A Proper Scandal by Charis Michaels

bright.” She raised her eyebrows, waiting. The boy spun his hat on his finger.
    Elisabeth tried again, “Look, Lady Banning and I have gone great pains to have the school consider you. You are sorely mistaken if you think I will simply let it go. You must come to terms with it. This is your future. You will go.”
    â€œI won’t.”
    â€œYou will go, even if I have to drag you to Yorkshire myself!”
    â€œThink of the girls we save, Lady E. Think of them.”
    She wanted to stomp her foot in frustration. “I will take on more help. Paid muscle is readily available in the London streets, but only a few, choice young men—and literally no one with your history—have the opportunity to attend to a real university.”
    â€œPaid muscle?” The boy looked as if he would cry.
    She shook her head vigorously. “Stop. No one can fully replace your instincts or courage, but you may assist when school is not in session. In the interim, I will hire off-duty policemen. Or soldiers on leave.”
    â€œLess money for the girls.”
    â€œSo be it. We can only do so much. Or I will raise more money. You have gifts, Stoker, and you cannot—”
    A knock sounded on the door behind her, and Elisabeth jumped, dropping the letter. She lunged for it in the same moment as Stoker. They both came up with a corner, ripping it in two. Elisabeth exclaimed in frustration, half sigh, half shout.
    Another knock, more insistent this time. Elisabeth whirled around, irritated. “Who could—”
    The door opened, just a crack.
    â€œI beg your pardon, but are you quite all right?”
    Oh, God. Elisabeth shut her eyes.
    â€œI thought I heard . . . conflict.”
    She opened one eye, but he was still there.
    Bryson Courtland, Viscount Rainsleigh. Inexplicably, mortifyingly. Standing in the hall outside the now-open door.
    She opened her mouth; closed it.
    The viscount prompted. “Miss? I heard shouting. Is the boy causing a bother?” He leaned to one side, studying Stoker on the stairwell. Stoker dropped his gaze and slouched down to steps, the embodiment of supplication.
    Miss ?
    Elisabeth’s mind raced. Miss? Was it possible that he did not remember ?
    She shook her head. “There is no trouble,” she said to the half sheet of parchment in her hand.
    He waited.
    Elisabeth stifled a shout of frustration and then elaborated. “This boy is in my employ, and we have disagreed about an errand. Our voices were raised but not in anger. There is no bother. I apologize for disrupting your evening.”
    â€œ ’Tis no disruption,” said the viscount carefully. “I am inconveniently attuned to raised voices.” A pause. “I apologize for the intrusion.”
    â€œ ’Tis no intrusion,” she said quickly. She glanced at Stoker in time to see him quietly retreating down the stairs. Traitor.
    She was forced to look at the viscount. “You are kind to inquire.”
    He nodded but remained in the doorway.
    She ventured, “If you’ll excuse me.”
    He didn’t move.
    She tried again, “Good night to you, sir.”
    Nothing.
    Right , she thought. Fine . I will go .
    He blocked the door to the hall, so she had no choice but to follow Stoker down the stairs. She turned, collected her skirts, and began to descend.
    â€œForgive my boldness, miss,” he called after her, “but are you . . . ”
    She paused, her foot hovering above the fifth step. Her heart hammered. She squeezed the handrail.
    He finished, “Are you the countess’s niece? Lady . . . Elisabeth ?”
    Her lungs tightened and the knots in her stomach cinched into a tight pit. For a horrifying second, she thought he would call her out, right there and then. She averted her face and nodded to the wall.
    â€œForgive me again, but . . . won’t you attend the dinner?”
    She forgot herself and looked up.
    His stare did not waver, and before