The Perfect Scandal by Delilah Marvelle Page A

clung to.
    She connected with…cool air. Her eyes fluttered open, realizing Lord Moreland had already stepped back and away. She heaved out a disappointed breath.
    He yanked on his gloves, molding them against his large hands and fingers, but didn’t meet her gaze.“You didn’t answer my question pertaining to your level of experience. Why?”
    Heat crept into her cheeks. “Admitting to having kissed a man while attempting to kiss another is rather awkward. Would you not say?”
    He glanced up. There was a distinct hardening in those eyes. “Who was he? And what was the extent of your involvement?”
    Seemingly simple questions, yet his tone was laced with raw accusation. He wanted more than just a name. He wanted details. “I know nothing about him except that he was Russian.”
    He stepped toward her, his stance rigid. “Were you assaulted?”
    She sighed, shaking her head. “No. It was nothing of that nature. Do you wish to know more?”
    He shook his head and glanced away. “No. I have imposed long enough.”
    â€œYou graciously bestowed your confidence unto me, Lord Moreland. Allow me to return the sentiment. My association with this man goes back to when I lost my leg.”
    His gaze snapped to hers with a pulsing intensity. “Go on.”
    Awkwardly, she cleared her throat. “I was…assisting the Bilowski family to scavenge for any remaining valuables left from their burnt home. It was a sad, arduous task, sifting through debris with thickleather gloves. I remember the sky above me was a brilliant blood-pink with hues of blue and black as the sun descended from the sky. I often wonder if it was a warning from God that I did not heed. My mother appeared, after one of our servants had informed her I had snuck out of the house to assist in scavenging. She demanded I retire, insisting I was too respectable to be rummaging through debris like a peasant. I thought her reasoning to be shallow and unfounded so I ignored her by moving into a section of the house I had yet to explore. I spotted a silver jewelry box hidden beneath a beam, reached down to dig it out, when a crack resounded and I was instantly buried beneath a wall.”
    She closed her eyes, giving in to the twisting memory of pulsing sounds, acrid smells and torturous agony that would forever haunt her. “I could hear my mother screaming for assistance over my own panicked breaths and sobs. That was when he appeared.”
    A faint smile touched her lips as she reopened her eyes and reveled in the adoration she knew she was cursed to feel until her very last breath. “His carriage had been riding past when the wall collapsed. He dashed out to give aid without hesitation, and climbed through mounds of charred rubble, pulling everything out of his way to get to me. After several attempts, he lifted the beam that had splintered everybone in my left leg. Though he was Russian, he lovingly spoke to me in Polish, insisting I only look at his face. He wouldn’t let anyone, not even my mother, touch me as he unraveled his cravat and secured a tourniquet on my leg. He then carried me into his carriage, shouting for directions to the nearest doctor.”
    She swallowed at the memory of seeing her own blood smeared all over his masculine hands and face. A face with sharp features and striking green eyes. His evening attire had been ruined from his efforts and his wavy black hair had been dusted with soot and ash.
    â€œBoth he and my mother,” she went on softly, “held me through each agonized scream until we arrived at the home of a doctor known for treating severe wounds. Everyone was instantly commanded to leave the room, as all of my clothing had to be removed. That is when this Russian seized me, cradled me against him and kissed me. It was not a chaste, sympathetic kiss, either, but one delivered with a breathless passion meant to excite the soul. He kept kissing and