And saw Cassandra putting her hand on the viscount’s leg.

Then witnessed him just as quickly moving his leg out of reach.

When Daisy sat up again, she was almost glad no one could see her. She knew her eyes would be wide with shock and, if she were honest with herself, a bit of amusement.

Cassandra was not only devious and disloyal. She was acting like a tart. Daisy always knew she would if given half the chance.

The viscount immediately went up a notch in Daisy’s estimation.