Free The Marriage Bargain by Michelle McMaster Page B

countess of Ravenwood. Especially of his mysterious bride.
    Word was that Cordelia would be there, also, with talons sharpened. According to Alfred, Cordelia had been campaigning to win support from some of the old guard—no doubt trying to discredit Beckett and his new bride. Not that Beckett cared what any of those old crones thought.
    But for Isobel, meeting the ton tonight would be like battling lions in a Roman coliseum. And unfortunately, these lions were particularly hungry.

    Beckett adjusted his cuffs and took one last look in the glass. It would do.
    He trotted down the staircase with Monty on his heels, then stood near the bottom to await his wife. He felt the dog’s hot breath on his pant leg and moved away. The beast scooted closer, so that he was exactly the same distance from Beckett’s leg as he had been before.
    “Monty, I’ve already applied my cologne for the evening, thank you very much. Go on, now,” Beckett said, pointing.
    Monty looked up at him with happy brown eyes and continued to steam Beckett’s trousers.
    “Monty, go!” he said firmly.
    The dog raised sad eyes to his master and slunk away.
    “That’s not going to work, my friend. Just lay down there and be good.”
    Just then, a flapping of feathers whooshed through the air and Caesar flew out of the salon, landing on his favorite perch: Beckett’s head.
    “Oh, Caesar—get off!” Beckett reached up to disengage the parrot from his head.
    “Get off… get off, ahhkk!” The bird flapped its wings enthusiastically, and flew up just out of Beckett’s reach, then landed on his head again. They repeated this process until Beckett finally gave up, and stood with his hands on his hips.
    “Caesar, I believe you have ruined my hair.”
    Light feminine laughter trickled down the staircase.
    Beckett looked up to see Isobel standing at the top, covering her mouth with a dainty gloved hand as she giggled.
    “Oh, you think this quite funny, do you?” Beckett asked.
    Isobel appeared to be swallowing her smirk as she descended the stairs and stopped at the bottom.
    “Hmph.” Beckett reached up and successfully grabbed the bird before he could flap his gray wings and escape. “Caesar, I’m afraid that your career as a hat is over. Back in your cage, now.”
    “Ahhkk! Bye-bye. Bye-bye,” the bird squawked as his owner placed him back in his big brass cage.
    Beckett returned to Isobel’s side. For some reason, she kept putting her hand to her lips and looking at the floor, or the door, or anywhere but directly at him.
    “What? What is it?”
    She looked up at him. “Your hair.”
    “Damnation.” He crossed over to the glass in the hallway and almost laughed himself when he saw the strange coiffure the bird had wrought on his head. It stuck out in every direction, and one clump of hair in particular made a perfect little triangle on top of his head. He turned back to Isobel, and with as serious a face as he could muster, said, “You mean you don’t like it? But it is quite the dash, I hear. Tip-top.
    Sparkish, what?”
    Isobel seemed unconvinced.
    Beckett ran his hands through his hair and fluffed it out, then checked in the mirror. It would have to do.
    “Hmm, well, it is a good thing Caesar didn’t want your head as a perch.”
    It seemed that only then did he notice her gown, a stunning creation of amber silk with a daring neckline.
    Well, he supposed it was respectable enough for a married woman. “The new maid must be doing a good job, then, Isobel. You look quite ready to take on the ton.”
    But the thought niggled at him that she was his married woman, and perhaps he didn’t want all of society looking at her breasts as he was doing.
    Isobel smiled almost shyly. “Thank you, my—thank you, Beckett.”
    “Ah, you’ve remembered my name, I see. Always a good sign on the third day of a new marriage.”
    She laughed again, and he felt warmed by her eyes, as sweet as cinnamon sugar. He offered his arm and felt her little