The Wager (Entangled Scandalous) by Lily Maxton Page B

aloud. She flushed warmer as he moved to her side and plucked the book from her hands.
    Anne reached for it. “I beg your pardon!”
    But he was too tall for her. He easily held the book away, pushing her back with one hand. He touched her shoulder; two of his fingers slid over the bare skin of her collarbone. Goose bumps spread along her arms, and she immediately ceased her movements, fearful of more contact.
    He glanced at the page she’d been reading. Then back at her. His eyes traced her face, no doubt taking note of her heightened color.
    “Young ladies shouldn’t read a book like this.” His voice was tight.
    “I’m settling a wager. And you sound just as pompous as Lord Fairchild,” she pointed out.
    “The first time I encountered you, you swore at me. Now this? Is it so difficult for you to behave with decorum?”
    She hadn’t sworn at him. She’d sworn because she’d just lost a wager with her sisters—he’d simply happened to be standing there. And “encountered” made it sound as though he thought she was some kind of unnatural species—a dog with two heads, or something equally grotesque. He was being unfair again.
    “Like Elizabeth?” she challenged.
    “Yes, like Elizabeth.”
    “I would guess she’s read this book. Her husband published it.”
    Something in his face clenched, drew in on itself. “She’s married. She has more freedom than you do.”
    “Still, my lord, I can tell that you wish she hadn’t read it.” Anne utilized his moment of surprise to lean forward and lift the book from his outstretched hand. She strode to the door, not in a feminine amble, but with the long-gaited purpose that was more standard for a man to display.
    “Are you stealing it?” Thornhill exclaimed. She’d never heard someone sound so disgruntled.
    “Borrowing,” she corrected, turning toward him. “And by the way, Elizabeth is very happy with Mr. Cameron. Happier than I’ve ever seen her. She made the right decision.”
    Spiteful satisfaction tightened her chest when she saw a muscle in his jaw leap as his teeth ground together. She slipped quietly from the study.
    …
    The next morning, sprawled in bed between sleep and waking, Anne wasn’t feeling so satisfied. She didn’t think of herself as a malicious person—impulsive, yes; lacking in whatever device that weighed and judged words before she uttered them, on occasion. But she didn’t say things that were deliberately mean-spirited.
    And if Thornhill had loved Elizabeth, or if he still loved her, she’d been deliberately cruel.
    She stretched out her hand toward the sunlight that slanted through the window, focusing on the patterns the panes cast on her arm instead of her bothersome guilt.
    But eventually, the guilt was so loud and persistent it was all she could hear.
    She threw off the bedclothes and, with a grumble, stalked to the dainty writing desk on the other side of the room. With angry, stilted motions she drew out parchment and dipped a quill into the inkwell. And then she took a deep, calming breath.
    If she was angry, it rather defeated the purpose of the letter.
    Lord Thornhill,
    I would like to apologize for what I said last night. It wasn’t a very kind thing to say to you.
    She sighed, wanting to sign her name and have the damn thing sent, but as far as apology letters went, it was rather short.
    Had Elizabeth accepted your proposal, I think she would have been happy with you, as well. You are an earl, after all. Mr. Cameron is only a bookseller/publisher.
    I sincerely hope Miss Richards didn’t corner you again.
    Please accept my apology.
    Miss Middleton
    She read it over and shrugged. It would have to do—she couldn’t think of anything else to say to him.
    Anne folded the letter and used a stick of wax that smelled like lavender when it was heated to seal it. “Does that please you?” she muttered to her conscience. She pushed the letter to the corner of the desk. She would ask her maid to take it to Lord