Read Viscount Vagabond for Free Online Page B

vanished, and reappeared in minutes, a scrupulously polite and efficient wraith.
    In the interim Lord Rand’s sister kept up a light flow of amusing conversation, unaided by her two visitors and all about the weather. The tea arrived along with coffee for her brother, who gave one affronted look at the cup offered him and marched to a table upon which stood several decanters.
    “Max,” said the countess.
    He stopped in the act of lifting a decanter.
    “You require coffee, My Lord.”
    “Dash it, Louisa,” he muttered, putting the bottle back. “It’s well past noon.”
    “So it is. Still, I suspect you have some explaining to do not only to me, but to Miss Pettigrew, and you are cryptic enough when sober.”
    “Nothing to explain,” his lordship answered as he studied the sparkling crystal containers wistfully. “I found Miss Pettigrew in a spot of trouble and hadn’t time to discuss genealogy. Not that she’s been very forthcoming herself.”
    The sister returned her attention to her oddly attired guest. “Sugar, Miss Pettigrew?”
    Catherine, who’d been staring at the vagabond who’d so abruptly turned into a member of the nobility, dragged her gaze back to her hostess, and then wondered how one could have possibly ignored, even for an instant, this magnificent woman.
    The Countess of Andover was as fair-haired as her brother and quite tall as well, but his lean, chiselled features found a softer counterpart in her lovely countenance. Clad in an aqua gown that seemed to have been poured upon her perfect form, Lady Andover was the most beautiful woman Catherine had ever seen. Though not au courant with the latest modes, Miss Pelliston was sure that the countess’s gown must be the first stare of fashion, the handiwork of the finest of couturieres.
    Nearly blinded by her hostess’s brilliance, Catherine grew agonizingly conscious of her own drab appearance. A guilty conscience, which in recent hours had developed all the vicious attributes of a swarm of outraged wasps, did not improve her poise. All she could manage was a nod.
    “What sort of trouble?”
    Though Lady Andover’s voice was kindly enough, the suspicious glance she sent in her brother’s direction brought two bright spots of color to Catherine’s cheeks. Luckily, Miss Pelliston was spared from replying when Lord Rand favoured his sister with an answering scowl.
    “You needn’t look as though it were my doing, Louisa. Leastways, to start off with it wasn’t.” He wrenched himself away from the tempting array of decanters and took a seat by her ladyship.
    He seemed, Catherine thought, suddenly very uncomfortable, though she could not be sure she wasn’t investing him with her own feelings. She, after all, was fervently wishing she might melt quietly into the Aubusson carpet and thus be relieved of having her outrageous behaviour and its gruesome consequences called to this lady’s attention.
    “Then what have you done, Max?”
    “Oh, please,” Catherine interrupted. “Mr.—his lordship has been everything that is kind, and it is all my fault, really.”
    “It ain’t your fault, and I can’t think what bloody idiot’s filled your head with that sort of nonsense that you’ve got to be beggin’ everyone’s pardon for doing what any woman in her right mind would do. Dash it, Louisa, you’d think it was the Dark Ages still in this curst country.”
    “I must admit that at present your subject is rather dark to me,” his sister replied. “Perhaps Miss Pettigrew can be more enlightening.”
    Miss Pettigrew had thus far managed to endure any number of indignities without weeping. Now, at being accused of nonsensicality, she gave way. Her chest heaved, and the tears she struggled in vain to keep back made it rather difficult to understand the shameful words she blurted out.
    “Ran away?” Lady Andover repeated, after her brother had translated. “I don’t understand. Surely Miss Pettigrew is not an apprentice.”
    “Of