Page 6 of The Scoundrel and the Lady

His presence at these events always caused talk, everyone wanting to know if he had any gossip to share, and it tended to have a stifling effect on some as they pretended to be on their best behavior out of fear he’d put them in his next article. He had danced with other women on very rare occasions—rare enough to draw attention to himself and his partner. Perhaps that was what Lady Iris was seeking.

Before their dance, he had to know more about the woman. Unfortunately, she proved to have no rumors or gossip attached to her name at all. In fact, her reputation appeared to be rather spotless. No one he spoke to had anything bad to say about her. A sure sign that she was trouble.

By the time their dance came, he had learned nothing about her other than the fact that she was well-off, well established in Society, and was liked by nearly everyone.

None of which explained why she wanted to talk to him.

If he were a different kind of man, he would try to coerce the information he wanted out of her using more subtle means. But that wasn’t his style. Instead, the moment they were dancing, he came out and asked her directly. “Tell me, Lady Iris, why is it that you wanted so desperately to meet me?”

Her green eyes widened. “I never said—”

“There is no need for pretense, my dear. Women clamor for introductions to me quite often.” He suspected most did so to stay in his favor, and keep their names and would-be scandals out of his newspaper. “Now, it is my time to assess your motive. Care to enlighten me?”

For a moment, she said nothing. Her steps did not falter as he swept her through the ballroom. She was quite graceful. But her mouth opened and then closed wordlessly, and everything about her face tightened with annoyance.

“Now see here, Lord Ashby. I merely wanted to have a conversation with you.”

“A conversation.” He raised a brow in a challenge. “Very well, let’s have it. What is that you and I, strangers until this moment, so desperately need to discuss?”

…

She’d told her friends earlier when they’d been getting ready for the ball all about the disturbing discovery she’d made the evening before in Jasper’s desk. They’d been supportive of her intention to confront Lord Ashby about his ridiculous and harmful articles. Agnes had even offered up her brother, Christopher, to arrange the introduction.

“You are the editor of the ‘How to be a Gentleman’ articles, are you not?”

The muscles in his jaw quirked. “I am. I edit the entire paper, actually,” he said, arrogance dripping from each word.

“Do you not think that giving such advice is potentially dangerous to young men looking for the wisdom of an older, more worldly man?”

“Not at all.” He spun her on the floor, waltzing as effortlessly as if he had been doing it his entire life. “On the contrary, I think it prepares men for what it’s like to live and prosper in London today.”

That was not what had happened to her obviously impressionable brother. “I have it on good authority that your…advice has proven detrimental to some younger gentlemen.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes, one such man has been staying out until the late hours of the night, drinking too much, gambling, and basically living the life of a wastrel. Certainly, that is not the life of a purported gentleman.”

He chuckled, a deep hearty laugh that did funny things to her stomach. “My dear lady, why is it that you’ve concerned yourself with this matter? Is the gentleman in question your suitor?”

“Heavens, no. I am far too old for a suitor. He is my brother,” she said indignantly.

“I see. And you believe that I’m corrupting him by printing those articles?”

“I do.”

“And have you, yourself, read the articles?”

“I do not peruse your paper ordinarily, but upon discovering them in my brother’s desk, I did, in fact, read every horrific word of them.” She angled her chin up. “But were it not for those special circumstances, I would not have even glanced over it, as the material is not for ladies.”

“I see.”

She was annoyed that she noticed how handsome he was. Piercing blue eyes and a charming smile—and why did anyone require a jawline that chiseled? It was completely unnecessary and served no purpose except to draw one’s eyes to the perfect sculpture of his face.

“So, what would you have me do about it?” he asked.

“Print a retraction, an apology for such advice, and discontinue the series.”

His brows rose. “I cannot do that.”

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