Lady Scandal by Shannon Donnelly Read Free Book Online

lady. I overheard
those soldiers. France is not a happy place for any Englishwoman
just now, and here you two are parading about as if it were five
o'clock in Hyde Park! It may actually be good fortune that has
brought us together."
    "I doubt that! And our parading has so far
managed to keep us safe, which is more than you have managed."
    "It's only a scrap."
    "In that case, you will not mind walking to
the next village. Diana, lower the window and tell the—"
    A rapid flow of harsh French cut
off Alexandria's words. "Tiens! C'est
toujours la même rengaine!"
    Not understanding, she scowled at
him in the gloom, and Diana asked, "What does he mean it is always
the same story?"
    Shifting in his seat to ease the
ache in his side, Paxten allowed the question to hang a moment. So
the little one knew more of the language than did her aunt. Well,
it still seemed unlikely to get these two as far as they needed to
go. Nor as far as he needed.
    "The story of your aunt and I," he
told her. He glanced at the woman he had once known so well, seeing
no more than a pale face, indistinct in the moonlight. It seemed
that their story had not ended. He smiled. "Relax, my Lady Scandal.
If I'd known this was your coach I would not have invited myself
along, but since I am here, we may as well make use of each
other."
    Her answer came at once, as cool as
only an English voice could be. "I have no use for you, Mr.
Marsett."
    He smiled. He could imagine her
expression—elegant eyebrows arched, gray eyes chill as a morning
mist, that lovely mouth of hers prim. He always wanted to kiss her
when she took on that look—to ruffle her into losing those airs of
hers. She still stirred that inclination, but he had not the energy
to act on it just now.
    However, he knew other ways to rattle that façade of
hers.
    With a smile, he spoke in French,
his accent that of the streets. Now, he would see just how much the
niece knew. "One musket ball across my ribs is all I care for
tonight, Madam. And there are miles to put between Paris and myself
if I am to be certain there won't be more. You ought to sympathize
with that. So, since we both wish to depart this land, why do we
not join forces? You'll need someone to bargain for your passage
across the Channel, if you do not wish your pretty neck—and that of
your niece's—slit to gain your jewels. And I need—I need transport
as well."
    The rest of his needs he ignored.
For now.
    He could not see her expression,
but he could imagine her glowering at him, frustrated with him and
wishing to wring his neck. He glanced at the niece, another pale
face, with moonlight glinting on pale curls. Leaning over to her
niece, Alexandria carried on a hushed consultation. He heard the
girl mutter, "I only caught something about jewels and leaving
France and needing your help."
    He chuckled and said, "No, ma fille , it was my help
that I am offering to get you to England."
    "In exchange for my jewels?" Alexandria asked, her
tone sharp.
    Her assumption irritated him, but
he had not fully decided yet how to play this next act between
them, so he only said, "Terms are yet negotiable. However, let us
start by saying that my immediate need of you just now is fast
conveyance. And in exchange perhaps I can assist you with what it
is you wish to gain."
    The carriage swayed around a bend
in the road, forcing him to lean into the turn. Pain shot up his
side as he did, and he winced and muttered a soft oath.
    Fabric rustled as Alexandria half-rose and
shifted to sit next to him. "Bother you, Paxten! Now I wish I had
left the lanterns lit. Just how little is this scrape of
yours?"
    He frowned as she pulled off her gloves, her
white hands appearing so slim and pale in the moonlight.
Disapproval radiated from her as palpable as the warmth from her
body, but a familiar scent of vanilla and spice teased to life
memories of his arms around her, of soft lips, of how she
tasted.
    She stripped them away with crisp questions
shot at him as if she