Page 2 of Ruined by the Wrong Earl

Who better to ruin her reputation than a renowned scoundrel? Science was the utmost importance in her life. To achieve her goals, she wanted freedom from the shackles of marriage. With her target in sight, she forced her lips to curl in what she hoped was an inviting smile. Strategically weaving through the throng of guests in the crowded ballroom, she never took her eyes from Sir Simon.

Halfway across the room, she ran into a solid mass of man. ‘Oh!’

Her ballroom slippers lost purchase on the polished hardwood floor, and she slipped. Strong arms swiftly grasped her forearms to steady her.

‘Miss, are you all right?’ a low voice rumbled.

Brushing a wayward auburn curl that had escaped from her chignon from her eyes, she tilted her head up to meet sinfully dark eyes. Her heartbeat tripled. Over six feet tall, he was lean and well-muscled, a towering hulk of a man. Dark hair framed a face that was all sharp planes from his cheekbones, aquiline nose and straight forehead, softened only by a cleft in his chiseled chin. Even his lips—his full lips—appeared hard. He had the look of an unfinished sculpture, rugged and raw and…compelling. He exuded an unmistakable air of command. She was aware of his hands on her forearms, his fingers firm but not too tight.

Lord Ralston.

She’d met his lordship at last night’s evening meal when he’d been seated across from her. She’d noticed his attractiveness but her first impression was that he was uptight and disagreeable.

‘Where were you off to so quickly?’ he asked.

She blinked. ‘Pardon?’

His hands dropped to his sides as he regarded her, and she felt the loss of the heat and the strength of his touch.

‘You were almost running,’ he pointed out.

Her pulse leapt as she considered her new predicament. Being waylaid by Ralston could only delay her plans. She must engage with Sir Simon before the man seduced his next target. She wanted…needed…that female to be her. She shifted to the side to glimpse around the Earl.

Damnation! Sir Simon had left the group by the refreshment table. Where on earth had he gone?

‘Miss?’

She grew aware of Lord Ralston watching her, waiting for her response. Frustration welled in her chest. His tall broad-shouldered frame stood in her way. On any other occasion, she would exchange pleasantries and send him off to fetch her a glass of lemonade.

‘I’m fine, thank you. If you hadn’t barged into me, I’d be better.’ The words slipped out before she could stop them. She bit her lip, knowing she shouldn’t have spoken her thoughts out loud. Her mother often berated her for speaking her mind and called it an unladylike weakness.

Judging from Lord Ralston’s pinched eyebrows and levelled gaze, she suspected he would agree with her mother.

‘Miss Magarian,’ he said, his voice low and level, ‘is there a reason for your haste?’

The Earl of Ralston remembered her. During last night’s dinner, she had pointed out to one of her sisters that creamed onions were bad for one’s digestion. He’d overheard from where he’d sat across the table and disagreed.

‘No reason, my lord.’ She stepped back. ‘If you will please excuse me, I’ll be on my way.’

Reaching out, he brushed her arm to halt her. She was aware of the slight touch, and a trickle of warmth ran down her arm. ‘Perhaps you’ll join us at the lake tomorrow.’

Was he asking her? Would he offer to row her across the lake like gentlemen preferred to do with ladies at these house parties? She had done nothing to encourage him. Perhaps he was just being polite. Meeting his gaze, her heart raced again. His eyes were surrounded by long dark lashes. She hadn’t noticed before.

Good grief. What was she doing thinking of his eyelashes? She had another goal in mind. A vitally important one. ‘Other than boating at the lake, will the men be fishing?’ she asked.

Ralston shrugged a big shoulder. ‘I assume so.’

‘Then no. The lake is overfished. It would be best if the fish are left a season to spawn.’

He released a coarse laugh. ‘Is that so?’

‘It’s a scientific fact that—’ She spotted Sir Simon out of the corner of her eye. He spoke with Lady Melrose, a pretty widow. The woman’s head tilted to the side, and she smiled invitingly at him.

Oh, no. Nora needed to swap places with the widow. Now.

‘What about hunting?’

Nora’s attention snapped back to the Earl, and she wrinkled her nose. ‘I have no objection to hunting other than I think it terribly unfair. A dozen men and their hounds against one lone fox. Those odds are just unmanly.’