Free The Perfect Scandal by Delilah Marvelle Page A

Usually men offered a cocky stance, a smile or a twinkle of the eye to go along with flattery, but he tossed it at her as if he had just read it in the newspaper. “That sounded rather blasphemous. Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
    He held her gaze and purposefully lowered his voice. “Take it to mean whatever you wish.”
    Her stomach flipped at the simmering heat lacing those words. Why was it that whenever he was around, she wanted to crawl inside his head andunderstand him in a way she didn’t usually care to know a man?
    He tossed his top hat off to the side, causing it to roll toward one of the walls. “I cannot have you standing about like this. Come.” He slipped his arm around her corseted waist, yanking her toward himself, and then pried her crutches from her fingers, sending each clattering to the marble floor at their feet.
    She grabbed hold of the lapels on his morning coat, balancing herself on her one leg and froze, realizing her breasts and her body were pressing against his hard, broad frame in a very provocative manner.
    His other hand slid around her waist, holding her more firmly against him as strands of his auburn hair fell into his eyes. “There. Better?”
    She dared not move or look up into his eyes, lest she forget the words she needed to speak. She hated how vulnerable he was making her feel. “Better for you, I suppose. I am the one at a disadvantage. I am asking you to return my crutches to me at once, if you please.”
    â€œYou don’t need them whilst in my presence,” he offered quietly, his face leaning down more toward hers, as if trying to better see her face. “Though I would never advise you to trust me, I am asking you to do so. Do you trust me? Do you trust what it is I am about to do?”
    Her breath hitched. “It depends. What are you about to do?”
    His hold on her body tightened, causing the buttons of his waistcoat to dig into her gown and skin. “You aren’t going to scream as you did earlier, are you?”
    She stared awkwardly at the broad chest pressed against her. “And…what would give me cause to scream?”
    â€œYou don’t trust me, do you?” He smirked. “That is wise. Hold on to me.” His other arm slid down from her waist and looped beneath her upper thighs.
    Her eyes widened as he yanked her up high into both of his arms in a single, easy swing. She stiffened as the crook of his muscled arm sank past the missing leg beneath her left knee. His hand jumped farther up toward her thigh, to prevent her from rolling. He paused, his brows coming together as he glanced toward his gloved hand that was buried beneath her palomino skirts.
    He was obviously expecting a twisted ankle.
    Not a missing leg.
    â€œThe third of June will mark six years to the day,” she confided.
    His brows softened as he lowered his gaze to her exposed throat. “I am very sorry to hear it.”
    She eyed him, hoping to Mother Mary he didn’t think she now needed coddling. “There is no need tobe. I am alive and quite happy for it. Very few survive the sort of amputation I did.”
    â€œâ€™Tis an endearing sentiment to hold. One to be proud of.” He turned and carried her through the open doors of the vast, darkened parlor. Heavy curtains covered all the windows, drawn by the servants in an effort to prevent the crowds from peering in.
    The heat of his body pressed against hers was overwhelming, causing her breath to quicken. She could feel his large hands digging into her beneath her stays and the soft muslin length of her morning gown.
    The continual hum of voices outdoors was the only thing to penetrate the silence. She openly admired the regal side view she had of his chiseled, shaven face. What a marvelous looking man he was.
    Despite usually objecting to others carrying her, she felt rather eminent draped in his taut arms. “Would you like to be my own personal