Page 13 of A Scandal for the Beastly Earl

"That was kindly said," her mother managed after a pause that had grown slightly too long.

"It was honestly said," the Earl corrected. "Though I stand by my initial assessment that the dog should have been left to his own devices."

"You don't mean that," Arabella said, looking up at him.

"Don't I?"

"No. Because you dived in after us both, which suggests that despite your protests, you're actually quite heroic."

"Or quite foolish," he countered. "The two are often confused."

"In my experience," Arabella said, "they're often the same thing."

“May I ask you something, Lady Arabella?”

“Yes.”

“Will you marry me?”

Chapter 4

"Lord Blackthorn, surely you cannot be serious."

Arabella's voice emerged as barely more than a whisper, though the morning room suddenly felt too small to contain the magnitude of what had just been suggested. The Earl stood before the fireplace, his scarred profile turned toward it, having just delivered the most extraordinary proposition with all the emotion one might employ when discussing the weather.

"I assure you, Lady Arabella, I am entirely serious," he replied, his tone suggesting this was a business transaction rather than a proposal of marriage. "The situation, as your mother has so eloquently explained, is untenable. Your reputation is in tatters. By tomorrow, the story will have spread beyond the county. By week's end, you'll be without prospects."

"That's rather dramatic," Arabella managed, though her hands trembled slightly as she set down her teacup. Her mother had turned the conversation to yesterday’s events and their dire consequences but she hadn't expected him to offer a solution quite so... permanent.

"It's realistic," Lady Honoria interjected from her position by the window, where she'd been maintaining a vigilant watch as if expecting scandal to materialize in physical form on their lawn. "Lord Blackthorn understands society's ways better than you might think, my dear."

"I understand," the Earl said, turning to face them both, "that a young lady's reputation is a fragile thing, easily shattered and nearly impossible to repair. I also understand that I bear some responsibility for the current situation."

"You bear no responsibility whatsoever," Arabella protested, rising from the settee with enough force to make her skirts swirl. "You just saved me from drowning."

"From the appearance of drowning," he corrected with that dry precision she was beginning to recognize as characteristic. "In six feet of water. While wearing enough fabric to outfit a small theatrical production."

"The depth is hardly relevant. You acted heroically."

"I acted impulsively," he cut her off, his dark eyes fixing on hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. "And in doing so, I put my hands on you in public view. I held you against me while we were both in a state of considerable disarray. These facts, however innocent the intent, are sufficient to destroy you in society's eyes."

"Then society is composed of fools," Arabella said hotly.

"Arabella!" her mother gasped.

But the Earl's mouth twitched; that barely perceptible movement that suggested amusement. "Be that as it may, these fools control your future prospects. Unless, of course, you accept my proposal."

The word 'proposal' hung in the air like a challenge. Or perhaps a sentence.

"You don't want to marry me," Arabella said, sinking back onto the settee as her legs suddenly felt unreliable. "You don't even know me."

"I know enough," he replied, moving from the fireplace to stand before the window, his back to them both. "I know you're impulsive, given to acts of questionable judgment, and possess a dog with criminal tendencies."

"Hardly a recommendation for matrimony."

"On the contrary." He turned to face her, and something in his expression had shifted. "I've spent two years surrounded by people who calculate every word, measure every gesture, and wouldn't dream of diving into a lake to save a dog. Your particular brand of chaos is... refreshing."

"Refreshing," Arabella repeated flatly. "Like a cold bath or a slap to the face?"