Page 32 of A Dangerous Little Scandal

The worst part was that the marquess was absolutely right.

She had allowed herself to put the entire blame of her failed affair with Udell completely on her shoulders. She’d told herself she was too young, too naïve, to ensnare an experienced man like Baron Abaline. She had always thought the reason he’d pushed her away was because she was lacking in some way. She hadn’t actually wanted to believe that perhaps he didn’t think he was good enough for her, because in her mind, he was everything she had ever wanted, regardless of the vast age difference. He was the single man who had ever truly admiredher.

She had good qualities, yes, but nothing that might ever capture a gentleman of her own age. They were looking for a wife who was versed in the art of flirtation and other feminine pursuits. They didn’t want a woman who could calculate estate ledgers better than they could, or who might know when to cut back the roses in a garden to ensure healthy growth in the next season. But Udell had passed the age of the debutante who fluttered her lashes behind her fan. He had always told Isadora that she was mature for her age. It just wasn’t enough for him to consider something more permanent, even after he’d taken her virginity. He claimed it had been too late to stop once he’d realized what he’d done, and yet, even though she’d dared to threatenhim by telling her father, he had refused to offer an engagement. He told her that she would thank him someday, that she would find someone who could love her as she deserved.

And yet, a few years later, he’d married Sabine, who wasn’t much older than Isadora. It had been a slap in the face, the worst sort of betrayal she might have endured. After that day, she’d closed herself off to everything else. She had become an automaton, going through the motions of life without truly living.

The baron was gone and had been for more than a year. Perhaps it was time she learned how to live without the guilt and grief she’d worn for so long.

She glanced across the table at Lord Osgood, who was as sullen and silent as she was. With most of her food still untouched, she set down her fork and pushed her plate away, opting for the wine instead.

She took a delicate sip and then hoped to break the tension that had never truly dissipated. “How much longer do you think it might take to arrive in Dalkeith?”

He kept his focus firmly riveted on his plate. “I should think we would arrive by nightfall. So long as the rain continues to hold off that long.”

She nodded and took another drink. Her throat was tight as she swallowed, but she wasn’t sure anything might ease her nerves at this point. She set down her glass and got to her feet. “I think I’ll try to find the necessary before we get back on the road.”

He nodded, but he still didn’t look at her.

Isadora clutched handfuls of her dress and headed for the back of the inn where the privy was located. Once she was done, she started to head back toward the dining room where she’d left the marquess, but a gravelly voice caused her to hesitate. “And where might ye be goin’ all alone?”

She turned to see a shadowy figure propped against the sideof the inn, but now he slid into view. The look he wore was completely unsavory and caused a sense of warning to trail up her spine.

Nevertheless, she kept her wits about her as she attempted to skirt around him. He blocked her way. She glared at him and made sure to keep her tone even and firm. “I am not alone. I’m on my way back to my traveling companion, and he will be concerned when I don’t appear promptly.”

“Is tha’ so?” he drawled, as if he didn’t believe her. “It seems tha’ I have some competition then.”

She snorted. “Hardly. I have better taste than to spend any more time with the likes of you.”

Again, she started to move around him, but he caught her elbow. His fingers bit into her skin, even through the material of her dress. Her gaze was direct as she pierced him with a glare. “That’s not a good idea if you wish to keep your bullocks attached to your person.”

Instead of being intimidated, he threw his head back and laughed. “A little thing like you wouldn’t be able to—” He doubled over and clutched his privates as he fell to the ground. As he was uttering obscenities, she stood above him with a warning. “My father taught me how to defend myself against miserable cretins like you. Perhaps next time you might think of that when you attempt to assault another lady.”

She stepped over his form but paused a few feet away from the entrance to the inn. The marquess was standing there with his arms crossed and an amused look on his face. She was grateful to see it. And him.

He brought his hands together and offered a slow clap. “Nicely done, my lady. I daresay I commend your father for his foresight.”

Her cheeks warmed slightly. “Thank you, my lord. He did think it necessary that we were all equipped with certain talents.”

He held the door open for her and followed her inside the taproom. “I daresay I’m all agog to know what else you can do.”

“We grew up in the country, so I’m quite adept with a bow and arrow. I can shoot a rifle and ride a horse, but it’s nothing more than my sisters can do as well.”

He appeared impressed. “‘The Bevelstroke women of Canterbury.’ I should think it could be a novel someday.”

She laughed, and she was grateful that their easy banter had finally returned. “But what sort of book might it be?” she wondered. “A mystery? One of thrilling revelations?”

“No.” His eyes warmed on her face. “Most definitely a romance.”

Chapter Thirteen

Rem had decided that in order to win this particular battle of wits, he had to allow a brief retreat in order to reevaluate his strategy. And considering he had another battle in which to face very soon, it was best to return to neutral ground until he discovered what other impediments he might be encountering. He certainly didn’t need Lady Isadora as an enemy if he was going to fall into the same category once they reached Dalkeith.

He was almost grateful that they had taken on another two passengers when they left the inn, as the conversation remained easy and light. It was a mother and her teenage son and Rem occupied himself by playing games with him in the coach to keep him from getting too bored.

Thunder started to rumble in the distance by late-afternoon, but since they weren’t too far from their destination, he wasn’t too concerned that they would run into more trouble on the road. He was just glad he’d had the foresight to send a messenger to his aunt by horseback, so that they would be expected. With any luck, a driver would meet them in the village and take themthe rest of the way to Dalkeith Palace, if that was, indeed, their final destination.

It was dark, with threatening lightning flashing heavily all around them by the time they rolled into the Dalkeith stop. As Rem disembarked with Lady Isadora, a man in dark livery walked over to them and inquired, “Would ye happen to be, Lord Osgood?”

---