Amanda Scott by Lady Escapade Read Free Book Online Page B

conservatory, the nearside door of the chaise was flung open from within before the footman had time to jump down from his perch, and a pair of well-muscled, buckskin-clad masculine legs swung to the ground.
    The footman leapt to hold the door, and the Earl of Andover, a large, bronze-haired man with broad shoulders and a heavy torso that save him a somewhat bullish appearance, presently attired in a loose but well-tailored brown jacket over his close-fitting buckskins and shining topboots, emerged from the interior of the chaise. When he straightened, looking purposefully toward the French doors leading to the conservatory, Diana came involuntarily to her feet, barely conscious as she did so of her sister-in-law’s stammered excuses.
    “I-I think I’ll just run upstairs to the n-nursery to see if Amy requires anything.” Lydia was already moving toward the door into the drawing room as she spoke, and the sight of the Earl of Andover striding from the drive across the short stretch of turf to the French doors sped her on her way.
    The footman swung up behind again, and the chaise moved away toward the stables, as Diana braced herself. Then Andover pushed open the doors and fairly erupted into the room.
    “So here you are, indeed,” he boomed, crossing the room in a few long strides. His large hands gripped her shoulders, and he gave her a hard shake. “I might have guessed you would come here. Are you all right?”
    “Y-yes, of course I’m all right,” Diana snapped, her fears dissipating as her temper rose to meet his. “Do stop shaking me, sir!” She tried to pull away from him, and the attempt merely earned her another shake.
    “You deserve that I should do a great deal more than shake you, you idiotic wench. How dared you serve me such a trick! You frightened me nearly witless. Are you quite certain you have not come to grief? The roads are treacherous in the wet, and one never knows what sort of scoundrels might be encountered along the highroad.”
    “Simon, let me go,” Diana commanded, trying once again and just as unsuccessfully to free herself. “I tell you I am quite safe. The road from Wilton is in excellent condition, and the distance is scarcely more than forty miles, after all. And as for scoundrels, there are few footpads on the Marlborough Highroad at the best of times and certainly none at all in a rainstorm.”
    “Much you would care if there were,” he snarled, shaking her again. “And even if you met with no mischance on the road, you will still be well served if you have caught your death from the elements. You must have been nearly the entire afternoon in heavy fog and rain.”
    “Well, and what if I was? I am not made of anything that will dissolve from a wetting.”
    “By God,” he said wrathfully, “I shall beat you this time. You haven’t the sense God gave a goose, my girl. And what reason, may I ask, had you to hare off like that in the first place?”
    “What reason?” she repeated, her voice going up dangerously on the last word in a squeak of near fury. “How can you even ask me such a question after accusing me—yes, and your brother, as well—of the most disgusting things?”
    He held her away, silent for a moment as his gaze raked her from tip to toe. “Your cheeks are over-red,” he said at last. “I am persuaded you have a fever.”
    “Simon, I am not feverish,” she said firmly, measuring her words as though she spoke to a halfwit. “If my cheeks are red, ’tis because I am angry.” She twisted again in his grasp, but still he would not let her go. She had been watching his eyes, knowing their golden-hazel depths to be the best gauge of his temper. They narrowed now, and a glint appeared that made her cease her struggles and draw breath rather quickly.
    “ You are angry?” he said, his voice steadier but with a note of implacability that had not been present before. “You?” he repeated. “Let me tell you that your anger is as nothing compared to