The Perfect Scandal by Delilah Marvelle Read Free Book Online

him untouchable to a one-legged Polish Catholic such as herself. But no man could be that perfect. He had to be hiding something beneath that cultivated, regal facade. But what?
    Annoyingly, instead of calling on her, as she had invited him to do, his footman had merely delivered a red leather-bound book about British etiquette. It made her wonder if the man was onto her ostentatious scheme. Though it was unlikely. A man only considered a woman to be a threat to his money or his heart. Neither of which she wanted or needed. Wealth she had, and her heart…her heart was already spoken for by something far more important than a man.
    With the delivery of that etiquette book—which she’d tossed after briefly skimming—she was beginning to think he was simply too respectable to crack. Until he’d rounded his coach past her home one afternoon, peering in through all of her windows. That was when she knew he wasn’t as civil minded as he was leading her and the rest of the world to believe.
    A movement on the cobblestone street below made her pause and glance down toward it. Her fingers tightened on the spyglass, the cool brass pressing against her moistened palm, upon seeing a broad-shouldered figure saddled upon a snowy stallion,dressed from head to boot in dark military attire. Lingering beside the lamppost, he was strategically aligned beneath her window.
    Her heart skipped, realizing he’d actually been watching her all along while she had been situating herself. A large military hat shaded his nose and eyes, only revealing the shadowed outline of a strong, shaven jaw. He hesitated, as if wanting to dismount.
    Instead, he swept off his military hat, revealing dark, shoulder-length hair, and inclined his head, gallantly acknowledging her as he pressed his feathered hat to his chest with a large gloved hand.
    She blinked, trying to make out that shadowed face against the dim light of the lamppost, but he had already reaffixed his hat and veered his horse away from her window. Glancing back up at her one last time, he nudged his riding boots into his stallion’s sides and galloped down the cobblestone street, his black riding cloak flapping behind him in the wind. He galloped out of the square, down one of the streets and disappeared from sight.
    Wide-eyed, she leaned forward, pressing the tips of her fingers against the cool pane. Who was he? And why did he acknowledge her with such reverence? It was very odd.
    Instead of being concerned that she and the house were now under military surveillance ordered by thecrown, she sensed there was something far more to him. It was as if he’d been lingering in the hopes of glimpsing her. Similar to what Lord Moreland had done.
    She hesitated, then sat back against her wicker chair and rolled her eyes. Glimpse her, indeed. She’d be nothing short of vain to think every man in London ardently longed to linger beneath the window of a one-legged Catholic for a glimpse. Unless it was for amusement purposes.
    She paused. Speaking of amusement purposes—
    Zosia leaned back toward the window and propped up the spyglass to her right eye. She squinted, edging it toward the direction of Lord Moreland’s window, until she could see straight into his candlelit bedchamber. Fortunately, the curtains draping his window were not entirely drawn, allowing her to peer past into a small section of his room. A section displaying a four-poster bed.
    It was a very nice bed, actually. Certainly much nicer than her own. It had a silvery, plush coverlet with an assortment of burgundy and dove-gray pillows piled high against the carved headboard. It made her want to marry the man merely for an opportunity to roll around in it.
    She smirked at the thought. Her cousin Basia, who’d been married for almost a good dozen years, had enthusiastically informed her all about what really went on between a man and a woman. And if she was going to do that with a man, he had