Barbara Metzger Read Online Free Page A

the term loosely, was the rake who staggered home nearly every morning in his evening clothes. He lived in that derelict house across the street, although he definitely belonged across town with the other pleasure-seeking patricians.
    Bonnie and Cook had speculated endlessly as to why such a well-born, well-heeled toff would choose to reside in Kensington when he had a perfectly splendid mansion in Mayfair. They had also made sure Carissa knew that he was Lesley Hammond, Lord Hartleigh, the viscount the on dits columns labeled Lord Heartless. They dubbed him thus, Carissa was given to understand, not because he was unkind, but because he was unattainable. London's premier matrimonial prize wasn't brutal; he'd just left a broad swath of bruised hearts behind him. He hadn't yet succumbed to the beau monde's beauties or the demimonde's dashers.
    Nary a woman in all his four-and-thirty years had held his affection for more than a brief—albeit joyful, by repute—affair. Lord Heartless was as fickle as a flea, and as hard to catch. The women were the ones who were left heartsore and sad, which never stopped a single ninnyhammer from vying for his attention, to Cook's glee and Carissa's disgust.
    "I am Hartleigh, ma'am,” he was saying now, as if there were a female in all of London unaware of his name, “and Sir Gilliam gave me leave to ask your assistance with a small difficulty."
    Lord Hartleigh's oversized companion cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Byrd, ma'am. Aloysius Byrd, at your service.” He doffed his cap, revealing a distorted ear and a pate as bald as the eggshells from Sir Gilliam's breakfast, except for the seagull tattooed there. And then he smiled, showing two gold teeth. Bonnie shrieked and fled into the pantry. Carissa wished she could do the same. She glanced to make sure Pippa wasn't frightened, but the child was staring from one of the visitors to the other, brown eyes wide in her little face, with her porridge forgotten.
    "Pippa, eat your breakfast before it gets cold,” Carissa said, trying to maintain some shreds of control in this bizarre situation. Cook's mouth was hanging open, so she was going to be no help. Carissa ignored the brawny buccaneer and turned her attention back to his lordship. He looked like something her cat would be too fastidious to drag in, so she asked, “A difficulty, you say? Has there been a carriage accident? I'm not surprised, the way you dr—” She recalled her manners and didn't even reprimand him for springing his horses on the narrow street where children were wont to play. Not her child, of course. “Ah, that is, perhaps you should call for a physician?"
    "No, there has not been a carriage accident,” Lesley said through clenched teeth. Damn if the starched-up crone wasn't itching to treat him to another reproach about the decadent aristocracy. He could see she was thinking it, the way her arms were crossed and her brow was lowered over dark eyes. Thunderation, all he wanted was to rest his aching head on something soft. Lud knew there was nothing soft about Mrs. Kane. Still, he had no choice but to lay his burden, and his basket, at her feet. “This arrived on my doorstep a short while ago."
    Carissa was not about to touch such a noisome object. Wrinkling her nose, she waited for him to continue. Instead, he peeled back the covers. “Why, it's a baby!” she exclaimed.
    "Why does everyone think I cannot recognize an infant?” Lesley muttered. “Yes, ma'am, it is a baby, and I have no idea what to do with it or for it. I was hoping you could come across the street and help."
    "Lord have mercy, who'd have mistaken your love nest for the foundling hospital?” Cook had found her voice.
    The viscount frowned, but addressed his answer to the housekeeper. “A, ah, friend had to travel suddenly."
    "And left her baby?” Carissa was incredulous. “With you?” She was kneeling down to examine the sleeping babe when the service bell rang. “Oh, dear. Sir