If You Give A Girl A Viscount

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The next morning, Daisy did all she could to find a man to take on the role of son of a son of a Highland chief for the remainder of the travelers’ visit. But she’d no luck in Glen Dewey.

Those men were preoccupied with truly being fierce and readying themselves for the hunt and the subsequent games. All they cared about was preparing their weapons and their own bodies for competition.

“We’re all descendants of chiefs in one way or another, lass,” said one man, sharpening a hunting knife. “We don’t want to be bothered, and no one wants to sit in a silly chair and pass out ribbons to the winners of the games. We want to be in them.”

Except for one shy young man, a scholar who was the actual grandson of a Highland chief. He said he’d love to play the role, but he gave no impression of strength, despite his impressive height, sturdy body, and trunklike legs. He held up a magnificent old kilt—the kind with a sash that goes over the shoulder—and all the imposing accessories that went with it.

“It’s not often I wear the great kilt of my ancestors, miss.” His voice didn’t match his body. It was thin, modest, and all too agreeable. “But for you and your project, I’ll be happy to put them on and come stay at the castle and tell stories about my grandfather.”

She didn’t know how to tell him that he wouldn’t do. He wouldn’t do at all. The foreigners expected a Highland chief who’d make them tremble in their shoes with his fierceness.

She sat there racking her brain, but then he said, “I know you’re disappointed in me. I don’t seem particularly ferocious and brave, do I?”

How could she answer that?

She gulped. “I—I’m sure you are,” she told him. “And you’re an impressive scholar, too. It’s just that—”

He waved a hand at her. “Never you mind, Miss Montgomery. I know what the guests must be expecting, and it’s certainly not me. Take my kilt if you must. I wish you luck finding someone worthy of donning it.”

She brightened. “Really?”

“Aye,” he said. “Now, would you like some tea? And a bite to eat?”

A question that only proved he was entirely too thoughtful to be the man she needed.

She gave a sigh of relief. “I’d love that. Thank you, sir.”

Back at the castle, Daisy didn’t know what to do. She brought the kilt, which she’d hidden in a burlap sack, into her bedchamber and dumped it out on the bed that she and Charlie had slept in the previous night.

Well. If you could call it sleep.

She blushed at the memories. Last night had been spectacular …

She almost became dreamy about it, but the sight of the kilt and its matching sash, as well as the sporran and the scabbard gleaming with richness, evoked an amazing history of which Castle Vandemere and her ancestors were a part.

They must have the son of a son of a Highland chief by the midday meal, or it would be difficult to keep fobbing off Mr. Woo and the rest of the visitors.

She couldn’t afford to have them upset in any way.

Castle Vandemere was at stake.

And Mr. King must remain long enough to discover how perfect Cassandra was for him.

“Dai-seee!” The shriek came from down the hall.

She rolled her eyes and went to see what her stepmother wanted.

“Perdy’s all thumbs, as usual,” Mona said with a scowl. “Come tie my laces.”

Perdita flopped into a chair and pouted.

“She also broke my favorite brooch, trying to open the clasp,” Mona complained.

Daisy stole a glance at Perdita. As much as she despised her, it must be difficult to be so clumsy.

“I’ve the perfect substitute pin for you,” Daisy told Mona. “Perdita, would you mind going to my room and getting it, please? It’s on my dresser, the small silver thistle.”

“That old thing,” Mona said rudely.

Which Hester had very lovingly given Daisy last Christmas! It meant the world to her. She pressed her lips together, refusing to rise to the bait.

“Tell Daisy to get her own pin,” Perdita said, her voice practically rattling the windows.

“Do as you’re told,” Mona barked almost as loudly.

Perdita roused herself to stand and slouched out of the room, her hands clenched into fists.

Daisy finished tying her stepmother’s laces and was desperate to leave. Being alone with her was not fun.

“Since we’re waiting,” Mona said, “massage my feet.” She strode to her bed, threw herself back on it, and wiggled her toes.

God, no. The last thing Daisy wanted to do was touch her stepmother’s feet, much less squeeze them. Mona would wince and yell and perhaps kick out at her if she didn’t do an excellent job.

“I—I’ll be right back,” Daisy said. “Maybe Perdita can’t find the pin.”

Before Mona could answer, she ran to her own bedchamber.

And found Perdita there, holding the kilt up to herself before the looking glass.

“It’s the most magnificent skirt I’ve ever seen.” Perdita’s words, as usual, came out almost like the growl of an angry bear.

“You know it’s not a skirt, Perdita,” Daisy admonished her. “Scotsmen will take huge offense at that. It’s a kilt. They used to wear them to cross rivers and to hunt, to live the rough life.”

Perdita sighed. “Men have all the fun.”

And then she looked over at Daisy: square jaw, fierce eyes, booming voice.

Heavens. The answer had been here all along.

Perdita was Daisy’s Highland chief!

Charlie was at Castle Vandemere doing chores around the byre with the ever-willing Mr. King, who was currently with Joe, learning about the sheep, when Daisy came over from the Keep, her cheeks bright from the exertion and the crisp Highland air.

“Has he spoken to Cassandra this morning?” she asked, looking breathless and beautiful.

“I’ve no idea.” Charlie wanted to get his hands and mouth on her and make her feel perfect again. “We got down here earlier than I expected we would. Mr. King, I’m not surprised to find out, is an early riser. I think Cassandra was still asleep when we left.”

Daisy bit her lip.

“Is something on your mind?”

“Actually, yes.” And she proceeded to tell him about Miss Perdita’s new role.

“That’s absurd,” he said. “She can’t play the son of a son of a Highland chief.”

“But the guests only saw her last night at dinner, and she didn’t speak. I’m going to tell them the female Perdita is indisposed.”

“She can’t carry this off.” It was an obvious fact: she was a woman, although even Charlie had had his doubts when he’d first met her.

“You wouldn’t believe how different she looks in the kilt,” Daisy went on. “It was easy enough to strap down her, um—”

“I know what you mean.”

Daisy’s cheeks reddened further. “And since it’s the old-fashioned kind, she has a massive tartan sash up there, too. It …” She trailed off.

“It disguises her femininity even more,” Charlie said.

“Exactly.” Daisy chuckled. “As for her hair, it’s frizzy and easy to shove into a hat. I’ve got her a lovely hunting cap—she’s itching to test her skill, you know, so the guests will believe she’s entirely dedicated to the sport.”

“But she’s English!”

“She’s only allowed to say a few words: aye, nay, and slainte. We practiced. She’ll sound completely brutish and fierce and Scottish. She’s thrilled to be able to drink whisky and smoke a cheroot. The visitors will be in awe.”

“I suppose that small mustache she has helps, as well,” Charlie muttered.

Daisy put her hand to her mouth and giggled. “I think it does. Even so, I burned a cork and rubbed it into her jaw to make her a bit swarthier.”

She stopped giggling rather abruptly, Charlie thought, and her eyes were suddenly bright. “What is it?” he asked her.

Daisy shook her head. “Just that I’ve never seen Perdita so … happy. She was proud to be in that kilt. And she couldn’t stop talking about Mr. King and how she couldn’t wait to hunt with him. She wondered if maybe he’d talk to her more when she was dressed like a man.” She sighed. “It’s a shame she can’t dress like that all the time. She was a delight. She even hugged me at the end. And it felt … genuine.”

“Interesting.” Charlie chuckled. “So you’ve discovered something nice about her.”

“I really don’t know what to think,” Daisy said.

“About what?”

“About getting rid of her along with Mona and Cassandra.”

“Play it by ear,” Charlie said. “Imagine what she’ll be like after the men depart and she has to get back into a gown.”

“You’re right,” Daisy said with a sigh. “I won’t get my hopes up.”

“You always get your hopes up.”

“I can’t help it. She’s my stepsister.”

“And that’s very kind of you. How did your stepmother take the change in her appearance?”

“Mona merely sneered. Which means she doesn’t care one way or the other. She’s too preoccupied attempting to win over Mr. Woo.”

“Mr. Woo?”

“Yes, she fancies him.”

“Poor fellow.”

“She’s heard he’s the richest of the lot. And free to marry.”

“Is he?”

“I’ve no idea. I made it up.”

“You minx!”

“I needed to distract her from Perdy’s situation. And it certainly worked.”

“You don’t feel guilty about subjecting Mr. Woo to your stepmother’s increased attentions?”

“Not in the least. He can hold his own.”

Charlie circled her waist with his hands. “I’m not even sure you went to sleep last night. How miserable for us both that the secret corridor makes it extremely easy for me to get to your room unseen. I might have to join you in bed again tonight and every night until the whole damned Highland experience is over.”

She pushed his hands off her waist. “Oh, and one other thing. Perdita certainly can’t have Mr. King.”

“So you’ve nothing to say about our bedding down together?”

“Yes.” Her cheeks reddened, and she looked at him with serious eyes. “I’m sorry. But we can’t do what we did last night every night.”

“You said that once before and changed your mind.”

“You and I both know we can’t keep playing with fire.” Her tone was more pert than stern. “Because Cassandra and my stepmother can never find out.”

“They won’t. Did you hear all the snoring going on last night? It’s not just Perdita.”

“I know. All three of them do. But as you’ve already said, what we did could lead to other things.”

“And as I’ve told you before, I would never, ever take such liberties, even with your permission, which”—he whispered into her ear—“I’d be able to get in less than thirty seconds, if you’d only let me try. I’m good, darling. Very good.”

“Listen closely.” She glowered at him. “Tonight, we’re not touching each other. Is that clear? Last night was an accident. I was so exhausted I wasn’t prepared to resist your, um, dubious charms.”

“Dubious? Are you sure you didn’t mean to say countless?”

She bit her lip and glanced away from him, refusing to answer.

“I know I wasn’t prepared to resist your charms, either,” he said, “which aren’t dubious in the least. Especially now.” He took a secret peek down her bodice.

“Somehow I wonder if you’re taking me seriously.”

“Oh, I am.”

She stared at him a few seconds longer.

He stared fixedly back.

“I saw that,” she said.

“What?”

“You looking down my bodice.” Whenever her honey-bee voice grew thicker, he knew exactly what she was thinking of, and it delighted him no end. “Now what were we talking about before?”

She was adept at switching subjects.

“Perdita.” He’d play along. Flirting with Daisy and not being able to follow through was taking a toll on him. “I hate to say this, but her chances of winning Mr. King’s admiration are even lower now than they were before she donned the kilt. And her chances then were zero, so …”

“Oh,” Daisy replied, as if she had a very big secret to reveal, “I meant that she can’t have him because—even if she were the most beautiful woman in the world—”

She hesitated.

He’d play along again. “What?”

“I’m saving him for Cassandra.”

“You’re saving him? For Cassandra?”

She sighed. “Can’t you see? They’re perfect together. Both vain. Both of them good-looking and selfish.”

So that’s why she’d been so attentive to Mr. King! The little jealous part of Charlie that he’d been ignoring came roaring to the surface, like a quail beat out of the bush, and he was glad to shoot it down. “Are you sure you want him for Cassandra?”

Daisy made an astonished face. “Why, it’s obvious they’re an ideal match.”

“Good. Did you know the braggart and I get along very well? I’ve even forgiven him his unduly high shirt points and the intricate way he ties his cravats, as if he’s a mummy bound to escape unless he’s restrained.”

Daisy rolled her eyes. “I hope you do, Charlie, because I can’t afford for him to be upset about anything.”

Mr. King himself strolled up then, his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. “Are you ready for our competition, Lord Lumley? We’re to pick out our sheep and sharpen the shears. Your shepherd said that’ll get our nerves properly frayed.”

“What competition?” Daisy asked him.

“Sheep shearing, of course, in front of all the company,” said Mr. King. “Joe explained to me in great detail how to go about it.”

“Of course, he also reminded us that one learns best by doing,” Charlie said, “and that no amount of instruction can prepare us for shearing an actual sheep. Which should keep the match interesting. And perhaps comical.”

“I think that might be Joe’s intention,” Mr. King said dryly. “He’s a simple man, isn’t he? But I think he has a serious bent when it comes to his flock.”

“Sheep shearing is serious business,” Daisy said. “Neither of you will be laughing. Cursing is more like it.”

“The winner is the man who shears his sheep the fastest—and properly, I might add,” said Charlie.

“That’s right,” said Mr. King, “a sloppily shorn sheep won’t count toward our total.”

“Are you sure you’re both ready for this?” Daisy eyed them both warily.

Mr. King laughed. “Sheep aren’t dangerous creatures, Miss Montgomery. We’ll be fine. Aren’t you coming with me, the two of you? I’ve got my eye on a docile ewe for the contest. I want to claim her before Lord Lumley gets to her.”

“Of course,” said Charlie. “She’d best not be the same one I wanted.”

“We might have to fight each other for her, eh?” Mr. King grinned.

“I’m game,” Charlie said.

“Enough, you two, with your silly threats.” Daisy bestowed a polite smile upon Mr. King. “I have to speak to Lord Lumley a moment—about dinner. We’ll catch up with you in a trice.”

“Very well.” He went off whistling.

As soon as he left, she turned to Charlie. “You must let him win.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m certain that if he loses, he’ll be unhappy the rest of his visit. What if he cuts it short?”

Charlie blew out a breath. “Then I’m canceling the match. I won’t lose to anyone intentionally, Daisy. Don’t you know it defeats the whole purpose of the competition and is an insult to the other party?”

“Yes, but—”

“You saw him. This is all in fun. We’re joking about it.” He rubbed her upper arms. “Please don’t worry.”

“I know you’re right, but—”

“I won’t let him win. It will be a fair competition or none at all.”

“Even if it means we’ll be assured of a happy guest?”

“He wouldn’t be happy. No man would be happy to win under false pretenses.” She opened her mouth to speak, but he put a finger over her lips. “I promise that if he beats me fair and square, I won’t pout. Because I know you’ll be happy he won.”

“No I won’t.” Daisy sighed. “The truth is, I’ll be rooting for you, Charlie. I won’t be able to help myself.”

He leaned his forehead against hers and groaned. And then he chuckled. “You’re killing me, Daisy. You can’t have everything.”

“I’m sorry.” She bit her lip, but he saw a grin lurking there. “It’s just that I’m so worried about getting the money. And so confused … about you.”

He pulled back. “About me?”

She nodded. “I told you I like you—and I do, at least at the moment and against all my better judgment. I’m sure I’ll feel differently soon, but—”

“But for now, you can’t resist me.” He arched a brow. “It’s easily understandable.”

She slapped his arm. “See? Already I don’t like you again.”

“Good. The sooner you learn you can’t control everything, the more you’ll be able to let go and enjoy yourself. Don’t you know if you try too hard with anything in life, it usually goes to pieces?”

“Yes, but I don’t have trunkfuls of money to fall back on if that happens. You do.”

Money doesn’t protect you from falling for someone and then having your heart broken, he wanted to say. But he couldn’t. Mainly because he didn’t want to contemplate that he might be falling for her.

“Remember, I’m broke at the moment. But even if I gain access to my family’s coffers again, having trunkfuls of money won’t protect me from everything,” he told her instead.

“I’m sure you’re right.” She sounded a bit blue. “I’ve seen my share of unhappy rich people. But doesn’t money at least lessen the sting when things go wrong?”

“It makes it easier to hide from your problems. And it makes it a damned sight easier not to have to grow up. So is that a good thing?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re a clever man, Lord Lumley. I’m dying to be rich, and you’re practically begging to be poor.”

“I am at the moment, don’t forget. Poor as a church mouse.” He grabbed her wrist. “You know I want you to call me Charlie when we’re alone.”

“Charlie,” she whispered.

He pulled her close, his lips a mere inch from hers.

He wanted Daisy’s high regard. He wanted it badly. It was stupid of him, and he knew that sheer male pride was involved.

But there it was.

He forced himself to release her. “I’d better go. I really don’t want our smug American guest to pick out all the sleepiest ewes.”

Daisy gasped. “See? I’m afraid this friendly sheep-shearing competition is going to spiral out of control.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Charlie tugged on her hand. “Are you coming—or not?”

“No,” she said, still looking worried. “Go choose your sheep. I have better things to do.”

“Such as?”

She gave a short laugh. “I don’t know yet. But I’m sure by the time I get back to the Keep, there will be something.”