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

strode to the cabinet and poured her a whiskey. “It’s regrettable—”

      “Regrettable?” she cried indignantly. “Regrettable? Is that all you have to say? He was going to kill me! If I had not bitten him and run away, I could be lying dead in an alley! Mon Dieu, it was more than regrettable!”

      She’d bitten the lout? Thank God she’d kept her head and got away.

      He handed the whiskey to her. “Drink this,” he said, hoping it would calm her.

      She glared at him, then at the glass before downing the contents in a gulp. She coughed and started to choke. “What was that?” she demanded.

      “A very old, very expensive, very good Scotch whiskey,” he said, gesturing for her to sit. “Now perhaps we can discuss this in a rational manner.”

      “You are a cold man, monsieur!” she declared as she flounced onto a chair.

      “I don’t see that getting overly emotional is going to be of any use.”

      He sat opposite her on a rather worn armchair that might not be pretty or elegant, but was very comfortable. “I am sorry this happened to you, Miss Bergerine. However, it never occurred to me that any enemies I might have would concern themselves with you. If I had, I would have taken steps to ensure your safety.”

      She set down the whiskey glass on the nearest table with a hearty and skeptical sniff. “So you say now.”

      He wouldn’t let her indignant exclamations disturb him. “However, since it has happened, you were quite right to come to me. Now I must consider what steps to take to see that it doesn’t happen again.”

      He became aware of Mr. Edgar standing by the door, an avidly interested expression on his lined face.

      He’d forgotten all about his valet.

      On the other hand, it was a good thing he was there, or who could say what Miss Bergerine might accuse him of?

      Not that there would be any merit in such accusations, as anyone who knew him would realize. Although Juliette Bergerine was pretty and attractive in a lively sort of way, such a volatile woman roused too many unhappy memories to ever appeal to him.

      The sort of women with whom he had affairs was very well-known, and they were not poor Frenchwomen.

      “If you can provide me with details,” he said, “such as the location and a description of the man who attacked you, I shall take the information to the Bow Street Runners, as well as another associate of mine who’s skilled at investigation. I’ve already got him looking for the men who attacked me. This fellow could very well be one of them.

      “Until the guilty parties are apprehended, however, we have another problem—where to keep you.”

      “Keep me?” she repeated, her brows lowering with suspicion.

      He shouldn’t have used that word. It had a meaning he most definitely didn’t intend. “I mean where you can safely reside. I would offer to put you up in a hotel, except that people might suppose our relationship is indeed intimate.

      “As that is most certainly not true, I shall have the associate I’ve mentioned provide men to protect you. Since this is necessary because you came to my aid, naturally I shall pay for their services.”

      “You mean they will guard me, as if I am your prisoner?”

      He tried not to sound frustrated with this most frustrating foreigner. “They will protect you. As you have so forcefully pointed out, I have put you at risk. I don’t intend to do so again. Or did you come here only to berate me?”

      He waited for her to argue or chastise him again, but to his surprise, her steadfast gaze finally faltered and she softly said, “I had nowhere else to go for help.”

      She sounded lost then, and vulnerable, and unexpectedly sad. Lonely, even—a feeling with which he was unfortunately familiar.

      “Is something the matter with your hearing? I’ve been knocking for an age,” Buggy said as he walked into the room.

      Mr. Edgar, who had been riveted by Miss Bergerine’s tirade, gave a guilty start and hurried to take Buggy’s hat and coat, then slipped silently from the room.

      Meanwhile, Buggy was staring at Drury’s visitor as if he’d never seen a woman before. “Miss Bergerine! What are you… I beg your pardon. It’s a pleasure, of course, but…”

      As his words trailed off in understandable confusion, Drury silently cursed. He’d forgotten all about Brix and Fanny’s dinner party, and that Buggy had offered to bring round his carriage to spare him the trouble of hiring one for the evening.

      “Miss Bergerine had an unfortunate encounter with a man under the delusion she and I have an intimate relationship,” he explained, getting to his feet. “Fortunately, Miss Bergerine fought him off and came to me for assistance.”

      “You fought the scoundrel off all by yourself?” Buggy cried, regarding Miss Bergerine with an awed mixture of respect and admiration. “You really are a most remarkable woman.”

      That was a bit much. “The question is, what are we to do with her? She can’t go home, and she can’t stay here.”

      “No, no, of course not. You’d be fined.”

      “There are more reasons than that,” Drury replied, aware of Miss Bergerine’s bright eyes watching them, and trying to ignore her. “I’d pay for her to stay in a hotel, but I don’t have to tell you what the ton and the popular press would make of that.”

      “I agree a hotel is out of the question, and we can’t let her go back to her room,” Buggy concurred. “A child could break into that.”

      Wearing evening attire that made him look less like the studious, serious fellow he was and more like one of the town dandies, Buggy leaned against the mantel, regardless of the possibility of wrinkling his well-tailored coat. “Given this new attack, which tells me you have some very dangerous and determined enemies indeed, I don’t think you’re quite safe here either, Drury. These rooms are too public, too well-known. Anybody could come here claiming to be a solicitor seeking to engage your services, and if he’s well dressed, who would question him?”

      “I’m capable of defending myself.”

      “As you did in the alley?”

      Before Drury could reply, Buggy held out his strong, capable hands in a placating gesture. “Be reasonable, Drury. You know as well as I that this place is no fortress, and while I’m sure you can fight as well as ever against one man, you’re not the swordsman or boxer you were.”

      No, he was not, and that observation didn’t do much to assuage Drury’s wounded pride.

      Mr. Edgar appeared in the door with a tray in his hands. On it was a plate of thickly sliced, fine white bread, some jam and a steaming pot of tea. “For Miss Bergerine, sir,” he said as he set it on the table.

      “Please, have some refreshment,” Drury said to her, waving at the food.

      Miss Bergerine didn’t hesitate. She spread the jam and consumed the bread with a speed that made Drury suspect she must not have eaten for some time. Her manners weren’t as terrible as one might expect, given her humble origins and obvious hunger.

      Mr. Edgar watched her eat with such satisfaction, you’d think he’d baked the bread himself. He also gave Drury a glance that suggested a lecture on the duties one owed to a guest, in spite of her unwelcome and unorthodox arrival, would soon be forthcoming.

      Buggy suddenly brightened, as if he’d just discovered a new species of spider. “I have it! You must both stay at my town house. God knows there’s plenty of room, and servants to keep any villains at bay.”

      That was a damn foolish idea. “Need I point out, Buggy, that the ton will make a meal out