A Lady’s Lesson in Scandal by Meredith Duran Page A

girl’s eyes widened. “Very good, my lord.” She ducked a curtsy before fleeing.
    Nell stared after her. Something of her thoughts must have shown in her face, for St. Maur said, “What is it? She offends you?”
    “No, of course not.” But it made her spine crawl to see a girl duck her head and bob like a slave. “Just can’t understand why anyone would go into service.”
    “Why not?”
    “Having to bow to the likes of
you
, for starters.” She hesitated, suddenly uncertain of why she felt so hostile toward him. In all fairness, he was being pretty kind about the fact that she’d broken into his house and threatened to shoot him. He was even going to give her a quid.
    That
was what made her bristle. He was offeringkindness that she didn’t deserve, which meant he wanted something. What could a man like this possibly want from
her
?
    “Oh, I don’t know,” he said easily. “Three meals a day, a comfortable lodging, safety, security—surely these things are worth the occasional curtsy?”
    “I guess it all depends,” she muttered.
    “Depends on what?”
    “On how much your pride is worth to you.”
    He pushed away from the wall, a languid, easy move. She leapt off the bed and positioned herself in reach of the candlestand. He had a long, clever mouth, but if he tried to put it on her again, she’d brain him.
    St. Maur walked on by her, momentarily examining the mattress. Her heart leapt into her throat. But if he noticed the lumps, he didn’t remark on them. Turning, he said only, “You value your pride, I take it?”
    That struck a nerve. She’d lowered herself to thieving for her mum’s sake, which made it all right—so she’d told herself.
    But in the end, the doctor hadn’t been able to do a thing. Now Mum was dead and Hannah was rotting in prison.
    “Pride’s the only thing nobody can take away from you,” she said. You could handily destroy it yourself, though.
    He lifted a brow. “I didn’t figure a woman with a black eye to be so naive.”
    She’d forgotten about that. She reached up to touch the bruise. Michael had been out of his right mind yesterday. Had she not managed to escape, he probably would have killed her.
    The look coming over St. Maur’s face made her flush. She didn’t need his pity. “You can figure mehowever you like,” she said. “Why, did somebody steal your pride sometime?”
    “Not mine.” He sat down on the bed, and the smile that edged onto his lips made her heart sink. He knew there was something under the sheets that shouldn’t be there. “But the last earl was a different matter,” he continued. “Somebody did steal his pride—or, to risk sentimentality, his pride and joy, as it were.”
    She supposed she was meant to find his pause suspenseful. “Spit it out,” she said.
    “They stole
you
.”
    A snort escaped her. Not hard to steal a bastard nobody had wanted. But she didn’t speak the thought. St. Maur was clearly trying to trick her into something. Until she figured out his goal, it was better to keep herself to herself.
    He seemed to see through her silence. “You have a great deal of discipline,” he murmured. “Not many manners, but self-possession in spades.”
    There was something new in his regard, now—something canny and assessing that made her skin crawl. “What am I, a horse for auction? Would you like a look at my teeth?”
    “No,” he said with a slow smile. “Indeed, Miss Nell-not-Cornelia, it’s your lucky day, for I want you just as you are.”
    She tensed. Here it came. Whatever he was after, he was about to announce it.
    But he didn’t. He simply continued to look at her, his striking eyes—more gray than green at present—wandering up and down her figure. It was his eyelashes, maybe, that made him so handsome; they were so thick and dark that they framed his eyes like whore’s kohl.
    But no whore had ever given anyone such a look.His inspection was calculating. He wasn’t figuring out how much to bid for