Free Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord by Sarah MacLean Page B

open in shock. “Oh, no!”
    She was off, tearing down the stairs, ignoring the dull ache in her ankle.
    Dear God. He was going to be livid.
    If he was even there.
    He had to be there. He was her only hope.
    “She called him dashing,” Lara offered in a too-loud whisper as they clattered down the stairs.
    “I did not.”
    “Did she, now? “ Jane asked.
    “I was referring to dashing men in the broader sense.”
    “Well, that would be the case,” Jane said dryly, “Considering the legions of dashing men who come along daily out here in the middle of nowhere.”
    Lara laughed. Isabel considered pushing them all down the next flight of stairs.
    “It is too bad that all hope for lesson number one is out the window,” Gwen said wistfully.
    Isabel turned back as she hit the ground floor. “What does that mean? ”
    Gwen shook her head. “Nothing really, simply that the latest issue of Pearls and Pelisses had suggestions for just this situation—”
    Jane snorted her disbelief.
    “Stop.” Isabel raised a hand. “I haven’t time for this, Gwen.”
    “But it says—”
    “No. I must somehow repair the damage that I have done and get Lord Nicholas to have a look at those marbles.”
    Isabel turned to the door, and Regina, one of the footmen, reached for the handle. With a deep breath, Isabel said, flustered, “Is he still there? Go ahead. Open it.” Then: “Wait.” She turned back to Gwen. “On second thought, I need as much help as I can get at this point. What is this ridiculous lesson?”
    Gwen recited from memory, “Lesson Number One: Do not attempt to make too strong of a first impression.”
    Isabel paused, considering the advice, and her first meeting with Lord Nicholas. And her second meeting with Lord Nicholas. “Well. I have certainly made a hash of that one.”
    As the door began to open, she shooed them all away.
    “Hide.”





Five
----
    T he last time Nick had been kept waiting by a female, he had ended up in a Turkish prison. He doubted he was in for a similar fate in Yorkshire, but nevertheless, he would prefer not to be kept waiting.
    Outside.
    For a madwoman.
    No matter how lovely.
    The groom had disappeared, along with the horses, and Nick and Rock had been left, summarily, on the doorstep of the manor house for far longer than was acceptable. Not that Nick had any lingering expectations of propriety at Townsend Park. Apparently, while the earl had been causing any number of scandals in London, his family had been left to rusticate in the country. Quite possibly in the care of wolves.
    Ultimately, the pair had thrown manners to the wind and seated themselves on the wide stone steps, waiting for someone to come and fetch them.
    And, as Nick fumed, Rock became more and more entertained.
    “I retract my earlier statements on Yorkshire,” the Turk said, leaning casually against the stone balustrade, twirling a piece of grass in his hand. “It has taken a turn for the better, don’t you think?”
    “Perhaps you would like to live here, then? In a parish full of oddities? ”
    Rock laughed at Nick’s surly tone. “Unfortunately, Yorkshire seems to have robbed you of your good humor.”
    “Yes, well, sitting outside for half an age waiting for a woman who has, quite likely, dreamed up her fantastic collection of antiquities, does not help. I’ve a mind to leave.”
    “Five pounds says it’s real.”
    Nick leveled his friend with a cool blue gaze. “Make it ten.”
    “Ten pounds says we stay to catalogue it.”
    As if on cue, the door opened, to reveal a mildly flushed Lady Isabel in a gray muslin day dress. Her hair had been returned to perfect smoothness and she was the portrait of calm and utter ladylikeness.
    Nick looked up at her, instantly appreciating her long, willowy frame. She was tall and lithe and stunning.
    It no longer seemed to matter that he had been sitting on these wretched steps for half the day.
    He rose, Rock beside him, as she spoke. “My lords,” she said