Bargaining With a Rake (A Whisper of Scandal Novel) by Julie Johnstone Page A

long sigh. “Darling,
you should apologize.”
    His gaze locked on Gillian. “I’m
sorry you pulled the wool over my eyes.”
    That was hardly an apology, but
Gillian forced a smile. “And I’m sorry you’re a cad.”
    His faced darkened, but before he could
respond, Sally stamped her foot. “Play nice, children. You are both my friends,
and I’ll tolerate no quarrelling.”
    Gillian locked gazes with him once
again. If he thought she would be the first to apologize, the man was mistaken.
She’d stand here all night, even if these slippers did pain her feet to
distraction.
    “All right,” Sally said, irritation
lacing both words. “I see the two most stubborn people in the ton are
standing before me. “Come along, Gillian. The challenge of who will outlast the
other will have to wait. Your father sent me to find you.”
    Gillian’s mouth went dry. She forced
herself to swallow. “Why?”
    “Something about an important
announcement.”
    Blast her father. The possibility of
what he might want to announce frightened her. Throwing decorum to the wind,
she whirled around to race down the stairs to stop her father’s madness. Two
steps into her charge, her slick shoe slid out from under her, and she hurtled
forward.
    Warm hands slid around her waist,
jerking her back and locking under her rib cage, dangerously close to her
breasts. Hot breath tickled her neck. Lord Lionhurst pulled her close against
the hardness of his chest and powerful thighs. She shook, but it was not from
fear of her near fall. A bolt of desire streaked through her body, making her
weak in the knees.
    This night was not going at all as
she had planned. She tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but he refused to
release her. Why wouldn’t he let go when he thought so little of her? Did he
want her profuse thanks? Did he expect her to faint or blubber on and on? She
straightened her shoulders and prayed she appeared composed and calm.
    “Thank you for saving me.”
    Heat radiated from the length of his
body to hers; his heartbeat tapped a fast rhythm against her back. He turned
her around on the step and tipped her chin up, until she looked into his eyes. He
did not look like he hated her. He looked like he might kiss her. Her pulse
leaped at the notion. She forced herself not to move.
    He leaned toward her, and she closed
her eyes. His hand brushed her cheek and tucked an errant strand of her hair
behind her ear. “You need to slow down.”
    Good God, but she really was a fool.
What must he think about her standing there and closing her eyes? She shivered
as his fingers traced a hot path down her jawbone. “There may not always be
someone there to catch you when you fall.”
    It was not her fall she was afraid
of, and the reminder slammed her in the chest. She stepped back, aware of their
inappropriate closeness. “I’ll be careful,” she murmured.
    “You’ve not
changed one whit since we were young,” Sally huffed beside her. “Disaster
follows your every footstep. Lionhurst is correct. You do need to slow down.” Sally gave her a
stern look. “Especially on slick steps. Not every man here is as quick on the
feet or as chivalrous as Lionhurst. It’s ghastly to admit, but some of these
fops wouldn’t risk wrinkling their fine coats in order to save a lady from
social disaster.”
    Gillian peeked at Lord Lionhurst and
was surprised to find a blush tingeing the skin around the edges of his snowy
cravat. He pulled on his collar while bowing to them. “As I’ve performed my
chivalrous duty for the night, I’ll bid you farewell.”
    He swept past Gillian and down the
stairs, disappearing after a moment into the thick crowd of the ballroom.
    “I wouldn’t count on Lionhurst’s help
again.” Sally linked her arm through Gillian’s.
    “Because he thinks I’m a despicable
fortune hunter?”
    “Are you?”
    Gillian shook her head. “I swear I’m
not.”
    “I believe you.” Sally squeezed her hand.
“I really do. Lionhurst will