A Tale of Two Lovers by Maya Rodale Page A

now.”
    Roxbury reached for her brandy glass and took a sip. She opened her mouth to protest but he gave her a sharp look and let it go. Amazing.
    “It’ll all blow over in time, Roxbury,” she said softly. “Scandals always do.”
    “I don’t have the time,” he said tightly. Every day flew by, each more scandalous than the last. Marriage to a gently bred woman was unfathomable—no one would have him.
    Never mind the fact that he did not actually want to get married. He just didn’t want to go broke. It was quite the conundrum.
    “So you’ve mentioned, Roxbury, but you have not explained why you don’t have time. Will you tell me now?”
    “No. But a great idea just occurred to me,” he said, grinning devilishly.
    “What is that?” she asked suspiciously, rightfully so.
    “If I were to take that hat off your head . . .”
    “You wouldn’t dare,” she whispered, holding on to said hat with both hands.
    “I might. Or I might just taunt you with the possibility. I do enjoy having you at my mercy.” Roxbury caught himself grinning in true amusement. There was nothing like taunting a tightly coiled woman like Lady Somerset. One day she’d open up, let down her hair . . . he probably wouldn’t be there, but he would like to see it.
    “Enjoy it this once. I’m going to go,” she said, rising from her seat.
    “Are you?” he queried, just after indicating to Inchbald that their glasses needed replenishing. Within a moment, they each had a full glass of brandy. Julianna looked at hers warily.
    “Now that I think of it,” she mused, “you are at my mercy as much as I’m at yours.” Then she smiled, and he felt a mixture of terror and pleasure deep in his gut.
    “Oh, the things I could do . . .” she began. “I could rest my hand upon your knee. Or higher.”
    She didn’t actually do it, thank God. But the thought of her pale, soft ladylike hand on his knee, sliding higher and then higher . . . He took a sip of his drink.
    “Perhaps I could clasp your hand in mine,” she said, as she placed her palm over his hand resting on the table. This was high on the list of things that were just not done.
    A few of the old windbags, unwinding after a session in parliament, took note. Who knew eyebrows could reach so far up one’s forehead? Roxbury took a sip of brandy and pulled his hand away.
    But that thought was fleeting. Instead, he thought of her hands upon other parts of his anatomy. Said other parts responded enthusiastically.
    “At the end of it, when I unmask you,” he said, “I’ll be redeemed and you’ll be the brazen hussy that dressed as a man and attempted to seduce me.”
    Julianna choked and sputtered on her sip of brandy.
    “Or,” he continued, with a grin. “When the brandy works its magic, and you unmask yourself.”
    “I shall do no such thing,” she retorted. But already, she was beginning to slur her words. Her cheeks were very pink, and she was quite adorable. He was smiling at her, marveling, really, and feeling something like affection for this troubling, meddlesome girl dressed as a boy.
    “You are handsome when you smile,” she said grudgingly and that’s how he knew for certain that she was tipsy.
    “I know,” he said. He knew that because everyone—ladies, mainly, always sighed so. But to hear it from the lips of such a lady termagant? He liked it.
    “It is proper to say ‘thank you’ upon receiving a compliment,” Little Miss Manners reminded him.
    “It was a statement of fact as much as a compliment,” he answered, just to vex her.
    “You are impossible. I finally say something remotely nice to you and then—”
    “I’m incorrigible, insufferable, etcetera, etcetera,” he finished for her, for if she launched into a tirade about what an incorrigible, insufferable, vexatious good-for-nothing rake he was, then she would really give herself away.
    “Assuredly,” she muttered, taking another sip, and wincing. Another giveaway. It was impossible