Page 7 of A Lady's Lesson in Scandal
Perhaps Killian wasn’t quite as foolish in marrying the girl as Drake thought.
Hardly. Even courageous women are dangerous. More so, sometimes.
‘Thank you, Your Grace. Though I am certainly no fit partner for someone as dignified as yourself.’ His rusty social skills were on full display.
The duchess snorted. ‘I know. I have no interest in dancing with you. But you should suffice for Miss Whittenburg.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Dance, Major General Drake. With Miss Whittenburg. Now.’ Lady Philippa blinked at him, and the effect was similar to a firing squad sending its first volley into the fray.
If the Queen’s military were run by the Duchess of Dorsett, we would rule the world in under a sennight.
He couldn’t refuse such a blatant command. It would be an unpardonable offence to the duchess and a grave insult to Miss Whittenburg.
Bloody fucking hell.
Just the idea of holding Miss Millicent within the circle of his arms, her soft curves pressed against his hard planes, her dark eyes melting like hot chocolate over flames, her scent – an intriguing blend of citrus and crisp cotton – infiltrating his senses was enough to make him forget his whole reason for attending this blasted ball.
Laundry and lemons shouldn’t cause a wave of lust to wash through him like lava, but it did. Not a good sign.
Miss Millicent’s reaction to Lady Winterbourne’s command was even more confounding. The beautiful disaster of a woman swallowed hard and tucked her hands behind her back.
His suspicious nature sparked to life. She was usually bold and brazen. He watched her ride a horse with the skill of a seasoned infantry soldier, trade insults while wielding her wit like a sword, and defend her friends with reckless courage both inspiring and intriguing. She was a harridan of the highest order, but her audacity also impressed him.
Yet, standing close enough for him to see the dusting of freckles across her nose, it was clear Miss Millicent was flummoxed. Her expressive skin flushed as she ducked her head in a rare display of nerves or embarrassment.
The woman was less inclined to dance with him than he was to ask for the privilege.
How interesting. I wonder how often she is asked to dance.
‘This is a mistake,’ she murmured.
He almost missed her words in the cacophony of conversation surrounding them. But Millicent’s husky voice was like a siren song, calling to him. She expected him to refuse the duchess’ command. So, he did the opposite.
‘Miss Millicent, would you do me the honour?’ Drake extended his gloved hand.
Millie wanted to gasp for air as she drowned in regret. The plan seemed so brilliant when the duchess first discussed it with her weeks ago. An excellent way to avoid Viscount Treadful, spurn her stepmother, and gain the one thing she wanted most: freedom.
Lady Philippa made it seem so simple. Seduce the one man who would never offer for her. Major General Drake fit the bill perfectly. He was many things. Cold. Deadly. Unfeeling. And most importantly, he despised the fairer sex.
Millie had sat in Philippa’s sitting room, sipping whiskey-laced tea, her attention completely focused on the duchess as Philippa recounted the vicious gossip surrounding Major General Drake and his fiancée, Miss Elnora Fitzwilliam. One of the beau monde’s jammiest bits of jam, desperately in love with the dashing Earl of Tetly, until Elnora abandoned Major General Drake when news of his capture in the Afghan desert reached England. Believing him as good as dead, Elnora married his younger brother. Quite the scandal.
When Major General Drake returned from the Anglo-Afghan war, scarred, damaged, hardened by the atrocities he’d endured but still very much alive, it was to the news his fiancée was married to his brother. Major General Drake never attempted to court another lady. All signs pointed to the man remaining single forever.
Incredibly tragic for Major General Drake. But perfect for their plan. His hatred of women would eclipse his honour once Millie tricked him into ruining her. Or, more accurately, re-ruining her. But this time, there was an important difference. This time, her ruination would be public.
Count Treadful would be forced to rescind his offer of marriage. Drake would never ask for her hand – or any other part of her for that matter. Millie’s father and stepmother would be more than happy to hand her over to Lady Philippa Winterbourne, and the duchess would secret her away in the country where her sinful nature could do no more harm.
Except Millie wouldn’t be languishing away picking roses and dodging bumblebees.
There was a diabolical ring of men kidnapping country girls and forcing them into the flesh trade. Lady Philippa needed someone to pose as a maid. Bait for the secret society of lords orchestrating this sex-trafficking ring. Millie was going to be that bait. Not something she could accomplish as the dutiful wife of Lord Tread.
Major General Drake was her way out. All she had to sacrifice was something she’d already destroyed years ago. Her virtue.
Simple as a Sunday tea party. Just seduce the Earl of Tetly.
A man who thus far had shown nothing but an acute dislike of Millie.
