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

      It was not Drury’s practice to discuss his liaisons, not even with his closest friends. “A few” was the only answer he would give.

      Nor was he willing to concede that Juliette could be right. “I highly doubt that any one of them would be so malicious or have any idea how to find men to do the deed if she were inclined to have me killed.”

      “I think you underestimate the fairer sex,” Brix replied, “as much as you underestimate your appeal to women.”

      “I’m a barrister, Brix. I know all about crimes of passion.”

      “Then why do you find it so difficult to credit Miss Bergerine’s idea?” Brix demanded. “Is it because it’s hers?”

      “Don’t be ridiculous. If I’m not willing to entertain the notion, it’s because I know the women with whom I’ve been intimate. She does not.”

      “All right. Let’s say it’s not a former lover, but another person who wants you—and Miss Bergerine—dead. After all your triumphs in court, you surely have scores of enemies, any one of whom might hire a gang of ruffians to kill you. They might even decide to harm you through a woman they believe is your mistress. It’s still a good idea to flush them out. Otherwise, how long are you willing to wait for them to make the next move? I think you should do as Miss Bergerine suggests and bring them to you. You’ll be ready, and MacDougal’s got men you can hire to guard you and catch them if they strike.

      “And what about Miss Bergerine?” he continued. “How long before you decide the danger’s past and she can safely return to her home? She can’t live with Buggy indefinitely. I don’t think he’d mind, but it is a bit of an imposition, and he hopes to sail next spring.”

      “She’s not ‘living with Buggy.’ She’s a guest.”

      “Call it what you will, the Runners aren’t having any luck finding out who attacked you, and neither are those other men you’ve hired. What else can you do? Or am I wrong, and you’re quite content with the situation?”

      Drury sighed, defeated. “No, I am not. So congratulate me, Brix, and wish me every happiness with my lively French bride.”

      Brix did, and not only that, he stood a round of drinks for the entire club, merrily announcing the reason for his generosity.

      After Drury had accepted good wishes from several half-foxed patrons, Brix drew him aside, grinning like a jester. “Fanny and I are going to see Macbeth in Covent Garden tonight. You and Miss Bergerine should join us. That would really set the cat among the pigeons of the ton.”

      As disgruntled as he was, Drury had started out on the path, so he was resolved to see it through to the end. “Very well, we shall. And thank you, although I daresay this news will be all over Town before we even get to the theater.”

      Brix laughed. “I daresay you’re right.”

      And he was.

      “So then the little rascal says to me, as solemn as can be…” Mrs. Tunbarrow paused in her reminiscing, nodding her lace-capped, white-haired head at Juliette. “‘There’s things a lot more frightening than spiders, Mrs. T.’ That’s what he called me—Mrs. T. He couldn’t say Tunbarrow when he was a mite.”

      Juliette smiled at the story about Lord Bromwell as she sewed the hem of an apron.

      Impressed with her stitching and, Juliette suspected, happy to have an audience, Mrs. Tunbarrow had invited her to come sew with her in the housekeeper’s sitting room. The whitewashed walls and simple furnishings certainly made this room more comfortable and cozy than Lord Bromwell’s formal drawing room. It was almost like the farmhouse back home.

      At first, she had thought Mrs. Tunbarrow might say something about the supposed engagement, but it seemed Millstone had followed Sir Douglas’s orders and kept quiet. She had been tempted to mention it, but had not, wary of pushing Sir Douglas too far, and in spite of that tempestuous kiss. Better she be patient and cajole him into seeing the merit of her plan than do anything more to force him to accept it.

      As for Mrs. Tunbarrow, she seemed to have accepted her presence with good grace. Or perhaps the woman had such a high opinion of Lord Bromwell, she believed any guest of his was worthy of respect and approval. Yet Juliette couldn’t help wondering if Mrs. Tunbarrow, plump and motherly though she was, would treat her differently if she knew this particular guest was a poor French seamstress and not the cousin of Lord Bromwell’s friend.

      In spite of that worry, she felt safer here. Sir Douglas surely wouldn’t think of looking for her in the housekeeper’s sitting room. If he did come looking for her.

      If he returned at all. He’d been so angry after what she’d done. She’d felt it in his kiss, at least at first. After a few moments, though…

      She was being ridiculous. He’d been furious and had departed as soon as he could, announcing he was going to his club.

      Yet he hadn’t denied their engagement, as she’d feared he might. If anything, that kiss would serve to confirm it, which must mean he was going along with her plan. For now. She hoped. Because something had to change.

      A prickling sensation began at the back of her neck, as if she was being watched. She half turned and discovered Sir Douglas in the doorway.

      How long had he been standing there with his hands behind his back, observing them?

      “Good day, Sir Douglas,” she said warily.

      Mrs. Tunbarrow hastily grabbed the apron from Juliette’s lap, regardless of the needle and thread trailing from it. “We were just having a bit of a visit,” she said, as if she feared Sir Douglas would complain.

      “I don’t mind if Juliette wants to sew,” he replied. “Indeed, you make a very pretty tableau.”

      He had called her Juliette, and in front to the housekeeper. Well, why not? Were they not supposed to be cousins?

      He came into the room and smiled at Juliette, a warm, tender, incredibly attractive smile that seemed genuinely sincere.

      “I’ve decided you’re quite right, my dear,” he said, his voice also warm and tender. “There’s no need to keep our engagement a secret.”

      He had seen the wisdom of her plan?

      Sir Douglas held out a box covered in dark blue velvet. “Brix and Fanny have invited us to the theater tonight. I’d like you to wear this.”

      Juliette took the box and opened it with trembling fingers. A necklace was inside, made of sparkling diamonds bright as stars in the night sky. It was the most exquisite thing she’d ever seen—and the most expensive.

      Her gaze darted to his face. “You wish me to wear this?”

      “I insist,” he said, taking her hand in his and kissing it lightly. Delicately. Yet it sent what seemed like bolts of lightning through her.

      As Mrs. Tunbarrow stared speechlessly, Juliette swallowed hard and forced herself to look at the necklace while he continued to hold her hand. “It is so lovely.”

      “Let me put it on you,” he murmured, taking the box and setting it on the table. He removed the necklace and stepped behind her, laying it around her neck.

      Feeling as if she was in an even more amazing dream, she lightly brushed it with her fingers as he worked the clasp.

      Then he gave a sigh of frustration, his breath warm on the nape of her neck. “Mrs. Tunbarrow, will you fasten this for me?”

      The housekeeper started, as if suddenly waking up. “Engaged! The two of you—engaged! Does Justy know?”

      Justy? Did she mean Lord Bromwell?

      “I intend to tell Lord Bromwell when he returns,” Sir Douglas calmly replied. “I had hoped to keep our betrothal quiet until a formal announcement.”

      “Well!”