Free Seducing the Single Lady by Maya Rodale Page A

displeasure) was essential if he was to have a prayer of salvaging their relationship. Would The London Weekly’s infamous gossip columnist cause more havoc with her reporting? Would anyone believe it? Yes, The Lady of Distinction—whoever the hell she may be—was mostly right yet always believed.
    The heavy oak doors burst open , slamming into the damask papered walls. A fashionable fury approached him.
    “You ha ve some nerve to turn up here,” she said coming to stand close in front of him. Her eyes were blazing. Her hair seemed redder. Her cheeks were flushed with anger.
    “Susannah, allow me to explain.”
    “I think the newspaper is quite clear. You just assumed that I would be yours, at your convenience. You just assumed that I was pining away, desperately, waiting for you to deign to shine your light on me. This proves that you do not know about me at all.”
    “ I did make those assumptions,” he said.
    She paused, perplexed. “That’s what I said.”
    “I was wrong,” Damien said.
    She had been spoiling for a fight. He did not want to fight. He wanted to love her and make love to her. The carpet seemed plush enough…
    “Very. You were very, very wrong,” she admonished. “You have made the mistake of thinking you are irreplaceable. When I could have anyone of my choosing, as fast as I could snap my fingers.”
    “We are in violent agreement,” Damien said.
    “And yet I am still utterly enraged at you,” she replied coldly.
    “Tell me more.” She would vent her frustrations. He would listen. In time she would calm down and…perhaps the settee would be more comfortable.
    “I’m going to call you a carriage,” she said.
    The heavy wooden doors to the drawing room burst open. A young footman, dressed in a fine uniform of red and gray livery, interrupted them.
    “Ma’am. Lord Bedford was not at home ,” he said, apparently unaware or unconcerned that Lord Bedford stood before him. “Here is the note.”
    “Thank you ,” she said, accepting the paper, which Damien immediately intercepted it in spite of her protestations. He broke the wax seal and read her scrawled missive. The footman left the room.
    “Ah, you have asked me to call upon you,” Damien reported what he read. “Signed, Percy. I was right about that. See, I am not always wrong.”
    “While I am this angry at you, I’d advise you not to point out anything remotely in your favor. Also, I wrote that before I saw the newspaper.”
    “ Susannah, I am sincerely sorry for my stupid presumptions about you and I and our marriage. It was wrong of me and I have seen the error of my ways,” he said, clasping her hands and dropping to one knee.
    “Oh, do get up.”
    “I have so thoroughly enjoyed being proven wrong by you. Yesterday was certainly the best day of my life. Please, do me the favor of becoming my wife.”
    At that moment—before she could reply—the drawing room doors burst open to reveal another young footman, who, upon seeing Lord Bedford shouted: “To hell with you!”
    “ Yes, what he said,” Susannah replied, slightly bemused. “Thank you, Footman. That will be all.” 
    “I presume you sent him to re scind the invitation,” Damien drawled.
    “Precisely.”
    “So you’re saying I’m right,” Damien said. He couldn’t resist.
    “Oh!”
    “It seems you are still angry,” he remarked as she pummeled his chest with her small, ineffectual fists. He would have wagered—but he would not—that she’d longed to hit him like this. It didn’t hurt in the slightest so he let her carry on.
    “I’m always angry at you! For my tea set and my white dress and a hundred other pranks and indignities. I am still angry because you did not come for me when I asked you to. I am angry at you for coming back now when I didn’t want you to. And I am livid that you would think I was still a scrappy brat who would just tumble right into your arms!”
    He clasped her wrists, holding her still. She huffed, blowing a