A Proper Scandal by Charis Michaels Page A

she could stop herself, she scanned him, head to boot. His height and breadth filled the doorway. He’d worn buckskins and shirt sleeves that night, so long ago, but tonight his evening attire was solid black wool, leather boots, a creamy white cravat. The fit was precision, despite his considerable size. His face had grown to accommodate his strong features—wide jaw, aristocratic nose, ice-blue eyes, now creased at the edges by tiny lines. Surely he would have been freshly shaven before the party, but now his jaw was smudged with the shadow of a beard.
    He cocked his head, just a little, aware of her scrutiny.
    She cleared her throat. “I’m afraid the party is out of the question.” She gave a dismissive smile and turned to go.
    â€œWhy is that?”
    She stopped. “I beg your pardon?”
    â€œI wonder why the party would be out of the question.”
    His persistence was rude, even by her standards, and she almost laughed. She was about to venture an outright lie—a headache, another engagement, an allergy to the fish—when Aunt Lillian swept through the doorway behind him.
    â€œAha, so you’ve found her,” trilled the countess. She shot her niece a heavy look. “But what an unfortunate corner of the house. Elisabeth, darling, what are you doing in the footman’s stairwell? Please, come out at once, so I may introduce you.”
    Elisabeth gritted her teeth. “Actually, I was just—”
    Lillian continued, “After that, you may run upstairs. I will hold dinner while you dress.”
    Oh, no you will not . Elisabeth looked at her aunt, then the viscount, then back to her aunt.
    The viscount coughed. “I beg your pardon, my lady. I made the acquaintance of your niece—outside the bounds of the party, I’m afraid, with no formal introduction. But I heard shouting in this stairwell. I was alarmed and feared the worst. I did not mean to—”
    â€œShouting?” Lillian chuckled, feigning shock. “Oh, horrors, what you must think. Yes, well, we reside in a very spirited household, I’m afraid. Thank you for your chivalry, but do not allow the odd ruckus to alarm you. Elisabeth,” she continued, her voice tight, “please. Come into the hall so you may be properly introduced.” She looked over her shoulder. “Lady Beecham would not speak to me if she knew the guest of honor had been lured away by a ruckus in the stairwell.”
    Elisabeth shook her head slightly and stepped down one step. She could feel the color burning in her cheeks. If he had not recognized her, it was only a matter of time. If he had recognized her, he was feigning ignorance for the purpose of . . . She had no idea why he would lie about it, but she could guess a myriad of humiliating revelations, each worse than the last.
    She would not give him the opportunity. The life she’d built since her parents were shot had been carefully, painstakingly rebuilt. It included her aunt and Quincy, her charity, and the girls she saved. It did not include him.
    â€œ Something has come up ,” she told her aunt firmly. “With Stoker. I was just managing it. He and I had not yet finished speaking; in fact, I believe that I mentioned to you that I am otherwise engaged tonight, Aunt. For the party. I would prefer—”
    â€œAh, but the viscount would prefer the pleasure of your company, and he is my honored guest. If you come to dinner, you may tell him all about dear Stoker and the shouting match that so alarmed—
    â€œIt was hardly a shouting match. We were merely—”
    The viscount interjected, “Truly, my lady, if she does not wish to attend . . . ” His voice was cutting and flat.
    The countess interrupted, “Nonsense. Of course she wishes to attend. Come, darling, up, up.” She extended her gloved hand and gave an urgent flick, flick with her pointer finger and thumb.
    Rainsleigh tried again, his voice now