One Touch of Scandal by Liz Carlyle Read Free Book Online

silver tongs. “What with Lazonby away, and you stuck with me. And then there was my appalling loss of temper downstairs.”
    â€œI’m not sure I blame you.” Grace took her plate, grateful for the mundane conversation that was designed, she knew, to put her at ease. “That frightful young man—what was his name?”
    â€œColdwater,” said Ruthveyn. “He has become rather a thorn in our side, for he keeps dredging up Lord Lazonby’s old murder case and airing it again in the press. But I will deal with Coldwater. Now pray be so kind as to explain what you wished of Lazonby.”
    Grace set her teacup down. “Why?”
    He looked at her pointedly. “So that I might help you.”
    â€œBut why should you?” Grace felt her brows draw together. “You are under no obligation to me. You never met me before in your life.”
    For a moment, he hesitated as if measuring his words. “Perhaps it is fated, Mademoiselle Gauthier,” he finally answered. “Fate, after all, has brought you here today.”
    â€œI believe one makes one’s own fate, Lord Ruthveyn,” she returned. “You owe me nothing.”
    â€œAnd Lazonby does?”
    â€œHe seemed to think so,” she returned.
    â€œAnd is not my brother’s debt my own?” said Ruthveyn. “Lazonby would do the same for me, and has. So I ask you again, Mademoiselle Gauthier—what was it you wished him to do?”
    Grace opened her mouth, but nothing came out. “I am not perfectly sure,” she finally confessed. “I just thought that…that he might advise me. After all, who better to do so? Rance was unjustly accused of murder. Indeed, he had to flee his own country because of it and sell himself as a soldier of fortune. But at last he has prevailed. He has been cleared of all wrongdoing.”
    â€œIn Her Majesty’s courts, perhaps,” Lord Ruthveyn interjected. “But in the court of public opinion? That is less certain.”
    â€œI don’t give a tuppence about the court of public opinion,” said Grace.
    â€œAlas, my dear, this is England.” He cut her a strange glance. “I very much fear you should care.”
    â€œWell, I don’t!” she said sharply. “Really, I cannot think why I ever came back here to begin with! My English relations are of no help, the police see only a suspicious Frenchwoman—the French are always suspicious, you know—and now my fiancé is dead. There is little else to care about, sir, save my father’s good name. And that is all I shall fight for.”
    Lord Ruthveyn’s black eyes hardened. “Your fiancé?”
    Grace looked down and took up her teacup again, but her hand shook, and it chattered ominously on the saucer. “Yes, Mr. Holding and I…we were secretly betrothed.”
    â€œSecretly?” Ruthveyn’s voice was sharp. “How secretly?”
    â€œNot terribly.” Grace took a fortifying sip of the strong, black tea. “His sister, Fenella Crane, knew. His late wife’s family had been told. Officially, however, we were waiting out his year of mourning—but we did tell the girls.” Suddenly, she felt her face crumple. “And they were so happy ! I was so afraid they would not be. That it was too soon. But they—they were— so happy…”
    She had not realized she was crying until Ruthveyn slid onto the sofa beside her and produced a handkerchief. “Oh!” she whispered, awkwardly putting down the cup. She dried her eyes and blew her nose. “Oh, you must think me a frightful watering pot!”
    â€œWhat I think, Mademoiselle Gauthier,” he murmured, “is that you are a young lady who has seen much tragedy. And in too short a space of time.”
    Embarrassed, Grace turned away. There was something about Lord Ruthveyn that was simply…too intimate to be borne. But to her shock, he set