Free Nothing But Scandal by Allegra Gray Page B

possibly prolong his visit. Could she outlast him in this game of cat and mouse before succumbing to those meaningful, desire-laden gazes he shot her when no one else was looking?
    It was wrong. It was dangerous, to feel this way. But she’d wanted Alex Bainbridge to notice her from the moment she’d attended her first ball and seen him standing there, starkly predatory and surrounded by all-too-willing prey. He’d been everything she, as a female and the eldest Medford daughter, was not allowed to be.
    She’d been standing at the edge of the Peasleys’ ballroom, drinking lemonade after a disastrous waltz with an overenthusiastic partner, when her gaze had been inexorably drawn toward the duke.
    She’d stayed back, content to observe, for Beaufort traveled with a faster, more daring set than she was comfortable with. Another man in his party told a joke, leaning into the admiring crowd to deliver the punch line. It was quite scandalous, judging from the duke’s laugh and the shocked expressions of several of the young ladies—whom Elizabeth doubted were actually very shocked. One of the aspiring women used the opportunity to arrange a delicate swoon, aimed directly toward the duke’s arms.
    He’d caught her gracefully, of course, but he’d looked up as he’d done so and caught Elizabeth’s eye. He’d winked.
    Before the slightest notion of proper behavior had entered her mind, Elizabeth had rolled her eyes.
    The duke had thrown his head back and laughed. Amazingly, Elizabeth had managed to maintain her composure, in spite of being shocked at her own audacity. She’d simply smiled and glided away.
    He hadn’t spoken to her that night.
    But from that moment on she’d watched, and dreamed, always with the knowledge that Alex Bainbridge, Duke of Beaufort, Marquess of Worcester, and holder of who knew how many lesser titles, moved in circles far above her. Each year, every matchmaking mama in London prayed her daughter would finally be the one to snare him.
    When he did decide to marry—and he would have to, to pass on his estates—it would certainly be to someone unforgettable, a diamond of the first water. Not to someone like Elizabeth Medford.
    She glanced down at the stiff gray skirts that composed her governess’s uniform. They were a clear reminder of her new station. She may have lost her heart to Alex Bainbridge years ago, but it was vital she didn’t lose her head as well.
    Careful, Elizabeth reminded herself. She had to be very, very careful.
    This morning the children were out with their father, a man Elizabeth had come to respect. She’d taken advantage of her freedom by actually choosing one of the poetry volumes from the library—she’d been too distracted last time—and bringing it to her favorite bench in the garden. But her mind wouldn’t focus on the words. Instead it drifted away from the flowery phrases and settled on Alex Bainbridge.
    She’d stopped trying to avoid him—not only was it impossible, but after the intimacy of their kiss, she longed for his presence. So she wasn’t surprised to see him strolling toward her.
    She sat straighter, consciously gathering her defenses. She could ill afford another indiscretion.
    The reminder did little, though, to squash the bubble of joy that rose inside her as he strode her way.
    “A fine day for reading, Miss Medford. You make a lovely picture on that bench, surrounded by the roses.”
    “Your Grace.” She stood and curtsied. The man was a master of flattery, but she knew better than to take it, or him, seriously. He’d charmed legions of women. She was only the latest in the long line of women who had, temporarily, captured his attention. But, oh, she wanted to believe she was different. That she meant more.
    “Please, sit,” he said.
    She did, and he planted himself beside her. If anyone made a lovely picture that morning, it was he. More handsome than lovely, Elizabeth mentally amended. He was clad in a fine lawn shirt and