Free The Lady Hellion by Joanna Shupe Page A

a stepmama and a half brother, but it wasn’t the same. This was the man who’d rocked her back to sleep each time she’d had a nightmare . . . the man who had let her slide down the banister in her nightclothes . . . the man who let her keep a pet piglet in the house.
    “And the closer you get to thirty,” he continued, “the harder it will be to form a good match.”
    Her mind reeling, she wheezed, “Who . . . who is he?”
    Her father shook his head. “I shan’t say for fear you’ll come up with a way to scare him off, but this gentleman meets all my requirements in a husband for my only daughter. Just know that you will be married this year, whether you choose him or I choose him for you.” He shuffled a few papers on his desk, unable to meet her eyes, and she realized how uncomfortable he seemed.
    She did not believe him. Her father would never marry her off to someone she did not want. She just needed to give him time. Put forth a reasonable effort at this year’s parties. Go for a few drives in the park. Then he would relent, she was sure of it.
    But a small amount of doubt stayed with her the rest of the day.

Chapter Six
    The next afternoon, Quint’s mood was blacker than obsidian. The broken glass and ink spots in his study had been dealt with, but he was no closer to determining the person responsible for the break-in or what he had been looking for. From what Quint could tell, everything was in its rightful place. Nothing of value taken. His work was safely tucked away in a location no one save him would ever find.
    In addition, guilt compounded his other worries. He’d lost control in front of Sophie. Acted like a child, shouting and throwing things. How could he ever face her again?
    A timid knock on the study door interrupted his concentration. “Yes?” he snapped.
    One of the maids—Elizabeth? Eliza?—appeared. “My lord, there’s a man at the door asking for a Sir Stephen. He seems quite adamant that the gentleman lives here. What should I tell him?”
    “Where is Taylor?”
    “He is downstairs, my lord. I was dusting and heard the knocker.”
    “Who did he ask for—a Sir Stephen? No one by that name lives here. Tell him he has the wrong house.”
    “That’s just it, sir. He says he does have the right house, that it’s one of your lordship’s guests.”
    Guests? Quint rubbed his forehead. “Who is the caller?”
    “Lord MacLean, your lordship.”
    That gave him pause. He’d seen MacLean over the winter in the clubs and various social events, but the two of them hadn’t exchanged even ten words. Why would a Scottish earl—one he and Sophie had discussed recently—be on Quint’s stoop asking for a nonexistent houseguest? “Show him to the front drawing room, will you?”
    She bobbed a curtsey and shut the door. Quint rose and lifted his coat off the chair back, shoving his arms into the sleeves. Could this have something to do with Sophie’s duel? He started around his desk and wondered if she had gone to MacLean after all.
    Cursing himself a fool, he buttoned his coat and continued to the drawing room. Sophie should go to MacLean. Hadn’t Quint told her never to come back? He’d been purposely cruel last evening in the hopes of keeping her away. So relief should be the prevailing emotion, not this burn blossoming in his chest—a burn he suspected might be jealousy.
    Lord MacLean stood when Quint entered. “Apologies for disrupting you, Quint. I was inquiring after your houseguest, Sir Stephen.”
    Quint motioned for the man to sit as he lowered into a chair. “I fear someone’s bamming you, MacLean. I have no houseguest.”
    The ox-sized Scotsman frowned, appearing genuinely perplexed. “I heard him say it with my own ears. Why would your cousin lie?”
    “My cousin?”
    “Ran into him at Madame Hartley’s two evenings past, in an argument with Lord Tolbert. Apparently Tolbert challenged the pup to a duel, wouldn’t accept an apology instead. I had to step in,