Notorious Lord, Compromised Miss

As though his words had released her from a spell, she whirled round, to glare up at him through narrowed green eyes.

“You cannot make me!” she said.

Extremely quietly.

Viscount Maldon was impressed. The girl had enough sense to realize that the last thing either of them needed was to draw attention to their encounter.

But if she did not want to be compromised, why was she not taking this opportunity to flee from him?

“What game are you playing?” he asked, his curiosity thoroughly roused.

“I am not playing!” she retorted.

“Then what are you doing?”

“I should have thought it was obvious, I am doing the same as you.”

He doubted very much whether she had a list of prospective suitors in her pocket, particularly since the voluminous gown she wore did not appear to have any pockets.

When it became clear to her that she was a complete puzzle to him, she rolled her eyes in exasperation and explained.

“Hiding!” She then placed her hands on her hips. “And if you were a gentleman, you would remove yourself. At once!”

He glanced warily in the direction of the ballroom before shaking his head. He was not ready to step out from behind the pillar that supported the potted plant. Not in any sense!

“Not a chance.” Then he folded his arms across his chest in what he hoped was a forbidding manner, and added for good measure, “Besides, I was here first.”

She gasped. “Not only are you clearly not a gentleman, but—” she paused, and he could see that she was reaching inside herself for something suitably cutting to say that would slay him on the spot “—you are a coward! Yes, and, and—” she ran her eyes up and down his person, as though seeking inspiration. “A puny one,” she flung at him in triumph, “at that!”

“Puny!” He drew himself up to his full height, and threw out his chest. “I am not in the least bit puny. I may be slender, but,” he pointed out, “what there is of me is exceptionally muscular.”

“Huh,” she replied, rubbing at her arms. “You could not hold me captive for long!”

“Indeed not,” he replied with an unholy grin, recalling exactly why he had let her go. Simply recalling how arousing that wholly unexpected tussle had been was making his breeches grow tight all over again. Just when he had begun to think her sharp tongue might serve as an antidote to the power of her lush curves. “It is not at all the sort of activity the patronesses encourage within these hallowed walls.”

“No.” She shuddered. “All the groping and lusting is supposed to occur on that dance floor—” she grimaced, turning to peep through the fronds of the palm “—in full view. And in there, I have not the liberty to kick anyone in the shins.” She finished wistfully, “I have to be polite to elderly widowers on the lookout for a nanny for their six motherless children, and smile at all the grubby fortune hunters with roving hands and a desperate gleam in their eyes.”

Until that point, the insults she had been flinging at him had bounced straight off. But that one found its mark.

“Don’t you think, perhaps you are being a little harsh?” he argued. “I mean, possibly fortune hunters look desperate because they are desperate. Perhaps they are on the brink of utter ruin, through no fault of their own. Perhaps the last thing they wish to be doing is looking for a bride. Can you not imagine what a young man might feel like, having been raised in expectations of living life as a carefree bachelor, to be suddenly confronted by the choice between debtor’s prison or marrying without affection, without respect, without any criteria other than that his bride should have money?”

“I would not be a bit surprised,” she observed thoughtfully, glancing over her shoulder at him, “to learn that it might make them feel like hiding behind a potted plant. But—” she whirled round to face him fully, her expression turning mutinous “—they do not have to be quite so oily and insincere, do they? Telling me I’ve captivated their hearts after only one turn round the dance floor! Do I look like a complete imbecile to you? Do I?”

He had already decided that this young lady had a mind like quicksilver. And yet, some devil in him had him drawing out his quizzing glass and inspecting her from head to toe. Her gown, he noted at once, had not been made by a London modiste. The billowing effect that had made her stealthy retreat from the ballroom so utterly entrancing was entirely due to its poor fit. Her figure, he had already determined, was perfectly proportioned to fit in his arms. And her face…well, the nose was a little short, the mouth a little too wide, and her eyes were shooting the kind of sparks that denoted a fiery temper. And yet, the combination of less-than-perfect features somehow rendered the whole remarkably attractive.

“Just tell me one thing,” he said, “and then I will give you my honest opinion. Are you an heiress?”

Her eyes narrowed, her whole face scrunching up in a way that put him in mind of an angry kitten. “What has that to do with anything?”

“Well, only that if you are, I would say you have entirely captivated my heart, too. I would propose on the spot.”

Her mouth dropped open. While she was sputtering, trying to find some suitably withering comeback, he went on languidly, “You know, for a man who has to marry money, you, sweet kitten, would seem a veritable godsend. If a man had to choose between the massive Miss Millbury, the frosty Miss Framlingham, or you, I am certain he would be foolish to do anything but fall head over heels in love with you.”

“F-fall in love with my money—my hypothetical money, you mean.”

“You have no money?”

She looked uncomfortable. “I think one of my aunts must have exaggerated my worth somewhat, thinking I would wish to be a social success. They probably meant well when they described me as coming from the wealthiest family in our town. But it is only a small town, you know, populated with simple country folk for the most part.”

“But you must have good connections, else you would never have been admitted within these hallowed portals. I am sure,” he said gently, “that you will meet a man who will value you for yourself, in time.” He ran his eyes slowly over her figure with such lazy speculation her face went scarlet. “You are definitely worth a second look.”

“I am never going to get married,” she declared with some vehemence.

“Ah!” he grinned at her. “A kindred spirit. I felt exactly as you do, until circumstances removed the luxury of choice. How would you feel about coming to some form of compromise?”

“Compromise?” she gasped, taking such a hasty step backwards that the pot rocked on its stand.

He grabbed it, steadied it, and explained. “I was only going to offer to share my hiding place with you. Come now, kitten,” he said, holding out his hand. “Tell me your name, and let us be friends.”

Her only response was to scowl.

“Katherine!” came an outraged screech from beyond the potted palm.

Looking over her shoulder, Viscount Maldon saw a tiny woman—clad entirely in garments of such a virulent yellow, he could practically taste lemons—making straight for their alcove.