Page 11 of The Scoundrel and the Lady

“Did you tell her no? That you wouldn’t pull the articles?” Rand asked.

“Of course I did.”

Rand shook his head. “Then what, pray tell, is the problem?”

That was an excellent question. She’d evidently become a thorn in his side, though he wasn’t certain why. He angered people all the time with things he printed in the paper. Why was this slip of a woman with her carrot-colored hair stuck in his mind?

“I think you should print a small piece on her,” Rand said. “Any woman bold enough to manipulate an introduction merely so she could insult you…” He shrugged. “Perhaps this lady needs to know with whom she is dealing.”

It was bothersome that the thought hadn’t crossed Merritt’s mind. Of course, that was what the publisher and editor of the top-selling gossip rag in London would do. But Merritt knew that no matter how irritated he was at her brashness and criticism, he would not go that far. In truth, what she had done hadn’t been that scandalous, and he doubted anyone would find it of interest.

“It is worth considering,” Merritt said.

“But you’re not going to do it because you’re attracted to this woman,” Rand said.

“What? No, it has nothing to do with that,” Merritt said.

“Then you do not deny the attraction?”

“Rand, I’m not blind. Lady Iris is a beautiful woman, anyone can see that. But that does not mean I’m attracted to her. She’s bossy and controlling and a busybody. Those are not attractive qualities.”

“Perhaps not, but neither is profiting off other people’s scandals,” Rand said. “Yet, women still seem to want you.”

“Women are a delightful pastime,” Merritt said.

The Grayton Ball was the second social engagement Merritt had attended in as many days. Unusual for him, as he only ever attended parties this close together if he were after a specific story, still he’d shown up regardless of how it would surprise the guests, and regardless of the fact that he had no story he was currently researching.

He told himself it was only because the Grayton Ball had, in the past, produced some of the most notorious scandals London had seen. But he recognized that there was part of him that had come because he’d felt certain Lady Iris would be in attendance. For some unknown reason, he’d needed to see her again, if only from across the room. It was good though, he reminded himself, because she was likely not nearly as pretty as he remembered her to be. Truth was, she’d surprised him the other night, and that was rare for him. Tonight would end this ridiculous intrigue when he saw her again and recognized that she wasn’t unique in any way.

Merritt didn’t have to wait long before he spotted her riot of titian curls piled atop her head. Pink stained her cheeks as she tossed back her head and laughed freely at something one of her friends had said. Well, he’d been right about one thing. She wasn’t as pretty as he remembered—she was stunning.

In the few days since their first encounter, he’d made some initial inquiries about her and her brother. Discreetly, of course. Were he to make bolder requests, it would most assuredly cause tongues to wag. He was in the business of printing rumors and scandals, not creating them.

From what he’d discovered, she was possibly as wealthy as she was beautiful. Which certainly begged the question of why the lovely and rich Lady Iris remained unmarried. Her brother became the Earl of Nickerson when he’d been but a boy. He’d been educated at Eton, and since arriving in London had been sowing his wild oats, as it were. Though his behavior wasn’t that different from many of the young aristocrats in town, his sister seemed distraught enough to confront a perfect stranger. She was responsible for him. Merritt could appreciate that, since he too had become guardian of his younger sibling. Still, Lady Iris’s request was ridiculous.

He watched her for nearly an hour before he approached her.

“Lady Iris,” he said, offering her a bow. “A pleasure to see you again.”

“Lord Ashby.”

Did he detect a slight blush in her fair complexion? “Ladies,” he said and nodded to her friends.

The two ladies at her side eyed one another then curtseyed. “Lord Ashby,” the ladies said in unison.

He glanced at Iris. “I wondered, Lady Iris, if I might have a dance?”

She took a visible breath then nodded slightly. “Of course.” She handed him her dance card.

“Lord Ashby,” a man said from behind him.

Merritt turned and found Lord Forrester. “Forrester,” Merritt said in acknowledgment.

“Yes, I do hate to interrupt, but I have something of the utmost importance to discuss with you,” Forrester said. He eyed the ladies behind Merritt nervously.

Merritt turned back to Iris. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, ladies, I shall return.” He stepped away from their group, but not so far that he couldn’t keep Iris in his sights. Then he leveled his gaze on Forrester. “I suspect this has to do with your embarrassing loss at cards two nights ago,” he said.

Forrester turned an unflattering shade of reddish purple. “So, you do intend to print something ridiculous about my unfortunate situation.”

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