The Perfect Scandal by Delilah Marvelle

fall straight to the floor, realizing she had only one leg, not two.
    With the guidance of her mother, whom she missed dearly, she had learned that she didn’t need a leg to survive. What she needed was to have her mind in the right place. It was obvious this Moreland had yet to embrace that way of thinking himself. “Do not mislead yourself into thinking we could never offer each other anything. A one-legged woman will probablybe able to understand a man who mars himself in a way a two-legged woman never could. It would seem you and I are queers in our own right. And we queers, Lord Moreland, should stay together. We will judge each other less.”
    He turned toward her, his dark eyes capturing hers. “You are making it very difficult for me to walk away.”
    A smile curved her lips. “Good. Because I need you for a noble cause I could never accomplish on my own. I am not intimidated by you, your scars or what you have disclosed. Despite that razor case, I find you to be surprisingly rational. Why is that?”
    â€œI have no idea. I ceased trying to understand myself years ago.”
    â€œYou should never abandon understanding yourself, Lord Moreland. One is only ever worth as much as his own opinion of himself.”
    â€œYou are a woman of astonishing depth. Do you realize that?”
    She bit back a smile. “You appear to be a man of astonishing depth yourself.”
    He shrugged, but said nothing.
    She drew in a soft breath. “Might I offer you a bit of advice?”
    â€œAdvice? About what?”
    â€œAbout yourself.”
    â€œI am well aware of my flaws, Countess.”
    â€œI mean well.”
    â€œDo you?”
    â€œYes. I suggest you cease carrying that razor case and replace it with something more meaningful. Something that will empower you, as opposed to tempting you into doing the very thing you clearly abhor.”
    â€œI see.” He tugged at the snug leather of his gloves, stripping them from his hands, and tucked them into his coat pocket. He closed the space between them and lingered before her, his long legs brushing the fullness of her gown, which draped the chaise. “Are you suggesting I replace my inherent need for the blade with an inherent need for you?” he asked in a low, taunting tone.
    She lifted her gaze to his and released a shaky breath. “I would never be so bold as to presume I could meet all of your needs. But I can try.”
    His dark eyes dominated hers. “I can easily control a blade and how deep I want it to cut, where I want it to cut and when I want it to cut. But I cannot readily control you should you decide to gouge out the last of my heart. Can I?”
    A knot rose in her throat. “I would never hurt you. That is not who I am or what I seek to do.”
    He leaned toward her, his ungloved right hand unexpectedly drifting to her face. “And what is it that you seek to do?” he whispered.
    She swallowed. “I…”
    Warm, calloused fingers touched her skin and gently traced the entire curve of her chin, causing her breath to hitch. With a firm, guiding nudge, he tilted her chin upward, forcing her face up to his.
    He edged closer, the smoldering invitation in those unwavering dark eyes making her entire body feel heavy and warm. He paused, his lips hovering above hers. “Close your eyes.”
    Without question, she closed them, anticipating the feel of his mouth against hers and praying it would erase everything that had ever come before him.
    â€œAm I to be the first to ever kiss you?” he asked softly, his fingers delicately tracing and retracing the sides of her face.
    She swallowed, knowing he wasn’t the first. Her Russian was. But perhaps one day, she would be able to forget who had been the first and why. Perhaps he would make her forget.
    With eyes still closed, she leaned forward, trying to connect her own mouth to his in a desperate effort to erase a past she childishly