Free My Lady Scandal by Kate Harper Page B

a light kiss, really; almost not a kiss. Just the slightest brush of his lips against her own and yet she had felt as if the entire world had tilted sideways.
    Nell was no stranger to herself or her feelings. She knew that she was attracted to his lordship. Indeed, half the women in London were, or perhaps more than half, for he was a very handsome man, with a wickedly sharp sense of humor and a great deal of money. That was all well and good. What she had not anticipated was the easiness she felt when talking with him.
    After that initial party at his house, she had seen him frequently and, in a very short space of time, they had fallen into a comfortable way of talking that felt entirely natural. It had lulled her, distracting her from the fact that, beneath it all, there was the inescapable fact that he was a man that exerted a powerful attraction for her.
    The afternoon had rather changed the rules and Nell had dressed for Almacks automatically, her mind returning repeatedly to that brief embrace.
    They had not spoken for a few minutes after emerging from the park. Then Carlisle had moved smoothly back into gentleman-about-town mode, commenting on this and that, general chitchat that was designed to entertain her. She had responded – she hoped – in kind, although she really could not recall much of what was said.
    It was all most alarming. She had not set out to find herself a husband and Carlisle was certainly not husband material. The man was famous for his gun-shy attitude to the institution. Not that marriage would come into it; at least… she did not think it would.
    The problem with attempting to lead a respectable life was that she had no actual experience at it. She and Carlisle got along together famously, but what did that signify? She had assumed that he had decided to promote them into Society, because that was the kind of thing he did; stirring the waters and stepping back to enjoy the ripple effect he had created.
    But that kiss…
    With an effort, she focused on the room around her, wondering if Carlisle would appear tonight. And if he would stand up with her. Chances were that he would; he had been dancing with her on a regular basis. But thanks to that wretched kiss, tonight felt different.
    Nell frowned, suddenly exasperated with herself and Carlisle. What an addle pate she was. And what a fool he was, to ruin their perfectly good – if somewhat unconventional – new friendship. In fact, the more she thought about it, the crosser she became, because really, she had few enough people to talk to freely and she had come to look forward to their candid conversations.
    So when Carlisle came across Nell fifty minutes later, she gave him a very cool greeting.
    ‘My Lord,’ she said, with a curtsey.
    ‘Miss. Marriott,’ he returned, eyeing her with interest. ‘You are looking very fine tonight.’
    For indeed, the French silk gown in evening primrose with its overlay of cream sarcenet became her very well. It was the last dress that her mother had ordered for her and so, as French fashions took a few months to filter across the channel, it was extremely fashionable.
    As usual, Nell had avoided the elaborate hairstyles favored by some of the young ladies, instead dressing her hair in simple loose curls that tumbled about her – mostly bare – shoulders.
    ‘Why, thank-you. So I have been told.’
    He raised an eyebrow at this. ‘To be expected, surely; naturally, I am not the first man to have complimented you tonight.’ He glanced at Viola, who had been listening to this interchange with interest. She, too, was looking delightful in worked French muslin in a soft sage, adorned with pearl rosettes around the neckline. ‘Viola, you are a picture.’
    She gave him a smile, then a sly glance. ‘Grif, you are just in time to save poor Nell from Mr. Bartholomew. He has been threatening to dance with her all evening.’
    As Bartholomew was a large, extremely portly man with hands like ham hocks and