Amanda Scott by Lord Greyfalcon’s Reward

his expression. Funny, she thought, that she had never noticed before what thick, dark lashes he had. Why were ladies never so blessed? He came down a step, his movement breaking her brief flight of fancy and bringing a flush of color to her cheeks. Flustered, she said the first thing that came into her head. “Why did you not tell Papa about my visit to Brooks’s?”
    “Did you wish me to do so?”
    “Odious man.” She grinned at him, surprised that he did indeed seem to wish to tease her, but not displeased by the fact. “No doubt you feared I would reciprocate, for you must know you used me abominably in London.”
    “I did no such thing. ’Twas to prevent your being used abominably that I gave you into my housekeeper’s care.”
    “You might have accomplished the same purpose by returning me to Reston House,” she pointed out.
    “Indeed, I might, your host and hostess having already shown how very competently they were able to look after you.” His eyes were open now, and their expression challenged her.
    “You had no right, sir.”
    “Is this your apology, Miss Jensen-Graham?”
    The color in her cheeks deepened, and she said defensively, “Must you tower over a person like that, Greyfalcon? It is most distracting.”
    The amusement in his eyes was unmistakable now. “Would you like to trade places? Then, perhaps, you might look down upon me while you offer your apology, if indeed you truly mean to offer one.”
    She regarded him doubtfully, knowing he was still baiting her, yet thinking at the same time that she would need to stand on the top step at least before she might look down at him. Life could be most unfair. She gathered her dignity. “You choose to jest with me, my lord, but I assure you this is most difficult for me.”
    “I am sure of it,” he murmured.
    “Damn your eyes, Greyfalcon, you are no gentleman.”
    “Oh, but I am, Miss Jensen-Graham, or I should very likely have told your father all about your visit to Brooks’s. And may I take leave to point out that your language is vastly unbecoming? Not at all what one expects to hear from a lady.”
    She could scarcely debate that fact with him. He was right. Suddenly she wanted no more to do with this conversation. She wanted only to get away from him, to go somewhere where she could be all by herself, where no one would find her, ever. Her cheeks were in flames. She could feel the heat in them. And her dignity was in shreds again. It would have been better had he roared at her, had he at least shown some of his earlier temper. This steady teasing, refusing to take her seriously—this was much more difficult to deal with. In fact, she couldn’t deal with it at all.
    She had turned, taken a step away from him, but his hand on her arm prevented her going any farther. It was not, fortunately, the same arm he had grabbed two days before. That one still showed bruises. His touch was gentle now.
    “I must be the one to apologize now,” he said in a low voice, standing quite close to her. “I have behaved very badly, and indeed I never meant to. Just as I never meant to expose your misdeeds to your father.”
    She looked directly up at him then, her eyes wide. “You told him the minute you clapped eyes upon him.”
    “I know. I was angry. I had meant to deal with you myself. I had pretty well decided, you know, before ever I mentioned the letter to Lord Arthur, that you had been responsible for the whole business, start to finish. I had a long time along the road yesterday to think about the matter, and there were a number of things that didn’t make sense. There was no reason, you see, for him to have sent those letters with you to London. The post would have done, just as it did for his earlier—”
    He broke off, looking at her, for she had gasped guiltily and turned away from him again at his last words. There was a heavy silence, lasting a full half-minute, before he turned her back again. “Look at me, Sylvia.”
    She faced his