Kieran Kramer - If You Give A Girl A Viscount

She looked breathtakingly lovely.

“Miss Montgomery!” Mr. King hailed her heartily. “You’ve not retired for the evening?”

“Of course not, Mr. King.” She smiled at him, completely alert, all signs of imbibing too much wine erased. “A hostess doesn’t sleep until her guests are down for the night. I’ve spent the last several hours outdoors, walking and reading in the gardens. Lasting daylight is one benefit of living in the Highlands in the summer. I feel quite refreshed.”

She looked round the group. “Does anyone require a small bite to eat from the kitchens?”

A chorus of nos rang out—they’d had plenty for dinner, they all claimed in a most hospitable manner. With the presence of Daisy, the men seemed to have perked up and become mannerly again.

Mr. King held out his arm. “Please join us on a midnight stroll down the corridor.”

She laughed. “I’ll be glad to.” Catching Charlie’s eye, she bestowed a small, close-lipped smile upon him.

He recognized that smile. It was her shy one. He’d have liked her on his arm, but he wouldn’t make a fuss this time. Mr. King was on his best behavior. He was the last of the guests to reach his bedchamber door. Once there, he bent low over Daisy’s hand and kissed it.

“Thank you,” he said, “for an extraordinary beginning to our Highland adventure. It will be a most interesting ten days.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, blushing.

Charlie couldn’t help feeling jealous.

Mr. King also exchanged a cordial good-night with him, but it was obvious their American guest much preferred the company of his hostess.

Alone at last in the corridor, Daisy hooked her arm through Charlie’s.

He relished the contact.

“Only nine days to go,” she whispered.

“Nine long days,” he whispered back.

She stifled a laugh. “We’ll make it.”

It was a brief moment of camaraderie, and he had a sudden, mad desire to make love to her right there, against the cold, stone walls of the corridor.

She drew in a small breath and turned to look at an elaborate tapestry.

Hah.

So she must have sensed the tension, too. Of course, it was still there. Their afternoon on the Stone Steps had done nothing but whet his appetite for her.

He didn’t know how he’d ever thought her plain.

“Good night, Charlie,” she said, suddenly stopping. “It’s past midnight, and it’s still light. Isn’t that amazing?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve got to go,” she said.

“Wait—”

But she strode quickly away, around the corner, and then he heard the pat of her slippers on the stairs to her bedchamber.

On the third step, he found the flower that had been in her hair.

The Keep’s walls loomed over him after Daisy ran off. Charlie heard nothing. It was lonely after midnight in a strange castle, even with the eerie summer light. He felt an ache near his heart as he stared at the flower in his hand and bent to sniff it. The sweet, musky odor was pleasing, but it didn’t satisfy him nearly as much as the scent of Daisy’s skin.

He would bring it to her. The flower.

He knew he was being stupid. Daisy was a maiden. She was in his charge. He shouldn’t seek her out. Besides, he had no idea which room was hers. And many other people slumbered in nearby rooms. What if they discovered him where he shouldn’t be?

What would it mean for Daisy?

She’d be ruined. That’s what.

He knew if he walked up the stairs with this flower and found her that he would enter her bedchamber and close the door, and—

He closed his eyes.

Why was he torturing himself so?

Turn around, Charlie.

With every bit of will he had, he turned himself around. Walked back to his own bedchamber, turned the knob, and—

A door next to his creaked open. “Lumley! Is that you?”

It was Mr. Woo.

“Yes,” Charlie answered, a bit annoyed.

“I want a midnight snack, after all.” Mr. Woo looked at him expectantly.

“Uh, I suppose I could walk with you—”

“I was hoping you’d get it for me. I’m sure all the servants are asleep.”

Charlie clenched his jaw. He was the host. He would have to comply with his guests’ wishes. “You’re right,” he said, and forced himself to smile. “What could I bring you?”

“A piece of bread and butter,” said Mr. Woo. “And a glass of wine. Cheese would be nice, too.”

Charlie nodded. “I’ll do my best. Just give me a few minutes.”

He walked down the corridor, made a few turns, crossed the great hall, and eventually came to the rear of the castle, where a fairly modern kitchen had been set up in the last decade. He found all that he needed for Mr. Woo and brought it back to him.

Mr. Woo nodded his thanks when Charlie entered his room and placed the goblet of wine and a plate of bread and cheese on a small table.

“Good night,” said Charlie.

“Good night,” Mr. Woo answered him. At the door, he added, “I see you got the smugglers’ bedchamber.”

Charlie turned back to him. “What’s that?”

“A servant told me today that your bedchamber has a secret stairway to the upstairs hall, at the end of which is a balcony over the gardens. In the old days, smugglers could make a quick escape.”

“Interesting,” said Charlie.

He wasn’t terribly excited about the news. The usual stairs were near his bedchamber and would carry him up to the next floor almost as quickly, which meant he was unlikely to be discovered by prying eyes either way if he ever went looking for Daisy.

Nevertheless, he was curious.

In his bedchamber, he felt the walls for the secret stairway and found it almost immediately near the fireplace. It was rather spacious, actually, and easy to ascend. When he came to the top, he opened the door and peeked out, entertained in spite of his rather dour mood.

The hallway was quiet.

Daisy was here somewhere, which made it a special corridor.

He looked to his right. There were the stairs that she’d rushed up—the stairs he’d almost decided to go up himself.

Good thing he hadn’t.

Good thing he’d been honorable and stalwart and mindful of his responsibilities.

He began to pull the door shut when he saw a scrap of something pink on the floor. A petal. A petal outside a bedchamber door.

“Dammit,” he whispered.

It could mean only one thing. She wanted him to come. She’d been hoping he’d come. She’d left the flower on the staircase for a reason.

A few minutes later, Charlie scratched at Daisy’s door, flower in hand, and felt a genuine stirring of happiness—combined with a bit of trepidation—when the door opened on silent hinges.

She stood looking at him with large eyes, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. “Oh, dear,” was all she said, her voice a mere whisper. “You did come.”

He entered, shut the door gently behind him, and placed the flower in her hair once more. “Did you not want me to?”

She bit her lip and looked away, then turned back to him. “No, I did want you here. But I figured I’d leave the decision up to you. If you came, then … good. If you didn’t, then—”

“Then what?”

“I would have been miserable.” She blinked up at him, her heart in her eyes.

“Of course I’d come.” He hugged her close.

“This is very bad.” She wrapped her arms tighter around his waist. “And I know that.” She pulled back. “But Charlie, I’ll never get married. I can tell you that right now.”

“You won’t? Why not?”

“It’s a long story.” She sighed. “I’d rather not go into it.”

“Does it have anything to do with your father?”

She nodded.

He pulled her close again and squeezed her tight. “You shouldn’t blame yourself. It was an accident.”

“I know,” she said against his chest. “But I can’t help my feelings, however complicated they are. At this point, I don’t want to wait for the future to reveal itself to me. I just want to feel what it’s like to be with a man I’m comfortable with, someone I trust. Right now.”

She looked up at him. Her words moved him. But the truth was, he was also already imagining her with no clothes.

She might have guessed because she slipped away from him to toy with a few figurines on a shelf. “Are you happy you’re here?” she asked him over her shoulder.

He was bewitched by her coyness.

“Of course.” He gave in to her obvious need for space, threw himself on the bed, and propped himself up on an elbow to watch her from afar. “I’ve been dreaming about being with you alone.”

She finished her nervous fiddling with the figurines and began to pace about the room. “Perdita is next door.”

“Good God.”

She stopped and looked at him. “She snores. Very loudly.”

He chuckled. “I’ve never been more glad to be next to a snorer.”

She sighed. “I’m nervous.”

He got up and went to her. “I’m not a wolf,” he assured her, his hands wrapped around her waist.

“I know.” She leaned again on his chest.

They stood there for a moment, breathing. He loved the feel of her warm palms pressed so trustingly against him.

“Can I—”

“Will you—”

They both spoke at once.

She pulled back and grinned. “I was going to ask you if you’d like to read with me.”

“And I was just going to ask if I could do anything to help you feel more at ease.” He allowed his mouth to tip up.

She picked up her skirts and practically raced to the bookshelf on the far side of the room. Scanning the titles, she pulled out a tome and held it aloft. “This,” she said. “And if you don’t like it as much as I do, I’ll be quite put out.”