Free A Proper Scandal by Charis Michaels

softly.
    â€œI beg your pardon?”
    â€œOh, come now. Let us drop the pretense.”
    She missed a step. On reflex, he tucked his arm, drawing her close. He felt the warm contour of her body up and down his side. He swallowed hard.
    â€œPretense?” she asked.
    â€œThe quarrel with your aunt just now. You lost, clearly. And now here you are, forced to eat dinner with me.”
    She stopped. “Is that what . . . ”
    Her pause made him look. She stared back, her eyes large. They were blue and green, he could now see. Turquoise. A mermaid’s eyes. A flicker of a memory—some long-forgotten moment in time—danced on the edges of his consciousness. He ignored it, determined to expose her rejection of him. “Yes?” he asked.
    â€œIs that why you . . . That is what you think? That my aunt has forced me, and I don’t wish to attend?” She stole a look over her shoulder at the other guests. They were nearly to them, filing past with sidelong glances. Rainsleigh looked up long enough to see the young women do more than glance. They stared openly, and Elisabeth slid her hand from his arm and stepped away. It felt immediately wrong, and he fought the urge to grab it back.
    â€œWe needn’t pretend,” he said, an excuse to return to her.
    To this she had no response. Her mermaid’s stare did not waver. “No. Let us not pretend.”
    She chuckled then, a sad, disbelieving sort of laugh, and slid her gloved hand over his arm. The other guests had trickled through, and she tugged him to catch up, around a corner and through an arched door. “Here we are,” she said.
    She let him go and drifted to the table, nosing round, chair to chair. Other guests had begun to settle up and down the table, but they watched him. He felt every curious glance. The young women watched him openly. He waited to feel gratified or flattered, but his sole focus was Lady Elisabeth.
    â€œHeavens, the outlay,” she whispered, walking back to him. The table was set with a glinting landscape of china and silver. Crystal goblets reflected the light of fifty candles. “I have no idea where I’m meant to sit.”
    â€œYou’ll sit beside his lordship, Elisabeth,” said Lady Banning, sailing into the room behind them. She gestured to two seats near the head of the table.
    Elisabeth nodded and followed. Rainsleigh followed, too, watching how she maneuvered the crowded room with a silent, graceful pride that seemed to ignore the audience of onlookers. When she reached the designated seat, a footman leapt from the wall to pull out the chair. She smiled gently and murmured to him, sinking in.
    In the corner of the room, a fierce, whispered exchange arose between the countess and Lady Beecham. Lady Elisabeth leaned to Rainsleigh and said, “My aunt is pulling rank. A rare sight, indeed.”
    â€œExcept in the stairwell,” he said.
    â€œPardon?”
    â€œThe countess forced you to attend this meal on my arm.”
    â€œYou are mistaken, my lord, about what happened between my aunt and me.” She studied him.
    He raised one eyebrow.
    She looked down at the glistening place setting. “Lillian has probably shuffled the place cards.”
    â€œTo accommodate our seats,” he guessed.
    â€œTo accommodate herself—but yes, she is pulling rank to trap you between me and her. You should feel gratified; Lady Beecham would swarm you on all sides with the young ladies.” She inclined her head toward the girls casting disappointed glances in their direction from the far end of the table. “My aunt would have you less . . . encumbered.”
    â€œInstead, she encumbers you?”
    â€œI am not encumbered by you, my lord,” Lady Elisabeth said.
    He stared at her, searching for some slight or deeper meaning. He tried to predict what she might say next, but he realized that he had no idea. Everything out of her mouth had been a surprise. He