A Scandalous Lady by Rachelle Morgan

long brass grip that served as a knob. He looked harmless enough, and yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that if she walked through that door, her life would never again be her own. Heart pounding, palms sweating, she took a second step. Then a third. Her legs seemed to have developed a will of their own as they carried her toward him, almost as if he were reeling her in by an invisible string. She didn’t understand this power he had over her, but neither could she find the will to fight it.
    Finally, she mounted the steps and stood at his level. Crikey, he smelled good. Like the sea and the wind and distant memories that were both comforting and distressing. She raised her gaze to his and lifted her chin, defying her weakness, him.
    His lips twitched as if her qualms amused him and he gave a slanted nod, whether of mockery or approval, she couldn’t be sure, but strangely enough, it calmed her nerves a bit.
    Then, with a click of the handle, the door opened beneath his hand. The baron offered her a slight bow. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
    And Fanny gasped.
    Long ago, when she was still gullible enough to believe that fairy tales came true, she would fancy herself walking through a palace on the arm of a dark and handsome prince. That the prince stood beside her, guised as a baron, was staggering enough. But even her wildest dreams never came close to the reality of Radcliff.
    Humble abode? The place was a bloody palace! The foyer alone was as big as the common room of The Headless Woman inn! And no dirt floors, here, no sir! Instead white stone marble rimmed in black paved the entrance, so polished that she could see the reflection of her shabby shoes. Brass sconces with perfect tapers hung on walls paneled with dark wood on the bottom, papered from waist to ceiling in green velvet. Several lit candles cast a serene glow on the gilt-framed stag hunt and earth-toned landscapes that had been hung at precise intervals. Second nature had her mentally tallying up the value of her surroundings. “Crikey, guv, ye must be rich as Midas!” she whispered in awe.
    â€œDon’t let these trappings fool you; I am far from wealthy.”
    Either he was the most humble gent she’d ever met or he was hopelessly blind. The wall sconces in the foyer alone would feed the band for months!
    â€œAh, so the prodigal son has finally returned.”
    The melodic greeting reached Fanny in the same wavelet as a powerful scent of roses. Even as the pressure built, she knew she’d not be able to control the—
    â€œAchoo!”
    Flushing from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes, she slanted a glance up at the baron, and found him looking at her with arched brows. “Sorry,” she mumbled, feeling as if she’d just cursed in a cathedral.
    He nodded, then slid his attention toward the woman descending the flying staircase connecting the two levels. She looked every inch how Fanny thought a lady ought to, all graceful gestures, flawless skin, and glossy black hair braided down her spine.
    â€œDevon, this is a surprise,” the baron said. “I thought we were meeting at Brayton Hall in the morning.”
    â€œCircumstances changed my plans,” she replied in a mezzo lilt.
    â€œWhat circumstances?”
    â€œNothing to concern yourself over, darling.”
    As she came closer to take his hands and accept the kiss he pressed to her cheek, Fanny’s heart tumbled at the familiarity between the two. Was this the baron’s lady? He’d not mentioned a wife. Then again, why should he?
    Another tickle swelled at the back of her nose. Her eyes watered and her face grew hot as she tried to rein in the uncontrollable and wholly bothersome reaction to certain fragrances. But even sheer force of will could not contain the sneeze. Fanny twisted at the last moment and buried her nose in her coat.
    â€œDieu vous bénit,” she heard the baron say.
    When she turned