Free A Scandalous Countess: A Novel of the Malloren World by Jo Beverley Page B

I merely sought to spare her gown.”
     
    Hernescroft leered. “And to get a feel of her, I’ll be bound. Satisfied?”
     
    He really couldn’t punch his host. Aware of ears nearby, he spoke softly. “The Duke of Beaufort seems enamored, sir. I can’t compete with him on any level.”
     
    “A fine match, but it’d leave our business unsettled.”
     
    “It’s easily settled by cash.”
     
    “Damn me…”
     
    “Now, now, gentlemen.” Here came Lady Hernescroft, smiling tightly. “The race is run,” she said loudly enough to be overheard by all. “You must not continue to argue over the virtues of the horses.”
     
    “Or fillies,” some lady said, causing a titter from someone and a further tightening in Lady Hernescroft’s smile.
     
    What the devil did that mean?
     
    Lady Maybury seemed happily unaware as sheenjoyed the admiration of three swains, for Sir Charles Bunbury had joined the group. Not a suitor, for he was married, but no wonder the other ladies looked sour.
     
    Why didn’t she do the sensible thing and sit with them to talk of housekeeping or fashion or whatever women talked about between themselves? Was she perhaps as wicked and wanton as rumor whispered?
     
    Dracy made himself look away. “I asked Lady Maybury about the perfume near the terrace, Lady Hernescroft, and she said it was a form of tobacco.”
     
    The countess’s smile became a little more genuine. “Ah, yes. Delightful, is it not? You are interested in gardens, Dracy?”
     
    Hernescroft grunted and left them to it, and Dracy found himself enjoying the conversation, even if it was mostly a lesson on how to improve the Dracy gardens. People have many sides. He really should remember that.
     
    “I will send you seeds, Dracy, and instructions for your gardeners.”
     
    His “gardener” at the moment was an old man who kept the overgrowth within bounds, where the sheep left any standing, but he thanked her. Perhaps he’d have time and money for a flower garden soon.
     
    When he had a wife.
     
    He glanced at Lady Maybury again. She’d acquired a fourth swain—another duke. Portland.
     
    “Like moths to the flame,” Lady Hernescroft said.
     
    “You disapprove of your daughter’s charms, ma’am?”
     
    “Moths die in the flames, Dracy, and my daughter needs no more tragedies in her life.”
     
    Dinner was announced. Lady Hernescroft steered him over to her daughter. “I’ll ask you to take Lady Maybury through, Dracy. Take good care of her.”
     
    “It will be my honor, ma’am. No matter what the storms.”
     
    Lady Hernescroft stared at him but then took theother gentlemen away. Why the devil were the Hernescrofts so determined to bring about this unlikely marriage? The money couldn’t be an insuperable obstacle, and a union with Beaufort was too grand to be brushed aside.
     
    “Storms?” Lady Maybury asked, and he looked back at her, struck again by the perfection of her face. A mask on a she-devil?
     
    “A sailor learns to sense the wind, ma’am,” he said as she took his arm. No one else was nearby, so he added, “I heard that there was some scandal blowing around you and now I see it’s true. Unwise, perhaps, to snare four men for yourself?”
     
    “You are not supposed to be tutoring me, my lord!” Then she surprised him by saying, “You’re correct, however. It was simply that the men seemed more welcoming.”
     
    “You must be used to stirring jealousy in women.”
     
    She frowned slightly. “But I was married then, and it makes a difference.”
     
    “It does. Your road would be easier if you were less beautiful.”
     
    Unlike any woman he’d ever known, she didn’t react to the description. Clearly she’d lived with it all her life.
     
    “Yes,” she said as they joined the procession to the dining room, “but I’d not willingly lose my looks, you know.”
     
    Oh, her wretched tongue. How had she said such a thing to a man so ruined in appearance? This event was