My Scandalous Viscount Read Free Page B

general, he feared no man, but these were Order agents they were talking about—three of them, as well trained, and being a few years older, even more experienced than he. No, he really did not fancy getting his face smashed in by Rotherstone’s fist, or his ribs cracked by Warrington’s boot, to say nothing of what Falconridge might do to him, considering the elder-brotherly fondness the sandy-haired earl had hatched for the petite lady of information. Jordan Lennox, Lord Falconridge, recently married to his boyhood sweetheart, was the easygoing type who almost never got angry, but when he finally did, it was too late. You were already dead.
    These seasoned, slightly older agents, well aware of Beau’s seductive tendencies and his heated notice of Daphne’s friend, had wrested from him a grudging promise not to touch her. Never mind the fact he was rather sure the feisty, little fairy queen wanted to be touched.
    Ah, well. That didn’t mean he couldn’t look.
    She wore a simple silk gown of pale spring green, and he had a fleeting fantasy of peeling it off her lithe body. But lucky for her, he’d already made up his mind not to act on his lust, quite apart from Rotherstone’s friendly death threats.
    The fact was, Carissa Portland was a nosy little gossip with a passion for digging up secrets while he was a spy charged with keeping them for the Crown.
    A girl like that was trouble. Trouble he didn’t need. He had plenty of that on his own.
    “So, what can I do for you?” he murmured, leaning his shoulder into the wall.
    “Well.” She bit her lip and dropped her gaze, peeking at him from beneath her lashes as she hesitated. “To start, you can tell me who you think you’re off to meet.”
    “I beg your pardon?” he exclaimed in surprise.
    She just looked at him.
    He laughed softly, folding his arms across his chest. “And what business is it of yours, exactly?”
    “None,” she said with an idle shrug, avoiding his gaze. “I’m just curious.”
    He regarded her skeptically. “How do you know about that, anyway? Were you watching me?”
    “I have eyes.”
    “And a nosy little nose,” he agreed, tapping her on the tip of it. “But I prefer your lips. Tell me,” he added in a confidential murmur, leaning closer, “have you thought about that kiss as frequently as I have?”
    “Beauchamp!”
    “Portland.”
    She gave him a dubious smile, seemingly in spite of herself, and leaned against the wall beside him.
    “No,” she replied at last. “I haven’t thought about it at all.” Her smooth ivory skin filled with a scarlet blush.
    Beau gazed at her in fond amusement. “Too bad. I thought you might have come to get another.”
    “Hardly.” With a stern glare, she moved away, putting a safer distance between them.
    “Very well, then, I don’t have all night, girl. Why are you here?”
    She did not answer at once but considered her words carefully. “Whoever it is you think you will be meeting tonight, I’d advise you not to go.”
    “Why?” He crooked a brow at her with a playful leer. “Have you got a better idea?”
    “Oh, stop it. I’ll tell you why—just as soon as you tell me where Daphne is.”
    Beau groaned and slumped against the wall. “Please don’t start that again. I thought Daphne wrote to you.”
    He knew for a fact she had, for he was the one who had asked Rotherstone’s lady to do so.
    “Yes, I got the letter—and I’m grateful for it. I know you had something to do with that. But still, it was awfully vague. Look, I know something’s going on, and I know you know what it is. Now you can either tell me what’s afoot or—”
    “Or nothing,” he interrupted. “I cannot.”
    “Why?”
    “Because. Your friends are safe. That’s all you need to know.”
    She shoved away from the wall, lifting her elegant shoulders in a shrug. “Very well. Your choice. Good evening, Lord Beauchamp.” She started to turn away.
    “Hold on, you.” He captured her elbow gently to