All three ladies gasped, but the stepmother appeared—

No. She couldn’t be excited at the idea, could she?

“He’s Viscount Lumley, Stepmother,” explained Miss Montgomery.

“Viscount, indeed,” the older woman said scornfully.

“I am a viscount,” he said. “Why don’t you check DeBrett’s Peerage? My name’s right there, and I’m rich as Croesus. Properties all over England. I’ve got a castle here in Scotland, too … somewhere near a glen.”

“There are tens of thousands of glens!” Perdita said.

“Hundreds of glens,” Miss Montgomery corrected her.

Lord Lumley shrugged. “I mean to visit it someday and shear some sheep as a lark. If I ever get around to it. Of course, it might be years … London’s never dull.”

“Where do you live in London?” the stepmother demanded to know.

“Mayfair. On Grosvenor Square. If you still don’t believe me, write my good friend and neighbor, the Duke of Drummond. He’ll tell you.”

“I’ve heard of the Duke of Drummond,” the older woman murmured.

By now her cunning expression also showed hints of ambition, as Miss Montgomery had predicted.

Miss Montgomery smiled pleasantly and looked him square in the eye. “The poor viscount has been set upon by footpads and lost his way. A kind soul in Glen Dewey sent him to us.”

“Good thing,” he said, “as my fiancée”—he made sure to emphasize the word—“would be terribly concerned, otherwise.”

“You’re engaged?” the stepmother demanded to know.

“Yes. I am.” Charlie felt the full threat of her words and was vastly relieved to have a lie to tell. “To a lovely young lady.”

He tried to think of a name. And then he tried to imagine what his imaginary fiancée looked like and couldn’t decide if she were blond, dark, or chestnut haired. Tall or short. She was most definitely the belle of every ball she attended, which she went to alone—as balls bored him.

She was also a perfect virgin by day and a vixen by night.

Even though that was impossible.

But as she was only make-believe, he could make her anybody he wanted. She’d never speak of their impending nuptials, which somehow would never occur. And she certainly wouldn’t make outrageous demands, the way Miss Montgomery did.

Of course, if she kissed the way Miss Montgomery did, that would be ideal. But in no other way would she be similar.

“What’s your fiancée’s name, Viscount?” the giantess yelled.

“W-would you like some tea?” Miss Montgomery asked him at the exact same time.

Thank God for the tea question because he was hoping to avoid answering the first.

But when he opened his mouth to say something, the pocket Venus interrupted. “I’ll see that he’s looked after, Daisy.” She raked him with a shrewd glance. “Go prepare his bedchamber immediately, and don’t dawdle.”

“Bring us that tea first,” the stepmother ordered Miss Montgomery.

“And don’t forget the milk,” the large one added in a booming voice. “You always do.”

Charlie put aside for study later the discomfiting fact that the others were treating Miss Montgomery like a servant. Instead, he focused on her name.

Daisy.

He liked it.

It suited her.

Not that it mattered. It didn’t matter at all.

But when she moved aside and the dark-haired siren took her place, he felt a lack—a lack he couldn’t put his finger on.

Yet it was there, just the same.

CHAPTER FIVE

Daisy hadn’t taken two steps when her stepmother repeated Perdita’s question: “Who is your fiancée, Lord Lumley?”

Daisy stopped moving.

Lord Lumley stared intently at her.

She stared intently back.

Come on, she was thinking. Think of a name!

“Lord Lumley.” Mona’s demanding voice grated on Daisy’s ears. “Who is your fiancée?”

Yes, who was she?

“She stands here before me,” the viscount said in a rough voice.

Who? Who stood before him?

Daisy’s palms began to sweat. He’d spoken as if he’d had to recite that line in a very bad school play when he was ten years old.

She locked gazes with the viscount’s and prayed he’d come up with a convincing tale.

“She is Miss Montgomery,” he went on in a rather sick voice.

Daisy looked over her shoulder, but there was no one there.

He couldn’t mean—

Gasps were heard from every member of her stepfamily. Daisy wanted to gasp, too, but she felt if she opened her mouth, she might scream.

Swinging her gaze back to the viscount’s, she saw the sheer, dogged determination on his face to lie through his teeth and knew she was in for trouble.

“Through letters,” he practically whispered, “Miss Montgomery—Daisy—has consented to become my wife. Her godmother, after all, is my grandmother. So it seemed perfectly natural, when I realized my obligation as the heir, that we align the two families.”

Good heavens!

Daisy felt a pinch on her arm.

“You’ve never spoken of this,” Cassandra said through tight lips.

“No,” Daisy whispered, rubbing her arm. “I haven’t.”

“You don’t act engaged,” Perdita said, her hands clenched into giant fists.

“Oh, but we are.” Lord Lumley took two steps forward, leaned down, and kissed Daisy right on the lips.

It was her second kiss, and once again Daisy’s mouth felt scorched. She wasn’t sure if it was a bad or good feeling, but she took no time to wonder because she was furious at the viscount! So furious she could no longer breathe.

I have to learn how to breathe immediately, she thought, because it’s too late. This kiss is already happening, and unlike the last one, it’s not stopping.

She also had the fleeting thought, I hate this man. What has he done? But she had to give that thought up to concentrate.

The kiss was passionate one second and tender the next, so tender that she was aghast to realize she felt like weeping with the sheer wonder of it. Lord Lumley hugged her tighter, and she put her arms around his neck—his firm, solid man’s neck. The kiss grew passionate again, hot and demanding on both sides, as if they were in a battle of wills.

Who could kiss better … and longer?

She couldn’t help responding to the challenge, even though she knew it was in her best interests to stop. Mona, Cassandra, and Perdita were standing right there. They’d tease her mercilessly later; Mona would say hateful things about how she couldn’t kiss worth two cents and would make a terrible hussy (Mona hated all competition).

But kissing the viscount was like being tickled against Daisy’s will. Her mind screamed no, but her lips—her whole body—screamed yes.

“Stop it, both of you!” Perdita shrieked.

Which threw an immediate splash of proverbial cold water on the whole incident.

Daisy’s and the viscount’s lips came apart.

Whew. For once in her life, Daisy felt she should be grateful for her loud stepsister. But she wasn’t.

She was frustrated. Kissing was the best thing she’d ever done. And she longed to try it a third time. The viscount smiled down at her, although the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m the happiest man on earth.”

He picked up Daisy’s hand—which made her jump—and folded it tightly beneath his arm.

“There, there, dear,” he said, as she tried to curl her fingers into a fist to better pull away, but he held her in an iron grip. “It’s all right. You’re supposed to find your future husband irresistible.”

Perdita flapped her arms, which caused a waft of air to stir all her ruffles. “I hate you more than ever now, Daisy.”

Mona tapped her foot. “How could you keep this a secret?”

Daisy was afraid to make eye contact with her stepmother, and so she stared at the floor to compose herself as her mind attempted to devise a lie and failed. “I—I was afraid to tell you,” was all she could produce.

A most feeble story.

“She’s being kind.” The viscount patted her hand. “The truth is, I told her not to tell you until I was ready. I’ve been doing my best to complete some unfinished business so we can be together, but it’s taken longer than I thought, and—”

“And what?” Mona asked.

Daisy’s mind raced.

“And she missed me,” Lord Lumley filled in. “She missed me so much she’s been crying. Every night. And I had to come see her in person to prove my devotion.”

Cassandra peered at her. “I have noticed how red and swollen her eyes are lately.”

“Me, too,” said Perdita.

God, Daisy hated her stepsisters sometimes!

Well, all the time, if she were honest.

“And you missed me, as well,” Daisy said through gritted teeth to the viscount. “So much so that you—you cried every night, too.”

Mona and Cassandra stared at each other and then back at him.

“He doesn’t look the type,” Cassandra said.

“No,” Mona added speculatively.

“I didn’t cry,” the viscount insisted, completely unruffled and still gazing at Daisy adoringly. “I merely moaned. Once. In my sleep. I think it was indigestion.”

“But you said it woke the neighbors,” Daisy said, looking deep into his eyes. It was so difficult to appear besotted when you were aggravated. “And you told them that was the last straw. You had to come see me. You said something about how love was better than … petting a lamb with brown eyes. Or a pudding.”

“Funny,” he answered her, his eyes sparking with a message that she read loud and clear as: You. Will. Pay. And it won’t be pretty. “I don’t remember that part.”