After the Scandal Read Free Page B

tighter. “Oh, God. I don’t think I can bear the questions.”
    “No one will question you. I’ll make sure of that.”
    “Will you?” It was probably not the wisest thing, to allow herself the relief and sanctuary of hope. But she already had.
    “Yes.” This time the vehemence sounded more like surety. More like a promise.
    For which she could only be grateful. “Thank you.” Another small measure of comforting relief tiptoed its careful way into her lungs. And she took the opportunity to take a long look at him, this vehement man she had thought so aloof. “Contrary to popular opinion, you are a nice man.”
    A nice man who had crippled Rosing, still splayed upon the pavers.
    For her. This time the heat in her chest was something more comforting than mere relief.
    But there was still a man on the ground. “We can’t just leave him here, can we?”
    “Yes. We can. I’m not that nice. Someone will find him. In fact—” He came to an alertness, livid with stillness, rather like one of her father’s hunting dogs scenting the air. And then he swore. “God’s balls. Someone is coming. Now.” He turned that implacable gaze upon her. “Lady Claire, you have approximately three seconds to decide what comes next. Stay here and be discovered with Rosing—and bear all the possible and different consequences of that. Or you can come with me.”
    “What?” Her heart started pounding in her ears again.
    Claire pushed off the wall, and found she needed to move. To get air back into her lungs. To get away from Rosing. But not back to the house and the ball. Not with her face like this, still scratched and blotted with blood.
    Fenmore had crossed to the narrow wooden decking that projected out over the water, and unwound a line to one of the boats from its cleat. “I can take you away in the skiff. We can slip away, out onto the river, with no one the wiser.”
    The idea was astonishing.
    And she was truly astonished. Astonished to find the events and words and feelings of the past few minutes swirling and twisting through her head, trying to sort themselves out into something approaching logic.
    Going in a boat with His Grace the Duke of Fenmore would undoubtedly be just as rash and stupid as walking into the garden with Lord Peter had been.
    But the Duke of Fenmore was not Lord Peter Rosing. He looked across the narrow dock at her, and he understood. He reached behind his back, under the tail of his beautifully tailored coat, and pulled out an elegant, well-polished pistol. The shifting moonlight glanced off the slick metal barrel as he held it out to her, handle first. “So you’ll feel safe. But choose. Now.”
    Astonishment was too tame a word for the rush of alarm and something else—something unfamiliar and altogether off-kilter—that gripped her, once more stealing the air from her lungs. “Is it loaded?”
    “Yes. Do you know how to use it properly?”
    Claire didn’t answer. But she did take the gun. Because it gave her her answer.
    “Yes.” She scrambled into the narrow boat. “Let us go then and escape. Just for a little while, at least. Until I’m ready to come back.”
    “Yes.” The Duke of Fenmore gave her an oddly boyish smile that crinkled up the corners of his eyes, and softened his narrow face, and made him appear young and almost vulnerable. As if he were taking as big a chance as she. “Yes. Just for a little while.”

 
    Chapter Two
    Tanner wasted no time. Before the rest of the restless energy still coursing through him was spent, he used it to shuck the detestable gloves that made him into a gentleman, wrap his itchy hands around the oars, and slip the skiff out of the boathouse. He pointed the bow into the stream of the river, and put his back into it.
    With luck, he might be able to get well away before she discovered his guile in inventing the intruders.
    He settled into a steady, hard rhythm, propelling them smoothly downstream on the slack tide, and calming the jangling