The Rambunctious Lady Royston Read Free

to Isabella. "Have you located the direction of our Mr. Smythe-Wright, madam?"
    "I, er, that is, I—"
    Samantha cut in quickly. "What my sister is trying to say is that Mr. Smythe-Wright is an old family friend and we do not wish to see him punished. You see, we grew up together, and Samuel was always a rather simple soul, if you get my meaning. We have never quite held him responsible for his rather loose-screw starts. We regret any inconvenience to your lordship, but we wish the subject dropped."
    His lordship chewed on his lip for a moment with what looked strongly like suppressed amusement, then rearranged his satanic features into an emotionless mask and informed Samantha stiffly, "I do not share your easy forgiveness, missy. I've been insulted, and demand a chance to tear a strip from the dolt's hide."
    "See, Samantha, I told you he would want—"
    "Isabella," Samantha shut her off, "I do believe Aunt Loretta is being rude to our guest. Kindly wake her up."
    Isabella colored prettily—she was a delightful, tiny blonde thing—and rose to do, as usual, just as her younger sister bid her do. But she was stopped short by the Earl's next words.
    "Yes, do go and sit by your aunt's side, Miss Ardsley. I wish a few private words with your, er, sister."
    Samantha's eyes commanded Isabella to stay where she was as Lord Royston's eyes demanded her departure and, sad to say, the Earl's look won out. With a defeated shrug of her shoulders, Isabella retired to the corner and sat watching her aunt's nostrils widen and contract as she continued to snooze on.
    Samantha tensed and would have risen to quit the room had not the Earl's hand come down hard on her wrist. "I think not, my dear. I allowed you to run off yesterday, but I'm not so encumbered today and would follow you immediately."
    "Sir, I wish to go to my chambers."
    "If you wish," he shrugged indifferently. "I am no stranger to a woman's boudoir."
    "How dare you!" Samantha bristled.
    "Quite easily, Mr. Smythe-Wright, quite easily. I sincerely hope your father beat you often when you were a child."
    Samantha searched his face and saw a glint of humor in his dark eyes. "Soundly, my lord, at least until he announced it a worthless expenditure of his energy. Now I am merely confined to my chambers whenever I am caught out, er, overstepping my boundaries."
    The Earl threw back his head and laughed, his face completely transformed by this simple act. "Which is seldom, I wager—that you are caught out, I mean."
    Isabella cringed in her chair at the sight of this huge man, who was feared by all in the ton , and clapped her dainty hands over her shell-like ears. Samantha did nothing of the sort. She threw back her own head and joined in the joke.
    The Earl sobered first and returned his gaze to the girl facing him. "How old are you, Miss Ardsley?"
    "I am ten-and-seven, my lord, with a birthday in two months. But I cannot make my come-out until Isabella is advantageously bracketed and off Papa's hands. My arrival on the scene before that time, according to my sire, would be enough to make any man of sense shy away from leg-shackling himself to a family with a bent towards madness," Samantha supplied candidly.
    Isabella shrieked and ran out of the room when she heard her sister tell London's most eligible bachelor such a thing. Aunt Loretta roused for a moment from her nap, smiled in the general direction of the Earl, waved languidly, and returned to her dreams.
    "I must apologize, my lord." Samantha said without a hint of remorse. "I should not have said that about my sister. Please disregard it completely."
    The Earl sat back in his chair and considered the figure before him. She made a passable boy, but her figure was definitely enhanced by female fripperies. She was yet somewhat a child and still had some slight filling out to do, but she was the first girl whose head had ever come up to his shoulders. How he hated all these petite misses; he forever had a crick in his neck from