Page 8 of Scandal’s Daughter

“Easy, love,” he said, grinning at her. “If you want to pass, you’ll have to pay the toll.”

She didn’t have a moment to utter the bewildered question that came to mind as he answered it for her very neatly by pulling her into his arms and kissing her.

By now far more angry than frightened, she struggled to pull away but found his grip on her more than she could counter. He released her mouth and looked down at her, his eyes darker still and somewhat devilish in the dim light of the cave.

Belatedly, aware that perhaps his mistress was not enjoying the stranger’s attentions, Conrad began to bark, leaping forward and back between the entrance of the cave and the stranger.

“Oh, thank you, Conrad!” Georgiana exclaimed in exasperation. “Just a little too late, you idiotic creature.”

“Perhaps not,” the man whispered, his breath hot and damp against her neck. He looked up, those devilish eyes sparkling with mischief. “Perhaps I have further nefarious plans for you?” he suggested, waggling his eyebrows in imitation of a theatrical villain.

“I will thank you to take your hands off me this instant!” Georgiana demanded, wriggling once more in the brute’s ridiculously strong arms. The man looked down at Conrad, whose barking was becoming ever more alarmed as the stranger did not do as he was bid and release his mistress.

“Be silent!”

Conrad jerked in surprise, clearly recognising the voice of authority and lying down with meek obedience at the sound of a man’s voice.

“Oh! You faithless creature!” wailed Georgiana. “Of all the idiotic, disloyal ...”

“Hush yourself, little witch,” the brute said, though his voice was soft as he returned his attention to her. “Now then, tell me your name and where you come from and I swear I’ll let you go. I’m not going to hurt you, you have my word.”

“Oh yes,” she replied with asperity. “The word of a gentleman,” she infused that last part with all the scorn she was currently feeling, adding with venom, “How terribly reassuring.”

“Oh, ho, little cat,” he laughed. “Now, now, show me your claws and I may change my mind and keep you here.”

“Of all the odious, vile, detestable ...”

“Loathsome?” he added helpfully.

“Yes, loathsome!” she repeated, stamping her foot. “And abhorrent, repulsive ...”

“Oh no!” he interrupted her stream of adjectives. “Repulsive I won’t have.” he shook his head, his eyes holding a faintly mocking gleam. “I have it on very good authority I am not in the least bit repulsive.”

“Whose authority?” she demanded. “Not mine I collect. Oh, and now we can add disgustingly arrogant and prideful!”

“Tell me your name, witch!”

“Oh!” In utter fury she bit back a very unladylike curse and replied. “My name is Georgiana Bomford and I wish you joy of it for you will never have cause to speak it again. Now. Let. Me. Go!”

“Oh, but I have yet to introduce myself to you,” the stranger replied, all mocking politeness.

“Then get on with it so I can make haste to forget it,” she muttered furiously.

The man seemed to hesitate for just a second, his dark eyes full of something she could not decipher. “Charles Stafford, the Marquess of Beaumont, at your service, madame.”

Georgiana froze and blinked up at him, disbelieving. She had long wanted to see for herself the dangerously beautiful Beau Beaumont, and while this man was very handsome indeed, and certainly a danger to her - or any other woman who had the misfortune to cross his path - he wasn’t what she expected. She frowned at him.

“You’re Beau Beaumont?”

She thought he looked faintly annoyed by the question which pleased her.

“I am,” he replied, sounding a little defiant. “What of it?”

She pursed her lips and shrugged before replying, “Nothing.”

“What?” he demanded. “What do you mean nothing?” She was intrigued to find he looked rather ruffled, which tickled her enormously and decided her to fluff his upset feathers a little further - for his own good; for the devil was clearly in dire need of a set down.

“Well, my lord,” she murmured. “I suppose I’m a little ... disappointed.”