Page 36 of Season of the Scoundrel
A servant rushed past them, heading for the study, and Ross strode toward her.
“Forgive me,” he said, his tone sharp. “But we should go.”
He lifted his hand and she noticed what looked like a drop of blood on his cuff.
“Ross…”
“A scratch. Nothing more.”
She took his hand, and he immediately led her toward the front door. The footman standing sentry looked startled, but escorted them out into the moonlit evening.
Outside, Ross sought his the carriage that had deposited them such a short time ago and handed her up into the vehicle. Then he climbed in and settled on the bench across from her.
“I’ve never done that before,” he said, then ran a hand through his hair. “Even when I was a young man, I knew better than to let temper rule my actions.”
“What did you do?”
“I…struck Lord Alec Grainger.” He rolled his shoulders, then settled his cuffs. “And I don’t regret it, though I am sorry for how it might reflect on you.”
Ivy learned across the carriage, taking his hand and turning it. An abrasion and a bit of blood darkened the knuckles of his right hand.
“Why did you strike him?” Before he could answer, she confessed, “I fear I know why.”
“Do you?”
“You did find me in the hallway outside of his study,” she pointed out.
“What were you doing?” he asked, then chuckled. “Eavesdropping? Of course you were.”
“I didn’t hear much,” Ivy confessed. “But he mentioned our betrothal, didn’t he?”
“The man was offensive. Unforgivably so. He baited me and suffered the consequences.”
He’d struck another nobleman because of her—the thought should have mortified her, but it wasn’t mortification she felt. Her pulse quickened, and she swallowed hard. He cared enough to defend her.
“Have I shocked you?” he asked when she fell quiet. “I don’t usually give in to bouts of temper, I assure you.”
“I believe you,” she said with a smile, then worry began to set in. “I hope he won’t retaliate in some way.”
Ross waved the thought away. “Let him try. He knew he’d pushed too far. My refusal to invest seemed to pique his anger, and he lashed out. If he had not mentioned you, he might have an escaped without a bloodied lip.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
He leaned toward her, and the single carriage lamp lit his eyes. His nearness set her pulse racing again. The scent of him made her want him closer.
“You needn’t thank me.” He took her hand, stroking her fingers lightly, but even that gentle touch made her pulse thrum in her veins.
There was such warmth in his eyes for her now whenever he looked her way, and yet she wasn’t certain she was doing him any favors by maintaining this betrothal facade.
Even if Grainger made nothing more of the incident, it seemed their betrothal was a matter for sneering comments. She thought of the ladies in the hallway.
“Is something amiss?”
“Do you think this plan of ours, this false betrothal is a mistake?”
Still holding her hand, he bent his head and kissed her knuckles. “I do not. I regret nothing. Not getting caught in Penrose’s study. Not informing my mother and soon all of London that you are to be my duchess. And certainly not planting a facer on Alec Grainger, which he richly deserved.”
Ivy licked her lips. The wordsyou are to be my duchessgot caught in her mind, though from the hitch in her chest, it felt as if they’d lodged there.
