A Proper Scandal by Charis Michaels Page B

satisfaction seeped through his chest. In that moment, he became doubly motivated to be rid of the marchioness. Miss Breedlowe sensed his impatience and endeavored to spur the old woman along.
    â€œIt is likely,” Miss Breedlowe said, “that the viscount will entertain numerous callers before luncheon. Let us find our own lunch and leave him free to attend other business.”
    â€œOther business?” the marchioness asked. “But he was at Denby House in the company of the countess for hours last night, as was I. The meal was interminable; I thought it would never end.
    â€œ Oh! ” the marchioness went on, shaking her head. “But ’tis not the countess. ’Tis the niece of the countess.” She shaded her eyes and watched a groom fuss with the carriage steps. “But surely she has not come alone. To call on you, Rainsleigh?” She peered back through the front door.
    â€œI cannot say,” he drawled, “but if it is Lady Elisabeth, she has likely come on the business of her charity. She expressed her interest in my charity donation last night, I believe.”
    The marchioness harrumphed and shook her head. She looked at Miss Breedlowe. “What is it about this house, Miss Breedlowe? Young women, turning up alone, with this business or that? If it’s not one bachelor, it’s another.” She pointed her cane at Rainsleigh. “I urge you to apply to your erstwhile neighbor, Lord Falcondale, if you want to know how much carrying on I will tolerate in Henrietta Place. Very little, in fact. Better still, none at all.”
    Rainsleigh sighed. “I can assure you, my lady, there is no ‘carrying on.’ ” The words were cordial, but he was rapidly becoming genuinely annoyed. Of all the transgressions of which he could be accused, he was most sensitive to imprudence.
    He opened his mouth to offer his most civil version of Get out, but Lady Frinfrock spoke over him. “Take note, Lord Rainsleigh. Miss Breedlowe, God save her, has served as chaperone in instances such as this. Do you hear? I cannot speak for her, but I feel certain she would be predisposed if situations with young lady callers persist. I’m sure you are aware this is highly irregular.” She looked back and forth between Rainsleigh and the young woman in the street. “Charity business or not.”
    Miss Breedlowe turned pink and sighed. “Oh, Lady Frinfrock.”
    Voices could be heard now— her voice—and Rainsleigh lost all interest in the conversation. “There is no cause for concern, I assure you,” he lied, “but I appreciate your attentiveness and resourcefulness. Good day, my lady.” He nodded to Sewell, and the butler assisted the duo down the steps and on their way.
    In the next moment, Lady Elisabeth was inside, smiling, fussing with Sewell about her cloak, shooting Rainsleigh a glance and then away, looking around the marble entryway in wide-eyed wonder.
    â€œThank you,” she said for a third time, declining the butler’s help. She held a hand to the clasp on her wool cloak. “I won’t stay long.”
    Oh, but you might , Rainsleigh thought, working not to stare.
    Today, she wore pale green—the cloak, at least, was green. He was immensely curious about what she wore beneath it. Her gloves were ivory. Her hair was bound only at the crown of her head; the length of it spilled long and loose down her back. Last night, she’d worn it pinned. Now, he hoped to never see it pinned again.
    She looked bright and energetic, standing in a beam of sunlight that spilled from the transom above the door. He had the unthinkable urge to touch her, as he had done, fleetingly, on the balcony last night. He was bombarded, he realized, with unthinkable urges. He cleared his throat and took a step back.
    Elisabeth smiled at him again and craned to see the hall beyond. “Lady Frinfrock was not exaggerating, my lord. This is