Once Upon a Scandal by Delilah Marvelle Page A

faces of the seated men. One of them was none other than the ever serious Lord Moreland, the son of her father’s deceased childhood friend. Heaven help her. Who else had her father wrangled into vying for her? It was a pity fest.
    Victoria bit her lip, her gaze falling on the dark-haired gentleman who was angled almost completely away. The one closest to the window. She lowered her chin, eyeing his waistcoat and high collar, which were shockingly snowy-white against not only his sun-bronzed skin but also the ruby-red cravat knotted around his neck. He was the only one wearing any color.
    He sat with the others in a studded leather chair, his gloved fingers rubbing his shaven chin as he intently listened to whatever her uncle was saying. He shifted, lowering his hand down toward his muscled thigh, which was accentuated by well-fitted trousers.
    She knew a lady wasn’t supposed to gawk at a man’s hands, thighs or anything else, and yet…Victoria edged closer, as if being pulled in by some invisible rigging held between herself and this man.
    Mr. Parker paused before the group and said something in a muted voice that faded across the expanse of the cavernous room. Drawing steadily closer, Victoria continued to eye the dark-haired gentleman. She knew him. Didn’t she?
    His shaven jaw tightened as he leaned far forward to listen to Mr. Parker’s muted words. He glanced toward her, then paused. He shifted his entire body in her direction.
    Victoria’s heart skittered as vibrant blue eyes met hers. No. No, it couldn’t be. It…couldn’t.
    His dark brows rose, as if genuinely surprised by what he saw, too. His eyes swept the length of her gown as he stood, smoothly unfolding his well-muscled limbs to an impressive height that had to be well over the six feet she remembered him to be.
    Dearest God.
    It was Remington.
    It was none other than the man she’d once loved and whose ring she still wore. The man who had never answered a single one of her letters for reasons she had always feared to even question.
    Lord Moreland and the others beside him leaned forward in their chairs, glancing past Mr. Parker. All of them stood to acknowledge her presence.
    Panic cut off her breath as she took step after step back, her eyes never once leaving Remington’s. Though she was by no means a coward, the last thing she wanted to do was say things no one needed to hear.
    Remington strode toward her, heatedly holding her gaze the entire time, his chin lowering slightly as she, in turn, stumbled farther and farther back. That rugged face was as handsome as ever, bronzed from years under the Venetian sun, while his broad frame had alluringly filled itself out, giving him the well-muscled appearance of a grown man.
    Anguish seized her as he headed straight for her. Spinning on her slippered heel, she gathered her skirts and whisked out of the room and into the corridor. She drew in several steadying breaths, feeling as though her chest was about to collapse.
    Her vision momentarily faded at the edges. Her gloved hand shot out and she balanced herself against the nearest wall. As she held herself in place she felt as if she was going to heave up everything she’d eaten. Ever so slowly, she leaned in and set the side of her cheek against the cool, hard surface of the silk lampas wall, the blaze of her face unbearable.
    Remington. Remington was among the three. Her father had somehow unearthed the man she’d thought was dead.
    Her uncle’s stout frame appeared in the doorway. His booted steps echoed into the corridor as he quickly approached.
    He darted toward her. “Victoria?” Rounding her, he leaned toward her, touching her sleeved arm. Her uncle’s full face, along with his curling, graying mustache, appeared in her view. “Victoria, look at me.”
    She lifted her cheek from against the wall and turned toward her uncle, leaning her entire back against the wall in an effort to keep steady.
    His brown eyes searched her face. “Do you