Free The Perfect Scandal by Delilah Marvelle Page B

sedan? I will pay twenty shillings on the hour if you promise to carry me around for the rest of my life. What do you say?”
    He glanced down at her. “Are you always this flippant?”
    â€œAre you always this serious?” she flung back.
    â€œVery little amuses me. Does that answer your question?” Averting his gaze, he effortlessly crossed the expanse of the room, turned and lowered her ontothe long, velvet cushion of the chaise. His gloved hands slipped out from beneath her thighs and waist, his eyes meeting hers. He quickly straightened and stepped back.
    She shifted, pushing out the breath she was holding, and rearranged her skirts around her leg, trying desperately to ignore how the lower left side of her gown had flattened against the chaise in a most unbecoming manner.
    He lingered before her. “Should you be walking without a prosthetic? Do you have one?”
    She glanced up at him, giving in to a rare pang of resentment, knowing she would never again stroll about in an elegant, refined manner meant to bring any man desire. Vain as it was, she missed the way men used to fawn over her. But she was grateful for what she did have. Her life. “I prefer balancing myself with simple devices. The prosthetic I had was like walking around with an axe embedded in my stump. It was very painful and very awkward.”
    Lord Moreland eased onto the chaise beside her. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied him perusing her bundled hair, her clothes and the side of her face.
    She eyed him, curling her stockinged toes against the inside of her slipper in anticipation. “Are you here to progress the possibility of a courtship, my lord?” Please say you are. His Majesty’s impatience only festers.
    He cleared his throat. “I, uh…no. I actually came to ensure your safety. Large crowds usually denote an unpleasant situation.”
    Zosia’s heart sank. Even after six whole years of being subjected to men awkwardly avoiding her, she kept hoping that perhaps there was one man capable of seeing past her amputation. “I expected as much.” She smiled tightly and set her chin, trying to pretend she didn’t care. “You are not the first to be intimidated by my missing limb.”
    He hesitated, then reached out and touched her forearm, his gloved fingers pressing into the pearl-buttoned sleeve of her gown. “I am not intimidated, I assure you.”
    She lowered her gaze to his large hand, her heart pounding. His hand lingered, resting heavily upon her arm. He gently fingered her sleeve, causing her heart to pound even faster. That soft, meandering touch fell well outside the realm of mere compassion and sympathy. It was very…intimate.
    She released a shaky breath, trying not to move, fearing that if she did this moment of unguarded intimacy between them would somehow disappear. Since her amputation, men hadn’t even tried to offer her such touches. “I only have until summer’s end before I am forced to leave for France,” she confided.“Though I am dedicated to the belief of God, and endlessly respect those that join nunneries, I am meant for greater things and believe our alliance would ensure it.”
    His fingers tightened, causing the buttons on her sleeve to dig into her skin. “And what is it you think our alliance will ensure? Exactly?”
    She swallowed, doubting he would take kindly to what she had in mind. Publicly voicing the concerns of her people by calling for a revolution against the Tsar was not something anyone would willingly agree to support. Which was why, before revealing anything else, she needed to appeal to the man’s sensibilities and dig into who he was and what he believed in. “Do you have aspirations, Lord Moreland? Aspirations that compel you to be more than what others expect you to be? Aspirations that—” She froze when he leaned in.
    His large shoulder grazed hers as his hold on her