Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord by Sarah MacLean Page A

right eyebrow diagonally across the upper half of his cheek—a thin, white line that had faded with time. Isabel winced as she imagined the pain it must have brought with it. It ran dangerously close to the corner of one glittering blue eye, so close that he was lucky he hadn’t lost it.
    It should have been wicked—a warning—a sign that this man was dangerous and not to be trifled with. And there was a part of Isabel that saw the scar as a manifestation of the intensity that she had seen in Lord Nicholas before he’d tackled her in the street and landed them both out of the way of the horses. But she did not feel fear as she looked at it. Instead, she was desperately curious. Where had he received it? How? When?
    “Lady Isabel.” She was shaken from her musings by the sound of her name.
    How long had he been waiting for her to respond?
    Willing herself not to blush, she met his gaze. “My lord?”
    “You are daughter to the Earl of Reddich?”
    “Sister to the current one.”
    His gaze turned sympathetic. “I had not heard the news of your father. Please accept my condolences.”
    Isabel’s eyes narrowed. “Were you acquainted with him?”
    He shook his head. “I am afraid we did not move in the same circles.”
    She released a breath she had not known she was holding. “No. I don’t imagine you did.”
    If he understood her meaning, he did not show it. He lifted the missive she had written. “I am to believe you have a collection of antiquities?”
    “There is no collection finer.” She could not keep the pride from her voice. One dark eyebrow rose at the words, and she blushed. “Well, no private collection finer.”
    His smile was there, then gone. “I’ve never heard of it.”
    “It was my mother’s,” she said quickly, as though that made everything clear. “I assure you, it is well worth your time.”
    He gave a little nod. “If that is the case, my lady, then I accept your offer to have a look. I’ve something to do this afternoon, but perhaps I could come tomorrow?”
    So quickly?
    “Tomorrow?” The word came out on a hitch of breath. She had not expected to welcome an appraiser for at least a week—likely more. After all, who would have expected one to be milling about in Dunscroft? What were the odds?
    The estate was in no condition to be visited by a man, much less a Londoner. The girls would have to be prepared for his arrival; they would have to be on their best, most discreet behavior when he arrived. A day was not much time. “Tomorrow,” she hedged.
    How could she postpone his visit?
    “By all means. In fact,” he added with a glance toward the inn, “my man is on his way with our horses. Depending upon the speed of our errand, we might make it this afternoon.”
    This afternoon.
    “Your man.” She looked over her shoulder in the direction of his gaze, where she saw an enormous man leading a gray and a black toward them. Her eyes widened at his sheer bulk. He was a good six inches taller and several inches broader than the village blacksmith. She’d never seen anyone so large. Or so imposing.
    She had to get home. The girls would need fair warning.
    Turning back to St. John, Isabel hedged. “My lord—I—I am certain that you have much better things to do with your afternoon than to come and have a look at my marbles. You clearly had plans before I—”
    “Nearly got us both killed, yes,” he finished for her. “Well, as luck would have it, we have nothing at all better to do. We would likely have spent the afternoon in search of excitement, but, since you’ve already provided me with quite enough of that, I should very much like to visit your statues.” He paused, registering the trepidation in her eyes. “You are not afraid of Rock, are you? He’s a kitten.”
    The giant’s name was Rock?
    Of course it was.
    “Certainly not,” Isabel said a touch too quickly. “I am quite sure that Mr. Rock is entirely a gentleman.”
    “Excellent. Then it is