Free My Lady, My Lord by Katharine Ashe Page A

yesterday?” he asked.
    “That was a non sequitur. Why is it that you cannot speak rationally?”
    A muscle flexed in his soft cheek, giving the impression that he was grounding his teeth.
Her
teeth. “Did I win?”
    “Yes, I believe so.
Stoopie
collected the purse. Ridiculous name for a grown man,” she muttered. “How much did you bet?”
    “A thousand pounds.”
    She gaped. “You don’t even look relieved to hear the good news.”
    “I would have won it back at the tables if necessary. And don’t go giving me your high-and-mighty speeches about the evils of gambling and the wages of sin.”
    “I never give speeches, especially not about the wages of sin.”
    “Probably because you’ve never actually committed one.” He made it sound like a bad thing.
    “I have so.” She sounded like a child. She sounded like a
foolish child
. This could not get worse.
    “Oh, I must have misunderstood,” he said with patently false sincerity. “Though I find it difficult to believe you could have, given the present company you’re keeping. That Giles Fitzhugh is a blast dullard.”
    Corinna’s cheeks filled with heat. “I don’t know what you are talking about. As usual.”
    “What is he doing sniffing around you like a dog after a bone?”
    “Was Viscount Fitzhugh at the opera last night? Oh, I so looked forward to going.” She frowned. “You insulted him, didn’t you?”
    He lifted a brow. “Would it distress you if I had?”
    “Of course it would.”
    “Then let us say I did, shall we?”
    Ian watched her fists clench. He couldn’t recall if he’d ever made that gesture, but it looked foolish in broad daylight in the middle of the park, like he was preparing to have a tantrum.
    “You are evil,” she stated.
    “Yes, you tell me that at least every time we meet,” he drawled, but it sounded peculiar in her voice. Too tight and intentional. “Occasionally twice.”
    Her eyes flashed with anxiety, then she said far too casually, “Will you do me the favor of writing a note to Lady March and telling her I am indisposed and cannot attend her gathering this afternoon, after all?”
    Ian allowed himself to smile. He considered the travesty of his hair and the words formed easily on his tongue. “Whatever for? I have every intention of going.”
    “No, you don’t. It is a political meeting.” Her brow creased. “Don’t you dare.”
    “Ah, yes. That sounds more like the dear Corrie I know so well. Why bother with requests when you can order a man around?”
    “I did request, and you chose to reply rudely. And you don’t know me at all.”
    “I do, indeed. All your worst failings. I simply said I intend to go.”
    “And talk about
what
while you’re there, the latest winners at Goodwood?” she asked with a disdainful curl of the lip.
    “Why not?” He sounded far too defensive, even for her voice. Why was he letting her ruffle his composure? He had the upper hand, after all.
    “Then I am going too.” She put his hands on his hips, a thoroughly feminine gesture that had him squirming inside his air-tight corset and looking about the park to assure none of his acquaintances were abroad. But he’d chosen the God-awfully early hour to avoid just that.
    “Be my guest,” he said distractedly.
    “All right, then, you may pick me up at three o’clock.”
    His gaze snapped back to her. She was worrying her lower lips between her teeth. Dear God, if he had to watch himself look so absolutely asinine for much longer, he might go insane.
    “No,” he ground out. “I will not be seen at a political meeting.”
    “But you just said—”
    “Woman, do not disobey me.”
    “Ian Chance,” she said in a hard voice he didn’t recognize, a glint flashing in her eyes. “You have no say over anything I choose to do or not. And if I have decided to attend an event that I have been looking forward to for weeks, I will certainly do it whether you say I may, and whether I have to do it in this hateful body