Scandal of the Year by Laura Lee Guhrke Page A

was perhaps not quite as romantic as hers. About eleven or twelve at the time, she’d urged her plodding mare from a trot to a canter and then panicked at the increased speed, dropping her reins and screaming for help. He’d come alongside, attempting to guide her, but she’d been too frightened and hysterical to follow his instructions, and in the end, he’d given up on instruction and hauled her onto his horse. In his recollection of the events, she hadn’t fainted, and he’d returned her to her governess in a perfectly lucid state, tipped his hat, and gone on his way. He did not, of course, point out these minor discrepancies between their versions. That would have been rude.
    “You departed before I could thank you for your assistance, Your Grace, but I shall never forget your chivalry.” She clasped her gloved hands together, gazing at him with a reverence all out of proportion to the situation. “You will always be my hero.” The last two words came out in a rapturous squeak.
    Looking at the girl’s worshipful face, Aidan thought of Julia’s assessment from the other night, and he felt a hint of irritation. He was no hero.
    As if to prove it, a recollection of pulling apart Julia’s dress flashed through his mind, demonstrating that he shouldn’t be any girl’s white-knight fantasy.
    “I’m sure I did what any man would have done in the circumstances,” he murmured, and before she could heap any more undeserved praise upon him, the gong sounded a second time, indicating only five minutes remained before curtain, and Aidan hoped he had now fulfilled his obligation and could depart for home.
    He opened his mouth to murmur a farewell and something vague about another social obligation somewhere, but Lady Felicia had a sharper mind than Julia had given her credit for. Sensing that he was about to bid her good night, she spoke first. “You must sit with us for the final act, Your Grace.”
    She moved as if to actually put her arm through his and drag him to a chair, but before he was forced to choose between acceding to Lady Felicia’s ghastly invitation or issuing a peremptory refusal that would hurt her feelings, another voice entered the conversation.
    “Trathen, I thought I saw you over here!”
    Aidan turned toward the Earl of Danbury, who was just entering Vale’s box, giving the other man a look of both relief and gratitude.
    Paul stopped to shake hands with Lord Vale and compliment Lady Vale on her smashing gown before coming to him and the girl by his side. “Lady Felicia, how lovely you look, but then you always do. Trathen, you devil, managing to find the prettiest girl at any event, but really, your absentmindedness these days . . .” He paused, shaking his head as if in exasperation as he slanted Aidan a meaningful glance. “You promised Marlowe you’d go by his box sometime during the first intermission to discuss business matters, and you never arrived. Not that I blame you for forgetting,” he added with another smile at the girl, “given the distractions here this evening.”
    Aidan took his cue at once. “Right, business. I did forget. Can’t imagine how I could have done such a thing.”
    “I was with Marlowe when he spied you over here, and he sent me to ask if you’d mind terribly coming now? He’s leaving tomorrow apparently—wants to spend a few days at Marlowe Park before my house party at Whitsuntide. If you don’t talk to him now, you may not have another chance.”
    “I obviously can’t allow that to happen.” He turned, hoping he looked regretful. “Lady Felicia, you must forgive me. Business before pleasure, I fear.”
    Her lip jutted out a bit mutinously, but she really had no means of circumventing that particular argument. “Of course.”
    Aidan thanked his hosts, bid them farewell, and allowed Paul to usher him out the door. “Thank you, Paul,” he said as the two men walked along the curved corridor toward Viscount Marlowe’s box.
    “Thank Julie.