Free Lady Scandal by Shannon Donnelly Page A

is it that you know my aunt so
well?"
     

CHAPTER SIX
     
    He did not answer, but Diana knew he had
heard for one side of his mouth lifted with a rather cynical smile.
She had almost asked if he and her aunt had been lovers, and now
she was glad she had not. Bad enough to have that mocking smile. It
would have been unbearable to have him laughing at her for asking
prying questions, as if she knew nothing of the world or how to
judge the level of intimacy between a man and a woman.
    Twisted smile or not, he was shamefully
handsome—in a rough sort of way, with dark stubble shaping a strong
jaw, and him lying there, chest naked above the fresh bandages and
well-muscled arms bare above the counterpane. An intriguing scar
angled across his left shoulder in a short, jagged mark. A dueling
scar, perhaps? Or had he been a highwayman? Or something else
equally dashing? She could see him as such. And she could see how
her aunt might be attracted to him.
    But had they been lovers?
    Something certainly lay between them. Only a
child would be unaware of the tension that crackled.
    However, she had little time now to ask
about it. His regaining his senses gave her the opportunity, but
with him conscious again she doubted she would be allowed again
into his room. Certainly not without a maid, or her aunt, as a
chaperon.
    To judge by the look of him, she was not
entirely certain she cared to be in his rooms with him fully awake
and no one else nearby. That rough quality to him—the scar, the
hard muscles, and even the fact that he had thought to hide in
their carriage—quite fascinated, but left her wary. All considered,
he could not really be very much of a gentleman.
    He even seemed intent on ignoring her, so
she asked, impatient with him, "You are not going to answer me, are
you?"
    The opiate she had given him thickened his
voice into an even deeper rumble. "Answer what—nonsense with
nonsense? How is it anything happens? The wrong turn taken, the
wrong place arrived at. Perhaps it is just that fate is not done
with me any more than I am done with your aunt."
    His eyes opened to narrow slits—dark eyes,
framed by hard lines. And he yawned. Thick lashes drifted closed
and his face relaxed, easing the lines, giving him a deceptive
innocence.
    Frowning, Diana folded her arms. She did not
like how he had spoken just now—not done with her aunt, was he?
Sitting back in her chair, she glanced at her aunt and back to the
sleeping man again. Was he to be trusted? She doubted it. Which
meant she must have his secrets out.
    She muttered to him, "If you are going to be
good for my aunt that is one thing, but if you are not...." Leaning
forward, she hoped that even in his sleep he might hear her. "If
you are not, I shall make very certain you regret it!"
     
    #
     
    For the second time in two days, Alexandria
woke with a stiff neck and an aching body. She dragged her eyes
open, took in the cold, black grate of the fireplace with its
charred bits of wood, and the chill in the room. Straightening, she
stretched. Muscles pulled in her back and something popped in her
neck. She had fallen asleep in a chair—and left the bed she had
paid for unused. What waste! Putting a hand to her curls, she
dragged her fingers through tangles. Standing, she smoothed her
gown and went to Paxten’s bedside.
    At the sight of him, tension eased from her
shoulders.
    His chest rose and fell with even breaths
and his skin held a hint of normal color—not that hectic flush of
last night. She touched the back of her fingers to his forehead.
Only slightly warm.
    Voice soft, she murmured, "You wretch—how
very like you to give me palpitations."
    He said nothing in reply. Still sleeping,
thank heavens. She ought to go to her room and tidy herself. But
still she watched him. The doctor had bled him last night, and had
left something to help him sleep and something else for him to take
today when he woke. The man, elderly and jovial, had seemed to
think the wound—a