Married to the Rogue (Season of Scandal #3) - Mary Lancaster Page 0,26

must wear what you wish. All I mean is, if you would like anything, we can easily go to Chester or Liverpool. I like you, whatever you wear.”

It was said so casually, she glanced at him to see if she had misheard. He was gazing across the lake, his finger idly twisting a blade of grass. He looked perfectly content, his short dark hair, slightly rumpled, his open-necked shirt falling to one side, revealing the strong column of his throat and a broad collarbone. No one would have known he was an earl’s grandson. But it came to her that whatever he wore, she liked him, too.

He glanced round, catching her observation. “What? Do I look horribly disreputable?”

She smiled and shook her head. “No.”

“I’m sorry about my grandfather. I didn’t expect him to trouble us so soon. I thought he’d go back to London and fume in silence until his temper cooled.”

“It doesn’t matter. I shan’t go into a decline. It was just…unexpected, and I’m afraid I rather cower before anger and loud voices.”

“You seemed to be giving as good as you got by the time I arrived,” he remarked. “In fact, on the whole, I’d have put you ahead and all with total civility. You most certainly did not cower.”

“I did inside,” she confessed.

“That’s different,” he said gently. “Everyone does that.”

“You are trying to make me feel better.”

“Trust me, you hide it so well, no one would guess.”

“You did.”

“I’m good at observing people, and you were right beside me with your hand on my arm. I could feel you trembling.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He took her hand, looking into her averted face. “For what?”

She could only shake her head again.

He didn’t release her hand, but after a moment, he asked, “Did someone bully you or shout at you excessively when you were a child?”

“Oh, no,” she said, shocked. Then she said carefully, “My father was a good man, though strict. I was always getting into mischief, and then so were Lucy and Giles, and as the eldest, I always got the blame for all of us, even when Lucy had learned to twist him around her little finger. I wasn’t afraid of him, for he was kind beneath it, but my biggest dread became his anger and having to explain myself to his displeasure. I suppose the feeling has stayed with me, even when I thought I had outgrown it.”

He squeezed her hand. “Well, we must stick to our pact. You will keep me from shouting at my grandfather, and I will stop him from shouting at you. Or at least protect you when he does. When I was a child, I used to imagine him in his nightcap, and he wasn’t nearly so frightening. And when he roars, he’s really just like a small child having a tantrum.”

“You are irreverent,” she observed.

“I admit it.”

She smiled, and he smiled back, raising her hand to his lips and dropping a quick kiss on her fingers. He seemed about to release her hand, and for some reason, she was sorry. Then something unfathomable changed in his eyes, and he leaned closer. She thought she must have a dust-smut or some other blemish on her face and opened her mouth to ask.

The words died unspoken, for he came closer yet and gently kissed her lips.

Sheer surprise held her still. His lips were warm and firm, softly cradling hers. She had never encountered anything like it, and yet the birds still sang, the breeze still stirred the fabric of her gown. His masculine scent mingled with those of the outdoors, and she seemed to be held spellbound in his kiss.

It can only have lasted a moment, but her eyes fluttered open when he drew back. She realized she was clinging to his hand and immediately released it in shock, jumping to her feet.

“I should go back,” she said breathlessly. “I have things to do before the decorator comes.”

He rose in a more leisurely way. “We can go via the dower house and collect Gates if you like.”

In sheer panic, she was about to leave him to do that while she simply ran back to the house alone. Except it came to her, she didn’t want to be alone. She wanted to be with him. Her husband, the man who had kissed her.

“Very well,” she murmured, walking beside him, aware of his easy stride, his every movement, the brush of her skirt against him.

Theirs was a marriage of convenience, she reminded herself, with each free