The Scoundrel's Secret Siren Read Free Page B

and he could see little of her figure under the dark cloak she wore. Despite himself, Winbourne was intrigued.
    “Ah, but I am not a mysterious apparition on a dark roa d, merely a hapless traveller with a broken carriage.”
    “Well, sir, if you were so foolish a s to drive a curricle down a country road at night, I can only say that the fault is entirely yours.” Lorelei could not believe her own ears when she found that she was flirting with the man!
    “It was for a wager, my l ady Ghost, and it would have been unsporting to refuse it.”
    “You are a Corinthian then.”
    “Unashamedly, I am.”
    The humour in his voice drew her in. “Well, you would be interested to know, perhaps, unless you wish to spend the night guarding your curricle, that there is a village not three miles down the road, and you might ask for horses at the inn, or perhaps lodging. I suppose I ought to offer to take you there on my horse.” It was, she knew, a very fast thing to do – to ride off alone into the night with a strange man, but she sensed no danger from him, despite his unfortunate habit of making foolish wagers. It would surely be worse to leave him.
    He paused a moment, considering , before nodding quickly. “It seems a very fine solution. Howe, stay here with the horses – I shall send a man from the village. And take care you don’t draw the attention of any other ghosts that might happen this way. They may not be so benevolent.”
    The valet took this parting shot with his usual good humour. “Take care, sir.”
    Alastair wasted no time flinging himself on the horse behind her, and Lor elei gave a startled gasp as a spicy scent that could only be his assailed her senses at the same time as a strong arm slid around her waist. It was an action that under any other circumstances, in her own identity as Miss Lorelei Lindon, ought to have caused outrage. A gentleman ought never to take such a liberty. But she was not Lorelei Lindon just then, and so she allowed herself to enjoy the unfamiliar sensation.
    “Since I am convinced that you are in no way a ghost, my dear apparition, I wonder if you will tell me what you are really doing o ut on the country road at night?”
    “Perhaps you are mistaken to put your trust in me, and I am a ghost, luring you into a cold grave by the wayside?” She would never usually have dared speak thus to any gentleman.
    His chuckle rumbled low in his chest and she fought the unexpected urge to lean back into him as she steered Tulip along the road.
    “Like a Greek siren? I would tell you , then, that it would be a most delightful way to die.” There was a wicked, tantalising note in his voice. She had never been spoken to in such a way before. It startled her for a moment, as did the accidental connection he’d made with her name. When they were children, Con had had a grand time teasing Lorelei for being named after a wicked kind of water spirit who lured gentlemen to their watery graves with her voice.
    “Or… Or perhaps,” Lorelei continued breathlessly, so as to distract him from his current theme, “perhaps I am out hunting ghosts.” There was a note of challenge in her voice.
    “That would make you a very singular lady. I am sure none of the fair flock at Almack’s could claim such an achievement as ghost hunting among their virtues.”
    Lorelei knew that the exclusive doors of Almack’s would be forever barred to her if anyone ever got wind of her current exploit. The Lady Patronesses of the hallowed social club set very high standards of reputation and behaviour for their guests. There had been instances of poets receiving vouchers when a duke had been refused. She had never set foot within the establishment herself, and was very eager that the situation should be remedied: it was to her the very embodiment of the excitement that was the London Season. They fell into a surprisingly comfortable silence as they cantered down the road, the night quiet around them and the lights