Three Schemes and a Scandal Read Free Page A

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    Lucy resorted to lifting her skirts past her knees—Lord help them all if any gentleman should happen upon them—sprinting and leaping into the air.
    The bonnet was nearly within her grasp!
    And then poor Lucy landed not on the soft grass but on a knobby tree root, which caused her to set down at an awkward and painful angle. And then she collapsed. On the ground.
    “Oh! My ankle!”
    “Oh no!” Harriet said, rushing to her side. “Here, let me help you.”
    “I’ll go get a blasted rake,” Charlotte mumbled as she stomped off to the folly. She would get James to help fetch the troublesome hat and to help carry the troublesome Lucy back to the party.
    The scheme was ruined.
    Toward the rear of the building was a heavy wooden door. She pushed it open and stepped inside the cool, circular room. Light and wind filtered in from open windows placed high on the walls, almost near the ceiling.
    Another evil gust of wind blew the door shut. It swung easily on its new, well-oiled hinges. The lock clicked ominously.
    To make matters worse, she heard the sound of an iron latch on the outer door jarred loose as it slid into its holder, probably owing to the force with which the door slammed closed.
    Charlotte couldn’t help but wonder if doors locked in a way other than ominously. Perhaps securely. Which meant that she was securely and ominously ensconced in the folly.
    With a rake.
    J ames leaned against the folly wall, perched on a stack of old wooden crates. His arms were folded across his broad chest. He did not smile.
    “Lady Charlotte Brandon. Causing trouble once again,” he remarked in the cool voice of a practiced rogue.
    “Mr. James Beauchamp. Be still my beating heart,” she retorted. But really, if only her heart would slow down. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been alone with James before or even in trouble with James. Granted, they had been children at the time.
    James was very much a man now. All large, muscled and overbearing. He glanced down at her as if she were still a naughty child. Nothing irked Charlotte more than being underestimated. People did so at their own peril. As James would soon discover.
    And yet she stood straighter, arched her back slightly and adopted a haughty expression.
    “Dare I even ask why we are locked in this folly together?” James questioned.
    “You presume this was planned,” she replied, tipping her chin higher.
    “Are you familiar with your reputation?” he questioned and she gave him a sickly sweet smile in response.
    “Oh yes: Sparkling conversationalist, pretty and exquisite manners even with the most boorish company,” she replied.
    James leaned forward, his blue eyes focused upon hers.
    “Or: Too clever for her own good. Devious. Destructive. Dangerous.” His voice positively caressed the words— Devious. Destructive. Dangerous . He couldn’t possibly be talking about her. No, he had to be describing himself.
    Also, he did not deny that she was pretty. Which mattered more than she liked. Once again, she willed her racing heart to slow to a less missish pace.
    “My goodness. I cannot tell which appeals to me more,” Charlotte said lightly when, in fact, her heart was pounding. “Devious? Or dangerous?”
    “Trouble. Definitely trouble,” James muttered.
    “If you must know, I came here seeking a rake,” she said haughtily. She did not want him to think she had planned this encounter. Truth be told, she hadn’t planned to be alone with him. She was remembering why: James did not buy her act.
    “You found one,” he replied dryly. This pun had amused her before, but it irked her now. Or was it James? He, once so wild and carefree, was now some sardonic, know-it-all rake who lamentably was making her nerves tingle and pulse race.
    “Miss Fletcher’s bonnet is stuck in a tree,” Charlotte offered as an explanation.
    “Horrors,” he said, with a deadpan expression.
    She couldn’t help it, a grin tugged at her lips. “You would think so by the