Read Online If You Give a Girl a Viscount by Kieran Kramer - Free Book Online
Authors: Kieran Kramer
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ever be right, Daisy reminded herself.
And then went back to thinking about the viscount’s mouth. When he spoke, his lips appeared hard and firm with a cynical curl to the upper edge of them. But when he’d kissed her, they’d turned soft and teasing.
His hand about her waist had been possessive, yes, which had almost riled her, but she’d also experienced the wonderful sensation of being held close as if she mattered.
As if she mattered .
She’d no idea how Lord Lumley had managed that, especially as the act had seemed rather selfish and immature.
But during both kisses, she felt as if he’d never let her go. And when they’d parted, he’d had a gleam in his eye that made her breathless.
Before today, she’d never kissed a man. In the old days in Glen Dewey, there’d been many a fine, strapping lad, Hester had told her, but many of them had emigrated or been killed in the Wars. The few that were left were friendly, but none made Daisy’s heart race. None made her shy to look at them.
Earlier, when she’d brought the tea tray into the drawing room after the lamb-saving incident, she’d not wanted to meet Lord Lumley’s gaze. She wasn’t sure why, especially when she’d spoken so bluntly to him, shared kisses with him, and seen a piece of his flesh through a hole in the back of his filthy, travel-worn breeches when he was climbing that hillock.
He’d not been wearing drawers —
But perhaps she’d felt shy because around her stepmother and stepsisters, he’d seemed somehow different. He’d made an effort to be charming. Less brusque. As if he were giving Mona a chance to redeem herself. She didn’t deserve it, but Daisy supposed that was the gentlemanly thing to do.
Mona had responded beautifully, not asking him any difficult questions the way Daisy had. And after tea, he’d taken a walk about the estate with Cassandra, of all people, who usually hated traipsing out-of-doors. While they’d been gone, Daisy had carried hot water to the byre, refusing to let Joe and Hester bear the burden.
Now, at dinner, Lord Lumley was bathed, rested, and apparently recovered from his sore head, although his black eye gleamed blue in the candlelight.
Mona presided over the head of the table. The viscount was in the place of honor to her right. Cassandra sat next to him, and Perdita sat across from them.
Even though she was now supposed to be his fiancée, Daisy was relegated to the bottom of the table. A large epergne filled with gorgeous red velvet rose blossoms in the middle made it impossible for her to see any further than Perdita’s elbow on her left or Cassandra’s top knot on her right. As for the viscount and Mona, they might as well have been invisible.
Daisy was sure they couldn’t see her, either.
Mona had seated her this way at dinner ever since Papa had died, and it was laughable, really. Like something out of a farce, especially as Daisy was tasked with gathering all the flowers and greenery with which to hide her presence.
Hester thought it comical, too, usually.
But tonight was different. When Hester entered the room carrying the trout and potatoes, she made eye contact with Daisy—and Hester’s were not dancing with their usual mirth but gleamed with frustration.
Daisy allowed herself to feel the pang she’d been suppressing: finally, she was missing something worthwhile. She wanted to see the viscount, to be part of the party! She was pretending to be engaged to him, after all!
You want to be the belle of the ball, the way your father intended you to be, a voice in her head said frankly. But you can’t. And even more, you shouldn’t be.
The truth wasn’t easy to bear. Her heart knocked against her chest, so to recover her equilibrium, she pretended to look under the table for a missing hairpin—
And saw Cassandra putting her hand on the viscount’s leg.
Then witnessed him just as quickly moving his leg out of reach.
When Daisy sat up again, she was almost glad no one
And then went back to thinking about the viscount’s mouth. When he spoke, his lips appeared hard and firm with a cynical curl to the upper edge of them. But when he’d kissed her, they’d turned soft and teasing.
His hand about her waist had been possessive, yes, which had almost riled her, but she’d also experienced the wonderful sensation of being held close as if she mattered.
As if she mattered .
She’d no idea how Lord Lumley had managed that, especially as the act had seemed rather selfish and immature.
But during both kisses, she felt as if he’d never let her go. And when they’d parted, he’d had a gleam in his eye that made her breathless.
Before today, she’d never kissed a man. In the old days in Glen Dewey, there’d been many a fine, strapping lad, Hester had told her, but many of them had emigrated or been killed in the Wars. The few that were left were friendly, but none made Daisy’s heart race. None made her shy to look at them.
Earlier, when she’d brought the tea tray into the drawing room after the lamb-saving incident, she’d not wanted to meet Lord Lumley’s gaze. She wasn’t sure why, especially when she’d spoken so bluntly to him, shared kisses with him, and seen a piece of his flesh through a hole in the back of his filthy, travel-worn breeches when he was climbing that hillock.
He’d not been wearing drawers —
But perhaps she’d felt shy because around her stepmother and stepsisters, he’d seemed somehow different. He’d made an effort to be charming. Less brusque. As if he were giving Mona a chance to redeem herself. She didn’t deserve it, but Daisy supposed that was the gentlemanly thing to do.
Mona had responded beautifully, not asking him any difficult questions the way Daisy had. And after tea, he’d taken a walk about the estate with Cassandra, of all people, who usually hated traipsing out-of-doors. While they’d been gone, Daisy had carried hot water to the byre, refusing to let Joe and Hester bear the burden.
Now, at dinner, Lord Lumley was bathed, rested, and apparently recovered from his sore head, although his black eye gleamed blue in the candlelight.
Mona presided over the head of the table. The viscount was in the place of honor to her right. Cassandra sat next to him, and Perdita sat across from them.
Even though she was now supposed to be his fiancée, Daisy was relegated to the bottom of the table. A large epergne filled with gorgeous red velvet rose blossoms in the middle made it impossible for her to see any further than Perdita’s elbow on her left or Cassandra’s top knot on her right. As for the viscount and Mona, they might as well have been invisible.
Daisy was sure they couldn’t see her, either.
Mona had seated her this way at dinner ever since Papa had died, and it was laughable, really. Like something out of a farce, especially as Daisy was tasked with gathering all the flowers and greenery with which to hide her presence.
Hester thought it comical, too, usually.
But tonight was different. When Hester entered the room carrying the trout and potatoes, she made eye contact with Daisy—and Hester’s were not dancing with their usual mirth but gleamed with frustration.
Daisy allowed herself to feel the pang she’d been suppressing: finally, she was missing something worthwhile. She wanted to see the viscount, to be part of the party! She was pretending to be engaged to him, after all!
You want to be the belle of the ball, the way your father intended you to be, a voice in her head said frankly. But you can’t. And even more, you shouldn’t be.
The truth wasn’t easy to bear. Her heart knocked against her chest, so to recover her equilibrium, she pretended to look under the table for a missing hairpin—
And saw Cassandra putting her hand on the viscount’s leg.
Then witnessed him just as quickly moving his leg out of reach.
When Daisy sat up again, she was almost glad no one
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