A Christmas Scandal by Jane Goodger Page B

she said.
    “Of course not,” he said, even though he very much minded.
    And so he was relegated to trailing behind his step-aunt and the woman he was quite certain he still loved but who most certainly did not love him. He tried not to let his thoughts wander to her, but it was impossible not to take advantage of staring at her when she was so completely unaware that he did so. He let his eyes sweep down her back, from her curling black hair, to the tiny bit of skin that showed at her neckline above her shawl, to her waist, to her enticing backside. She was just as he remembered. Perhaps a bit paler without the summer sun to give her color. Her laugh was as musical as he remembered, the way she’d toss her curls from her forehead, the sure way she had of walking, long boyish strides that for some reason he found incredibly intoxicating.
    He stared at her as they chatted seemingly nonstop, Maggie barraging his aunt with question after question, oohing and aahing over the minutiae of the glories of Paris and the French countryside. His aunt had lived in Paris for five years, so she had a great many stories to tell, and Maggie was very adept at ferreting them out. Clearly, Maggie had not wanted to be alone with him and he wasn’t certain whether he was amused, angry, or hurt, the last of which was completely unacceptable.
    Just when he was about to excuse himself from what had become a tedious and frustrating experience, one of his aunt’s children, Mary, ran up to her mother. “Janice just got sick,” she said. “It was the most horrid thing, Mama. She ruined the duchess’s settee, I’m sure she did. It went everywhere and smells simply awful.”
    “Yes, Mary, you may spare me the details. All right, then.” Matilda looked up apologetically to Maggie. “I’m afraid I’ll have to cut my walk short, if you’ll excuse me.”
    “Of course,” Maggie said, smiling down at Mary, who was being particularly precocious at the moment filled with the gory details of her sister’s sickness. “I think I’ve gotten enough exercise in this morning at any rate.”
    Edward watched as Matilda hurried off with Mary, leaving Maggie behind looking a bit bewildered as it dawned on her that she had absolutely no reason to hurry back to the palace the way the other two had.
    “Your plans have been foiled,” he said dryly.
    Maggie looked at him with pique, not even trying to pretend she didn’t know what he was implying?
    “I thought it rather dangerous to be with you even under the watchful eye of Elizabeth. Now that we have lost our chaperone, I fear we must return. For your sake, that is,” she said pertly, but with a mischievous gleam. “I am certain I am much too great a temptation for you. Though you have tried to hide it, it is very clear to me that you are still overwhelmingly smitten with me. While tragic, you can hardly blame me for your sad condition.”
    The relief that swept over him was so ridiculously intense, Edward nearly forgot to smile. This was the woman he remembered, the witty, chatty, confidence-filled charmer he’d known in Newport. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something had seemed a bit off with her, like a cake missing its secret ingredient—still marvelous but just not right.
    “I believe I can manage to control myself,” he said dryly.
    “All right, then. You may accompany me back to the palace.” She stopped and stared at the massive home. “It is a palace, isn’t it?”
    “One of the grandest in England,” he stated. “Makes my home look like a country cottage.”
    “Oh, I hardly believe that,” she said. “You are an earl, after all. I imagine earls live in very nice houses.”
    “It is nice. Quite lovely, in fact. My uncle was a very astute businessman. He saw the agricultural depression coming years ago. It was very unfashionable of him, you see, to have business investments, to actually work for a living. My only regret is that I didn’t spend more time with him