Margaret Moore - Regency - Rogues and Runaways - A Lover's Kiss / The Viscount's Kiss

“I would have you treat me as a person, not a dog or a horse you own. I would have you address me , not one another. I am here, and not deaf, or stupid. And I would have you take responsibility for the predicament I am in.”

If she’d cried or screamed, Drury would have been able to overlook her criticism and wouldn’t have felt nearly as bad as he did, because she was right. They had been ignoring her, and it really should be up to him to help her, not his friend.

However, it was Buggy who apologized. “I’m sorry if we’ve been rather high-handed, Miss Bergerine. The protective male instinct, I fear. Nevertheless, I hope you’ll do me the honor of staying in my humble abode until we can find out who’s behind these attacks.”

“And if I don’t invite you to my town house, it’s because I don’t possess one,” Drury said. “If you have another suggestion as to how I may assist you, I’d be happy to hear it.”

Miss Bergerine colored. “Unfortunately, I do not.” She turned to Buggy, her expression softening. “I’m sorry if I spoke rudely, my lord. I do appreciate your help.”

“Then please, won’t you do me the honor of accepting my hospitality?” Buggy asked, as if she were the Queen of England and nobody else was in the room.

Drury ignored that unpleasant sensation. He was also sure she was going to accept, until she didn’t.

“It is very kind of you to offer, my lord, but I cannot,” she said. “I am an honorable woman. I may not belong to the haute ton, but I have a reputation I value as much as any lady, a reputation that will suffer if I accept your invitation.

“I also have a job. Unlike the fine ladies you know, I must earn my living, and if I do not go to work, I will lose that job, and with it the means to live.”

“Since it’s apparently my fault you’ll be unable to work,” Drury said, “I’m willing to provide appropriate compensation. As for keeping your job, if you tell me who employs you, I shall see that she’s informed you are visiting a sick relative and will return as soon as possible.”

Miss Bergerine wasn’t satisfied. “You do not know Madame de Pomplona. She will not hold my place.”

Having agreed to Buggy’s plan, he wasn’t about to let her complicate matters further. “I am acquainted with an excellent solicitor, Miss Bergerine. I’m sure James St. Claire will be happy to make it clear to her that there will be serious legal repercussions if she doesn’t continue to employ you.”

“There is still the matter of my reputation, Sir Douglas, which has already been damaged.”

God help him, did she want compensation for that, too? He’d suspect she’d never really been attacked and had concocted this story to wring money from him, except that she’d been genuinely frightened when she’d burst into his chambers. Part of his success in court came from being able to tell when people were being truthful or not, and he was confident she hadn’t been feigning her fear.

“I know!” Buggy declared, his blue-gray eyes bright with delight. “What if we say that Miss Bergerine is your cousin, Drury? Naturally, she couldn’t live with you in your chambers, so I’ve invited you both to stay with me until you can find more suitable lodgings for her, and a chaperone. After all, the ton is well aware your mother was French and you had relatives there before the Terror.”

Miss Bergerine regarded Drury with blatant surprise. “Your mother was French?”

“Yes,” Drury snapped, wishing Buggy hadn’t mentioned that.

On the other hand… “That might work,” he allowed.

“You are saying I can pretend to be related to Sir Douglas?” Miss Bergerine cautiously inquired.

Buggy grinned, looking like a little boy who’d been given a present. “Yes. It shouldn’t be too difficult to make people accept it. Just scowl a lot and don’t talk very much.”

Miss Bergerine laughed, exposing very fine, white teeth. “That does not sound so very difficult.”

“Except for not talking much,” Drury muttered, earning him a censorious look from Buggy and an annoyed one from her.

Why should he be upset by what some hot-tempered Frenchwoman thought of him? He was Sir Douglas Drury, and he had plenty of other women seeking his favors, whether he wanted them or not.

Miss Bergerine turned to Buggy with a warm and unexpectedly charming smile. “Because I think you are truly a kindhearted, honorable gentleman, Lord Bromwell, I will accept your offer, and gladly. Merci. Merci beaucoup.”

And for one brief moment, Drury wished he had a town house in London.

Edgar looked about to have an attack of apoplexy. Didn’t want to drag Buggy into the situation, either, but he didn’t give me much of a choice .

—from the journal of Sir Douglas Drury

A short time later, Juliette waited in the foyer of Lord Bromwell’s town house. On the other side of the entrance hall, Lord Bromwell spoke with his obviously surprised butler, explaining what she was doing there. She would guess Millstone was about forty-five. He was also bald and as stiff as a soldier on parade. The liveried, bewigged footman who had opened the door to them stood nearby, staring at her with unabashed curiosity, while Sir Douglas Drury, grim and impatient, loitered near the porter’s room.

Trying to ignore him, she turned her attention to her surroundings. She had never been in a Mayfair mansion, or any comparable house before. The entrance was immense, and richly decorated with columns of marble, with pier glass in the spaces in between. The floor was likewise marble, polished and smooth, and a large, round mahogany table dominated the center of the space, with a beautiful Oriental vase in the middle of it full of exotic blooms that scented the air. A hanging staircase led to the rooms above.

She tried not to feel like a beggar, even if her hair was a mess and her gown torn and soiled, her shoes thick and clumsy. After all, she reminded herself, she was in danger because of Lord Bromwell’s friend. It wasn’t as if she’d thrown herself on the genial nobleman’s mercy for personal gain.

“Jim, is something wrong with your eyes that you are unable to stop staring?” Sir Douglas asked the footman in a voice loud enough that she could hear, but not Lord Bromwell and the butler.

The poor young man snapped to attention and blushed to the roots of his powdered tie wig.

She didn’t want to be the cause of any trouble here, for anyone. However, she couldn’t expect a man like Sir Douglas Drury to think about how anyone else might feel. He clearly cared for no one’s feelings but his own—if he had any at all.

She could believe he did not, except for that kiss.

That must have been an aberration, a temporary change from his usual self, brought on by the blow to his head.

When Lord Bromwell and his butler finished their discussion, the butler called for the footman and said something to him. She hoped he wasn’t chastising the poor lad, too!

“You’re to have the blue bedroom, Miss Bergerine, which overlooks the garden,” Lord Bromwell said, approaching her with a smile. “I hope you’ll be comfortable. Ask Millstone or the housekeeper, Mrs. Tunbarrow, if you require anything. A maid will be sent to help you tonight.”

A maid? She’d never had a maid in her life and wouldn’t know what to do with one. “Oh, that will not be necessary. I don’t need anyone’s help to get undressed.”

Sir Douglas made an odd sort of noise, although whether it was a snort of derision or a laugh, she couldn’t say. And she didn’t want to know.

“Very well, if that’s what you’d prefer,” Lord Bromwell said, as if he hadn’t heard his friend. “If you’ll be so good as to follow Millstone, he’ll show you to your room.”