Free The Birthday Scandal by Leigh Michaels

wrapped in a dark-red brocade dressing gown.
    Had he been listening by the door? Waiting for her sister to go away? Giving Isabel time to get settled, before…
    Too late, she realized that the rays of silvery light were focused almost on the door, falling past it to rest on her old plain white nightgown. Her action in reaching around to feel for the lock must have been as obvious to him as if she had shouted her intention.
    “All I was trying to do was assure that I will be safe in my sleep,” Isabel said.
    “Then you need have no fear—and you do not need a key, for you are quite safe from me.”
    Despite his deep, reassuring tone, Isabel had her doubts—especially because he was now close enough to touch if she merely turned her hand.
    “While you sleep, at least,” the earl went on, “for what I plan to do will be when you are fully awake.”
    Isabel’s stomach clenched. “Are you trying to drive me mad, sir? Are you hoping that I will lose all reason so you can lock me away in an attic somewhere in a far corner of your estates and forget that I exist?”
    “That would not get me what I want.” He brushed a stray curl away from her face.
    Isabel flinched.
    “You are my wife. If I am to have an heir, he must be from your body. Those are the simple facts.”
    “How sad for you. Unless you are threatening to take me by force, sir—and in that case, you are truly a monster.”
    “No, my dear. If I were to force you, it would be no more than my right and my due. But I have not threatened force, and I shall not. Instead, I have offered you a compromise.”
    “A compromise ? Is that what you call it when you make insane demands?”
    “I am not demanding. And what I ask is not insane. I have made a simple request, in return for a generous settlement.”
    His palm cupped her cheek, tipping her face up to his, and he leaned toward her until his lips brushed hers. The contact was so soft, so fleeting, that she couldn’t be certain he was touching her—until he spoke and his voice vibrated through her. “Think it over, Isabel—and let me know when you decide to accept the bargain.”
     

     
    Emily’s mood was in tune with the morning—remarkably sunny and fine—and she ran lightly down the stairs. Her intention was to nip a slice of bread and a bit of ham from the breakfast room and escape to the stables to wheedle a mount from the duke’s stable master. She hadn’t ridden in months, and the opportunity—as well as the day—was too good to miss.
    She pulled up short at the door of the breakfast room, where Gavin Waring was settling himself at the table with a full plate. He leaped to his feet as he caught sight of her. The Earl of Chiswick, sitting across the table and nearly hidden behind a newspaper, only half stood, as though he was reluctant to grant his daughter the status of a lady. Emily decided neither of them deserved more than bare civility. “Good morning,” she said coolly and lifted the lid of a chafing dish.
    The earl put down his newspaper, and Emily felt an itch creep over her as he inspected her from head to toe. She braced herself for a comment about the age of her riding habit—but at least he could have no disparaging comment about its condition. Since she had little opportunity to ride in Barton Bristow, the garment bore no signs of wear.
    But the earl surprised her. “You’re already dressed for riding. Excellent. We have calls to make. I trust your sister is not planning to lie in bed all morning?”
    “When you’re planning an expedition, it would be useful to tell the participants what you expect,” Emily pointed out. “I have my mind set on a good gallop this morning to shake the fidgets.”
    “If that is your goal, then you should not mind galloping toward a specific destination.” The earl turned his attention to Gavin. “Weren’t you summoned to meet with the duke this morning, Athstone?”
    “Yes, sir, but I thought it prudent not to meet a lecture on an empty