Three Schemes and a Scandal Read Free Page B

way she carries on. Apparently there is no fate worse than freckles.”
    “We had better rescue her bonnet then,” James said, standing up and towering above her. From his evergreen wool jacket to the tips of his shiny Hessians, he was every inch the gentleman. Yet his cheeks were sun-browned and his boots, upon closer inspection, were actually worn. She imagined him hiking across his land, surveying all he possessed, perhaps rescuing a damsel in distress, or helping a neighbor repair a fence.
    James was no city dandy, certainly. If anyone could procure Swan Lucy’s bonnet from its captivity in the tree branches, it was he.
    To hell with the bonnet. Charlotte, inexplicably, did not want to leave the folly.
    I f there were worse fates than being locked in a small, dim chamber with Charlotte, James could not think of them. It was generally impossible to think straight around Charlotte. She’d always been a veritable hurricane of outrageously terrible ideas. She had more courage than a girl ought to and an impish smile that made it impossible to admonish her.
    He discovered today that she possessed far more dangerous, womanly charms than her smile. She was by all rights the same daring girl, but with the figure of a siren, a gleam of mischief in her pretty blue eyes, milky white skin and the delicate features of a demure English maiden that was lies, all lies.
    When had this transformation occurred?
    He hadn’t been in London long, hadn’t spent much of that time at ton parties and definitely had not associated with marriageable misses when he had. Still, James knew the rumors: Charlotte would be considered a catch—for her generous dowry and pretty looks—if only it were less work to keep up with her.
    Most men did not have the fortitude for a woman like her, James included.
    Especially today.
    Especially when he was due to give a speech about an architectural farce before London Society and his ever-disapproving father. Just once, he had thought while shaving this morning, just once he’d like to make the old man proud.
    Now he’d evermore be referred to as the son who idiotically got himself locked in a folly at an afternoon garden party.
    “What time is it?” he asked.
    “You’re the one with the timepiece,” she pointed out. He scowled. And checked.
    “A quarter after three,” he said. “I am due to make a speech at four o’clock.”
    “Ah, yes. When the entire garden party assembles before this very folly so that we might enjoy a lengthy lecture upon the features of this marvelous impenetrable fortress and the architectural design talents of Lord Hastings, all illuminated by his devoted son. I trust you have practiced.”
    “Perhaps it’s better if I am locked in here until nightfall,” James muttered.
    “We will be discovered eventually,” Charlotte said consolingly. But then her eyes widened in alarm and some awful truth dawned. “And then we will have to marry!”
    In unison, both Charlotte and James lunged for the door, vainly grasping the brass knob and turning it every which way. They rattled the heavy door on its freshly oiled hinges, finding it expertly measured, cut and hung so that it fit snugly in the frame and would not budge.
    “The footman said there was a problem with the folly. I had no idea it was the blasted lock,” James muttered, rattling the knob once more.
    “Well the lock certainly isn’t broken. In fact, it seems to be in excellent working order. Alas.”
    “Thank you Charlotte, that is so helpful.”
    “You are so welcome, James. Fear not, I shall find a way out for us,” Charlotte said.
    She raised her fist high and opened her mouth wide to holler for help when James realized he had to act suddenly to stop her from making a grave mistake. With one hand he grabbed her wrist, just as she was about to pound on the door. He clamped his other hand, palm down, over her mouth before she shrieked for help, bringing the attention of God only knew who upon them.
    He spun her