If You Give a Girl a Viscount Read Online Free PDF Page B

excuses.
    He was half drunk.
    He was in an ill temper.
    He was an Impossible Bachelor.
    With no money.
    It was hell being poor. He’d found no redeeming value in it. The irony was, whether he was in rags or in a London ballroom, he was pursued for his purse either way.
    “You need a poultice,” Miss Montgomery said. “To stop the swelling—”
    “No poultices,” he snapped.
    He couldn’t bother being pleasant. There was that low level of throbbing all over his head, coupled with the fact that he had no desire to be his grandmother’s emissary anymore. The trip had lost its luster after the third or fourth time he’d seen his life flash before his eyes in the numerous perilous encounters with man or nature he’d had since leaving London.
    The girl halted. “All right,” she said. “Have it your way.”
    Her tone was just dry enough to suggest that he was spoiled, which he certainly was not .
    All right, perhaps he was, but he was new at the discomfort business, wasn’t he? That night at his club in London when he’d agreed to leave off money for a while, he’d been thrown to the wolves, as it were, and was simply glad that he’d made it this far north in one piece.
    “You will have received my note,” he said. How brazen the young lady must think him, to assume that a letter of introduction written by his own hand from a seedy inn days before would excuse his present appearance and behavior. He knew it did not.
    Nevertheless, there was a moment’s awkward silence which he took pitiless pleasure in not breaking. But for this woman, he’d be happily ensconced in a chair at his club in Town. And he wouldn’t have lost his lucky penny. In other words—
    Everything was all her fault.
    But Miss Montgomery didn’t seem to notice his resentment.
    She took a breath and crossed her arms over her modest bosom. “Yes,” she said breezily. “Do you care to explain your letter further? You said that per your grandmother’s wishes, you’d be at my ceaseless beck and call.”
    “Ceaseless?”
    “Don’t you remember? And you went on to say that noble words and deeds are what define a man, not the depth of his pockets. An admirable sentiment.”
    Did he really say that? He’d been in his cups when he’d written it. It sounded like something Arrow would profess.
    “It’s true,” he said, trying to gain his bearings. “It’s true that a man shouldn’t be defined by how rich or poor he is.”
    “I had no idea you meant it quite so literally.” Her face took on a regretful expression. “How kind of you to journey all the way up here—to suffer such indignities”—she cast a swift glance under the sofa where the turnip now lay—“when you’re obviously short of funds.”
    She made an effort to look sympathetic, but her disappointment was palpable.
    “Of course, there’s always the chance you keep your coins in a very deep pocket,” she added, her face brightening.
    Good God, the woman was unashamedly transparent. She was after his money now.
    “I’m penniless at the moment.” He merely shrugged. “As for the journey, it was nothing.”
    Nothing, his arse. It was damned well something, and he never wanted to go through it again. He couldn’t wait to leave this place and get back home to his luxurious town house in London.
    “You’ve shown true dedication to the responsibilities inherent in being a godmother,” she managed to compliment him.
    He not only questioned her sincerity, he seethed under such an incongruous label. “I’m merely the emissary, if you’ll recall. It’s my grandmother you should admire. The woman has an unnatural penchant for collecting goddaughters.”
    “Does she?”
    “Yes.”
    “Have you ever helped one before?”
    “No.”
    Her brow furrowed.
    “Miss Montgomery,” he said, “you needn’t worry. Yes, it’s true that whatever your problem is, we’ll have to settle it without my family’s money. Due to an unfortunate series of events, I’ve lost