Page 12 of A Scandal for the Beastly Earl

Her mother made a small noise that might have been horror or possibly a suppressed laugh. Lord Blackthorn's expression shifted minutely and the corner of his mouth that wasn't affected by the scar twitched upward.

"Indeed," he said, and there was definitely amusement there now. "Though I might suggest that future displays of fascinating behaviour should avoid bodies of water. They seem not to agree with you."

"On the contrary," Arabella replied, finding her tongue despite her mother's increasingly frantic eye signals, "I thought we got along swimmingly."

"Arabella," her mother said in a warning tone.

"I apologise," Arabella said quickly. "I have an unfortunate tendency toward wordplay when nervous."

"Are you nervous?" Lord Blackthorn asked, accepting the seat her mother indicated; a chair positioned at a respectable distance from the settee but close enough for conversation.

"Shouldn't I be? You're rather imposing."

"Arabella!" Her mother's voice reached the sharpness she employed only in the face of true household disorder.

"It's quite all right, Lady March," the Earl said, and Arabella could have sworn he was trying not to smile. "I've been called worse things than imposing. Though usually not to my face."

"How cowardly of them," Arabella observed.

"How practical of them," he countered. "I'm told I can be quite intimidating when irritated."

"And are you frequently irritated?"

"That depends entirely on whether dogs are stealing footwear and ladies are falling into lakes."

"Then you must have been in quite a temper yesterday."

"Enraged," he agreed dryly. "I barely managed to contain myself."

Jameson appeared with the tea service, providing a welcome interruption to what was becoming an increasingly inappropriate exchange of banter. Lady Honoria seized upon the ritual of tea service like a drowning woman clutching a rope, which, given yesterday's events, was perhaps an unfortunate comparison.

"How do you take your tea, Lord Blackthorn?" she asked with determined normalcy.

"Black, no sugar," he replied, which somehow didn't surprise Arabella at all.

"How austere," she commented, accepting her own cup liberally dosed with sugar and milk.

"I find that too much sweetness can mask the true flavour of things," he said, and something in his tone made her wonder if they were still talking about tea.

"Perhaps," she said, meeting his gaze over her teacup, "but a little sweetness can make even bitter things palatable."

"Speaking of bitter things," her mother interjected with the determination of one steering a conversation away from dangerous waters, "I understand you've been making improvements to Blackthorn Manor. The new stables are said to be quite magnificent."

"They're functional," Lord Blackthorn replied, though his eyes remained on Arabella. "I prefer function to magnificence."

"How disappointing," Arabella said. "I confess, I expected imposing pillars and a profusion of gilt ornaments."

"The horses complained. They found it ostentatious."

"Horses are notably conservative in their tastes."

"Unlike dogs, who appear to have no taste whatsoever."

"Thistle has excellent taste," Arabella protested. "Did you see the quality of that slipper he liberated?"

"I was rather more focused on the quality of the lady who dived in after him."

The words hung in the air for a moment, shifting the atmosphere in the room from light banter to something else entirely. Arabella felt heat rise to her cheeks and quickly looked down at her tea.