The Viscount's Kiss

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Epilogue

Chapter One

It has long been my dream to study these fascinating creatures in their natural habitat, to watch them as they spin their webs and go about the business of living, myself unnoticed save as another species of fauna inhabiting their world.

—from The Spider’s Web, by Lord Bromwell

England, 1820

That man does not belong here, Nell Springley thought as she surreptitiously studied the only other occupant in the mail coach headed to Bath. He’d been asleep when she’d boarded in London, and he was still asleep despite the rocking and jostling of the vehicle, his tall beaver hat tipped over his eyes and his arms crossed over his chest.

He was clearly well-to-do, for he wore a fine indigo frock coat of excellent wool and buff trousers that hugged his long legs. His blindingly white cravat, tied in an intricate and complicated knot, fairly shouted a valet’s skillful expertise. His slender fingers were likewise encased in superbly fitting kid leather gloves and his Hessian boots were so brightly polished, she could see the reflection of her skirts.

Surely a man who could afford such clothes would have his own carriage.

Maybe he was a gamester who had gambled away his fortune. If he was the sort who frequented outdoor boxing matches, that might explain why what little of his jaw and cheeks she could see had been browned by the sun.

Perhaps he’d been in the Navy. She could easily imagine that figure in a uniform, his broad shoulders topped by an officer’s braid, shouting commands and looking very dashing on the quarterdeck.

Or he could be a tosspot sleeping off a night of drunken merriment, having spent the rest of his money on wine. If that were so, she hoped he wouldn’t wake up until they arrived in Bath. She had no desire to be engaged in conversation with a sot. Or anyone else.

The coach lurched over a particularly bone-jarring bump that rattled the baggage in the boot and made the guard riding outside the coach curse. Nell, meanwhile, grabbed the seat as her poke bonnet slipped over her eyes.

“Bit of a rough spot,” a deep, genial male voice noted.

Shoving her bonnet back into place, Nell raised her eyes—and found herself staring at the most handsome young man she’d ever seen. Not only was he awake, his hat was now properly situated on his head, revealing amiable blue-gray eyes separated by a narrow nose bordered by angular cheekbones. He was young, and yet there were wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that suggested he’d had vastly more experience of the world than she.

But then, most people had more experience of the world than she.

Nell blushed as if she’d been caught eavesdropping and immediately clasped her hands in her lap and lowered her eyes.

As she did, out of the corner of her eye she spotted something moving on the fawn-colored, double crimson-striped seat beside her.

A spider! A big, horrible brown spider—and it was headed right for her!

Gasping, Nell lunged across the coach—and landed on the lap of the young man opposite, knocking his hat from his head.

“Steady!” he warned, his upper-class accent providing more proof he was from a well-to-do household.

Blushing even more, she immediately moved to sit beside him. “I—I beg your pardon,” she stammered, feeling hopelessly foolish, while noting that one stray lock of brown hair had tumbled over his forehead, making him look rather boyish and far less intimidating.

“There’s no need to be frightened,” her companion said. “It’s only a Tegenaria parietina. They’re quite harmless, I assure you.”

Now completely humiliated by her childish reaction, Nell didn’t know what to say. Instead, she smoothed out her skirts and glanced at the seat she had so abruptly vacated.

The spider was gone.

“Where is it?” she cried, gripping the seat and half rising regardless of the swaying motion of the coach. “Where’s the spider?”

The young man held up his hat. “In here.”

He had it in his hat?

He gave her an apologetic smile. “Spiders are of particular interest to me.”

However handsome he was, however gentlemanly, he was definitely eccentric and possibly deranged.

“Please keep it away from me,” she said, inching as far away from him and his hat as she could get. “I hate spiders.”

The young man heaved a heavy sigh, as if her common aversion was a very serious failing. “That’s a pity.”