Page 5 of The Scoundrel and the Lady

“Of course, I’m safe.” His voice sounded no different than it normally did, but when she took in the full sight of him, she knew he was inebriated. His familiar green eyes, so much like her own, were now heavy-lidded and glassy, and he seemed unable to focus on her.

“Have you been drinking?” she asked.

He put a hand to his chest and made a weak attempt to appear affronted. “Me? No.”

“I am no fool, Jasper. I can smell it on you.”

“Oh, well, in that case, yes, I’ve had several drinks.”

“I’m so glad you find this amusing,” she said.

He smiled broadly.

“I do not. I was worried. Did you even consider that? Where were you until so late in the evening?”

“Black’s. Playing a bit of cards.”

“Drinking as well as gambling?”

He frowned. “Perhaps I was. It is what men do, Iris. You need not sound so disapproving.”

She opened her mouth to speak, then stopped. Arguing with him or chastising him now would do her no good at all so, instead, she took two deep breaths. She needed him alert and sober so that he could see reason. Tomorrow would be soon enough to confront him, but the fact was she’d been ignoring this for far too long. In the three months he’d been home, she’d seen a stark change in his behavior. This was not how she raised him, not how she taught him to be. Those foolish articles were ruining him, and she would not stand for it.

“Come now,” she said as she grabbed his elbow and nudged him forward. “I’ll help you upstairs, and we can talk in the morning after you’ve slept.”

He muttered something she didn’t quite catch.

At his bedchamber door, she handed him off to his more than capable valet. Then she made her way to her own bedchamber, all the while pondering how she could be so accomplished in her duties as a member of the Ladies of Virtue, yet remain hopeless when it came to her own personal life. She might be destined to die a boring old spinster, but she’d be damned if she’d allow her brother to ruin his life.

…

Merritt Steele, Earl of Ashby, surveyed the ballroom with disdain. He was so bloody tired of the monotony. Everyone looked the same, spoke of the same ridiculous things at every single party. Were it not that his job demanded it, he would most assuredly never attend these ridiculous balls.

“Another fantastic article,” one gentleman said as he walked past. He popped Merritt on the back as he went. Merritt was certain the man had a title, but he had no notion of what it might be. The man, obviously, was inconsequential enough not to have sullied himself with any scandals, else Merritt would know his name. It was a matter of time. They all disgraced themselves eventually; it was in their nature. He simply waited around to write about their ruination and profit from it greatly. Ten months earlier, when he’d first acquired the Ashby earldom, he’d been furious to have to sully his honor with the banner of a title. Since then, though, he’d discovered that being an earl enabled him to get inside places his previous fortune never afforded him.

Merritt walked to the side of the ballroom with the refreshment table. This area often yielded some tidbits of gossip, and considering the number of women flocking around the champagne fountain, the evening looked as if it had potential. He hoped.

He had been standing there for no more than a quarter of an hour when an acquaintance approached him, accompanied by a lithe figure dressed in a green gown. The woman’s hair was so red that it was, in fact, quite orange, but it was piled artfully atop her head, accenting the graceful line of her neck.

“Lord Ashby, I do hope you remember me. I am Lord Christopher Watkins, Lord Darby’s son.”

“Ah yes, I believe we’ve met on several occasions,” Merritt said. Christopher hadn’t yet made a scandal of himself, and Merritt had found himself nearly liking the fellow on the occasions when their paths had crossed.

“Excellent. Yes, well, I wanted to introduce you to my dear friend Lady Iris Bennington.”

She curtseyed then looked him square in the face—no shyness to be found, merely a bold stare with her bright green eyes meeting his.

“My lord, it is a pleasure.”

“Indeed,” Merritt said. Well, who was he to say that nothing interesting was going to happen tonight.

“I do believe I have several dances still available if his lordship is interested,” she said.

And the boldness continued. Fascinating. She certainly wasn’t a widow looking for a new lover. No, this was a virginal miss who had quite obviously garnered an invitation to meet him. It wasn’t the first time that had happened. He was, after all, an eligible bachelor with a huge fortune that many women would be pleased as punch to marry. But he’d never had one so audacious, and he admitted he was curious.

As he reached for the dance card dangling from her wrist, his finger brushed the naked skin above her glove, that sweet spot right at the pulse of her wrist. He held the card up so he could see.

“It appears that you have your last waltz available.” He didn’t bother asking; he merely scrawled his name to her card. “I look forward to it. Now, if you will excuse me.” He held his glass of champagne up in a toast, then walked away.

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