A Proper Scandal by Charis Michaels Read Free Book Online

you have a name?” he asked.
    She shook her head, a barely perceptible shake. She returned her focus to the road.
    â€œNot the talkative sort, are you?” He nodded. “I understand. What a devil of a night this has been. Unfortunately, I am accustomed to these sorts of misadventures. I can frequently be found crawling out of windows or leaping from speeding carriages. It becomes old hat, I’m afraid.”
    She looked at him, and he gestured toward a street to their left.
    â€œMy father,” he provided.
    When she said nothing, he felt compelled to explain. “He has a bad habit of subjecting me to his diversions by force, which, unfortunately, seem to become more unpleasant, not to mention more illegal, by the year. The truth is, it amuses him to humiliate me.”
    They turned down a long, curved thoroughfare with no torchlight, and he glanced at her again. One thing was certain, she’d never jeopardize their escape by making any sort of fuss. Even her footfalls were quiet on the gravel street. The hem of her shift barely rustled as she took two steps to his one.
    â€œI’m called Bryson,” he said after a moment. “Bryson Courtland. One day, God willing, I shall be Viscount Rainsleigh. My father is the viscount now, unfortunately.”
    Bloody hell but that was chatty. He told himself that he’d heard this about prostitutes. That you could say things to them that you wouldn’t ordinarily risk with someone you would see again.
    â€œLikely you’ve never heard of him,” he continued darkly. “This is because my father makes no effort toward the title. Nor does he mind the property. His reputation precedes him, but only with enraged creditors, gamblers, addicts.” He looked at her and then asked, inspired, “Or perhaps you do know him?”
    â€œI am not in acquaintance of your father, sir.”
    Sir.
    No one called him that, although, rightfully, they should. But there were very few servants left at Rossmore Court—servants had to be paid—and he kept to himself at school.
    They heard a carriage in the distance, thank God. He needed a reason to stop talking. It was probably nothing, but he held up a hand to stay her. They ducked around a corner and collapsed against the side of a building. Making no sound, he spidered his fingers across the brick until he found her hand, and he covered it with his own. The conveyance rolled past without incident, and he said, “Harmless,” and waved her back to the walk.
    â€œWill your father be cross that you left him behind?” she whispered.
    â€œI don’t really care,” he said with a sigh. “My main concern is getting back to school. My holiday, such that it was, is over, and I must be to Cambridge by Monday. After tonight, I’d say that going home would be imprudent. But I will need my belongings. If I don’t send for them, my father will sell them. Eventually I will go back, because I look after my brother, God save him.”
    A cat skittered in front of them and disappeared under a rise of steps. He watched her follow it with her eyes. “And what will you do? What business do you have in Mayfair?”
    â€œI have an aunt there—in Grosvenor Square,” she said.
    â€œI wish I had an aunt in Grosvenor Square.” He looked right and left and crossed the street, motioning for her to follow. “Will there be a doctor for your shoulder? In the care of your aunt?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAnd, perhaps . . . Honest employ?”
    They rounded a corner before she could reply, and there it was. Blackfriars Bridge. It lay across the inky water of the Thames like an outstretched arm.
    â€œIs this it?” she asked.
    â€œIt is.” He squinted through the mist rising from the river at the bridge. “Hmmm. More traffic than I had hoped this time of night, but we needn’t worry. My father would never find it worth his trouble to come after