Saved by Scandal by Bárbara Metzger Read Free Book Online Page B

country, either. He’d done what he could to make his friend’s marriage less of a skimble-skamble affair, and that was what mattered. Galen was about to thank him, when Skippy ruined all of his good intentions by dropping to one knee and proposing to the bride.
    “You don’t want to marry Woodbridge, you know. Just because he has money and a title and looks, he’s really not at all the thing. Why, he cares more about his paintings and his horses than you’ll like. His house is a veritable museum.”
    “Get up, you nodcock,” Galen hissed, hauling on Skippy’s arm, “before I knock you down altogether. The lady is bespoken. And go fetch the bishop. I promised Miss Penrose’s maid.”
    “Who is Miss Penrose? If you ain’t getting hitched to Miss Montclaire, then she is still available.” He started to drop to his knees once more, but Galen had not let go of his arm, which he now twisted behind the gudgeon’s back.
    “Montclaire is the lady’s stage name. Her legal name, for as long as it takes you to fetch the bishop, is Margot Montclaire Penrose, daughter of the late Baron Penrose of Rossington, Sussex. I already entered it on the license.”
    “She’s well-born, besides a raging beauty?” Skippy’s watery eyes grew wider. “You lucky dog.”
    “No, the lucky dog is in the carriage with a steak bone. Now shut your mouth. You look like a carp the cat dragged out of the ornamental pool.”
    Ella did not believe the bishop was anything but an actor, paid by the villainous viscount to hoodwink her poor mistress. Swells didn’t marry opera singers, not in this life. “My Eminence, my arse.”
    “Hush, Ella, look at his ring. He really is the bishop. I saw him once in the queen’s box.”
    The bishop was beginning the service despite the mutterings, since Lord Asplenall’s funeral was due to begin shortly. He had decided to conduct this ceremony himself, considering that such a shocking, sudden mismatch needed more heavenly intercession than his gambling-mad young assistant could provide. If Skidmore had more than a nodding acquaintance with the Almighty, he’d be astounded. For sure the clunch must have skipped every divinity course at university. Nevertheless, the bishop trotted out every blessing and every lesson on marital bliss he could recall in a hurry, before he had to send Lord Asplenall to the Great Racecourse in the Sky.
    While the bishop droned on, Skippy, standing next to Galen as his best man, whispered, “How did you convince her? She never even let a fellow escort her home before.”
    Galen was trying to appear attentive to whatever the old windbag was nattering about. Fidelity, obedience—Yes, yes, they had already covered those issues. He whispered back to Skippy, “Charm, that’s the ticket.” Charm and a fortune and influence, he added to himself, and swearing away his honor to defend a child who might prove indefensible. But he would not regret his choice.
    Margot was listening to every word the bishop spoke. Well, maybe every other word, between stealing glances at her handsome fiancé. She swallowed a nervous giggle. Theirs had to be the shortest engagement in history. Not even a day. Was it just this morning that he had come with his outrageous proposal, looking sad and pleading? Now he was looking every inch the bored gentleman of fashion, not even listening to his own marriage rites. What had she done?
    She’d found a way to safeguard her brother, that’s what. And she would not regret it. Why would she, when she could never have picked a more perfect parti if she’d been shopping the marriage mart at Almack’s? And she vowed to be the best wife the viscount could ever have, despite disagreeing with some of the bishop’s pronouncements as to a wife’s duties. Not even Margot could be a worse wife than the fickle female who’d taken flight. That woman had cared so little for his lordship that she would trample on his pride, on her way to join another.
    Of course, when