Amanda Scott (28 page)

“Papa, for goodness’ sake, have done. You just thought the most dreadful things about Greyfalcon not a moment since.”

“Well, the man’s a rake, and I found him kissing my daughter in a private room at a practically public ball,” said Lord Arthur stoutly. “What am I expected to think?”

“Just what you did think, sir,” Greyfalcon replied calmly, “but that gets us nowhere at present. What brings you to us?”

“But that’s just what I was telling you. Women! Your mama sent me to fetch you because she insists you ought not to be at a ball.” He drew himself up. “Not the thing, Greyfalcon, and you know it. Damme, man, you’re in mourning. She would have it you’d do something foolish and disgrace not just yourself but her as well. Said you was jealous, couldn’t stand the thought of Sylvia here, dancing with a lot of handsome young men like that Lacey fella. Told her she was imagining things, that it was all a hum. Would she listen?”

“I don’t suppose she would,” Greyfalcon said with a smile. “She was right, you know.”

“Was she? I’d as lief you didn’t tell her that if it’s all the same to you. Not that she wasn’t right about the mourning, certainly. Your father hasn’t been in his grave six months yet, let alone twelve. You’ve no business at a ball, sir.”

“Perhaps not,” Greyfalcon agreed, “but I hope you don’t expect to see me wearing black or observing more than the barest of—”

“I’ll not debate the matter with you,” Lord Arthur said in a lofty tone. “’Tis no business of mine what you do—well, except an you wish to marry my daughter, of course,” he added, coming back to earth again. “Your father … Well, the less said, the better.”

“Agreed, but I must say this much. I’ve no intention of waiting the year out before I marry Sylvia. If you fear that people will talk, we’ll take a ship to Italy or India for that matter, but I mean to marry her just as soon as I can find a parson willing to oblige me.”

“Well, in that case,” Lord Arthur suggested with a slight flush in his cheeks, “might I suggest that you discuss the matter with your mama’s chaplain? I have done so, and he agrees that six months is quite a long-enough period for her ladyship to mourn a husband who caused more grief than happiness to everyone before his demise.”

“My mama?” Greyfalcon frowned.

Sylvia stared from one to the other, for she had taken her father’s meaning more quickly. “The countess intends to wed, sir? I declare I had no notion. Who is the lucky gentleman?”

Lord Arthur withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. “I have the honor to be that gentleman.”

Sylvia and Greyfalcon exchanged looks of amazement, then both burst into laughter. Sylvia moved to hug her father. “Oh, Papa, I think you will suit each other excellently well.”

“Yes, I believe we shall, though it came as the greatest surprise to me,” confessed her parent. “I had not the least notion of marriage, but I see that it will do very well.”

“Oh, it will,” she agreed, “and I know just the gift to give you on the happy occasion. His highness has offered to sign your copy of
The Delicate Investigation.
I shall ask him to do so.”

“No, you won’t!” snapped Greyfalcon.

She chuckled, and Lord Arthur glanced from one to the other. “What’s this in aid of? What are you talking about, Sylvia? I thought we had already decided not to mention that book to anyone. How can the Regent have offered to sign it.”

“Never mind, sir,” said Greyfalcon, still regarding his love with disfavor. “It is a long story.”

“Well, I think you had better both accompany me back to Curzon Street at once, because I wish to hear it,” Lord Arthur said. He looked at his daughter, who was controlling her features with obvious difficulty. “I say, Sylvia, you ought not to—that is, I daresay it ain’t wise to stir the man’s temper just for the fun of it. I don’t think you can realize … Look here, Sylvia, do you not think you will dislike some of his—that is, I do not mean to cast aspersions, but he does have some habits, some pursuits—”

“Papa, I have never before heard you at such a loss for words, but I can assure you that Greyfalcon will learn to do without some of those pursuits if he values his skin.” Sylvia turned a laughing face to the earl. “No more actresses, sir, I warn you, or wild parties. Not unless I am at your side.”

His expression softened. “You will be there, my dearest love, always.”

“Look here,” put in Lord Arthur, clearly uncomfortable, “do you not think we ought to take our departure? This is scarcely the place to discuss—”

“No, you are quite right, sir,” Greyfalcon agreed. “Let us go at once.”

“Wait, the both of you,” Sylvia said, chuckling. “Papa, how did you find us? Have you seen Reston or Joan?”

He shook his head. “Asked the pages, of course. What they’re there for, ain’t it? They pointed to the door. It was open. I came in. Haven’t seen anyone else.”

“Well,” she said, “I can scarcely disappear when I came in their carriage. Harry would be scandalized, Lady Ermintrude would be sure I had been kidnapped, and even Joan would fret. Indeed, I shouldn’t be at all surprised if they are not searching for me now, because we had only just got separated when the Prince demanded my attention.”

“Yes, and I should still like to know what you meant by going apart with him,” Greyfalcon put in just then.

She smiled at him. “We can discuss the matter as much as you like, sir, at the proper time. Just now I think we ought to find Joan and Harry and tell them that since you do not trust me to keep the line of what is becoming, you are taking me home at once.”

“Would you prefer to stay?” Greyfalcon asked suddenly but with noticeable effort. “I do not really distrust you, you know. Indeed, to say that I was jealous is—” He paused, unable to complete the sentence.

“The truth, sir?” Sylvia suggested helpfully.

His lips twisted into a wry grin, and he nodded. “’Tis a new feeling for me, sweetheart, one I didn’t recognize when first I took exception to your flirting.”

“Well, don’t apologize, sir. I like it very well. Papa, perhaps you would not mind just stepping into the circular drawing room—that door to the left opposite the one through which you entered. No doubt you will see either Harry or Joan somewhere in the crowd. Then you can tell them we are leaving.”

Lord Arthur shot a look at Greyfalcon, who grinned at him again. “Very well, daughter, but I shall return at once.”

“So we can’t get up to mischief,” Greyfalcon murmured when he had gone.

Sylvia laughed. “I can always get up to mischief, sir. ’Tis my nature.”

He bent his head and kissed her lightly. “You will have to learn to be an obedient wife, will you not?” Then, as a new thought struck him, he straightened and looked down at her with a gleam of triumph in his eyes. “I will finally have my revenge, won’t I, sweetheart? You have agreed to marry me, so I shall soon be your lord and master. By law, you will have to obey my every command or suffer the consequences.”

She bowed her head submissively, so that he would not immediately see the twinkle in her eyes. “That will certainly be the case, sir. I shall be a most submissive wife, completely obedient, unceasingly observant of your every need.” Then she looked up, delighted to see the disbelief written clearly upon his countenance. “I shall begin, sir, the same day upon which the sun begins to rise in the west.”

Laughing, Greyfalcon caught her into his arms again, and when Lord Arthur returned, he found them just as he had found them before.

A fourth-generation Californian of Scottish descent, Amanda Scott is the author of more than fifty romantic novels, many of which appeared on the
USA Today
bestseller list. Her Scottish heritage and love of history (she received undergraduate and graduate degrees in history at Mills College and California State University, San Jose, respectively) inspired her to write historical fiction. Credited by
Library Journal
with starting the Scottish romance subgenre, Scott has also won acclaim for her sparkling Regency romances. She is the recipient of the Romance Writers of America’s RITA Award (for
Lord Abberley’s Nemesis
, 1986) and the RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award. She lives in central California with her husband.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1988 by Lynne Scott-Drennan

Cover design by Mimi Bark

978-1-4804-1524-9

This edition published in 2013 by Open Road Integrated Media

345 Hudson Street

New York, NY 10014

www.openroadmedia.com