The Perfect Scandal. Delilah Marvelle
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skills were to exceed all of your expectations, we still couldn’t be friends.”
Her lips parted. “Why ever not?”
Because friendship is not what I have in mind for us, he wanted to say. Instead, he smiled tauntingly and tilted his head, the weight of his top hat shifting. He wished he could reach up and glide his fingertips across her exposed throat. “I think it best I not comment on any of my thoughts.”
She arched a brow. “Are you flirting with me?”
“Attempting to.” And failing miserably….
“Shall I assist you in your attempt?”
“No. Please don’t.” Unlike most men, who eagerly chased after beautiful women, he avoided such stupidity at every turn because he knew what it would lead to: disaster. He had to be sensible when it came to women and do things properly to ensure nothing fell outside of his control. And this was not proper. Nor did he feel as if he were in control. He needed to retire and consider how to go about pursuing this in a civil manner.
He leaned against the railing he was balancing himself on. “Before I say good-night, madam—which I am afraid I must—being the gentleman that I am, I feel compelled to say something that I hope will not offend.”
She smiled. “I rarely find myself offended.”
“Good.” He lowered his voice. “Despite my pathetic attempt to capitalize on your naiveté, for which I can only apologize, you really shouldn’t be flaunting yourself like this. ‘Tis indecent. Come morning, regardless of whatever did or did not happen between us, everyone in this square will assume we are lovers and you will be ruined. Is that what you want for yourself?”
She shrugged. “What others have to say about my character does not concern me. After all, I am a foreigner and a Roman Catholic, and as such, everyone will seek to condemn me in whatever it is I do. Though I suppose if a man of your size quakes at the thought of what others will think, perhaps we should end this conversation. I most certainly do not wish to place your reputation at risk.”
He tightened his hold on the railing, squelching his urge to scale the wall, grab her and drag her over to his house for the night. “I suggest you cease being so flippant. London is extremely vicious when it comes to the reputation of a woman.”
She rolled her eyes. “If you are so worried about my reputation, why ever did you initiate this conversation?”
“Me?” He laughed. “I beg your pardon, but I didn’t initiate this conversation. You did.”
“In theory, yes, I did. But in fact, no, I did not. You did.”
“What?” he echoed, his brows coming together.
“You wandered over to my window, not I to yours. Whether my curtains were open or not, ultimately it was your decision to stay and watch me in a state of undress. Upon discovering you had no intention of departing, even after you had noticed that I had noticed you, I was therein compelled to open my window and offer you conversation, because I did not want any of our neighbors to think the worst of you. Regrettably, that makes you accountable for tarnishing both of our reputations. Would you not say?”
Damn. That actually made sense.
He dug the palm of his hand harder against the rail, the sting relieving his tension. “I assure you, I don’t usually wander the streets at night seeking to—”
“There is no need to apologize.” She grinned, her cheeks rounding. “I am well aware of your respectability, my lord. Do you think I would have opened my window if I had any doubts as to who you are or did not know of your sterling reputation? Although this may be our very first formal meeting, I know everything about you and your renowned gentlemanly ways.”
He smirked at her adorable naiveté and leaned back, allowing a gloved hand to fall away from the iron railing he remained perched on. “I recommend you not place too much faith in the rumors you hear. I play the role of a gentleman for a reason, and I assure you, it has nothing to do with respectability.”
She tilted her head to one side, observing him intently. “You are utterly fascinating.”
“Am I?”
“Yes. I ardently hope that you and I will be able to pursue this to its fullest extent.”
Tristan’s grip almost slipped. He grabbed hold of the railing with his other hand to quickly balance himself and glanced up at her. Was she …? “The fullest extent? The fullest extent of what?”
She playfully rocked back and forth against the window sill, swaying her hair along with it. “Must I say it? Our neighbors might be listening.”
This was officially getting out of hand. And he was entirely to blame for it. “No. Do not say it. Do not even think it.”
She shifted her weight against the sill, swaying the locket around her throat, and met his gaze. “You obviously think the worst of me.” She sighed. “Though I cannot blame you. Allow me to confess what it is I hope for us.”
“Please do.”
“I am in need of a husband by summer’s end and you, my lord, fit all of the qualifications I seek.”
“Oh, do I?” He let out an exasperated laugh, released the iron railing and jumped back down onto the pavement with a solid thud. It was time to leave. Or by God, he would end up married to a foreigner and a Catholic by the end of the night. His staunchly Protestant grandmother would have a fit.
Stepping further back, he met her shadowed gaze and confided in a low, raw tone, “Here in London, there are rules as to how things are conducted between men and women, and I confess that as of right now, you and I are breaking every single one of those rules.”
She sighed. “You British have rules for everything. How did this country ever populate itself?” She winced, shifting against the sill, and then set her chin. “Advise me as to how we should go about progressing this and I promise to adhere to whatever rules there may or may not be.”
There had to be something wrong with her. Beautiful, intelligent women didn’t miraculously appear in a gentleman’s neighborhood and enthusiastically offer relationships through a window in the middle of the night. Not respectable relationships, anyway.
He’d best pretend to be indifferent until he knew more about her. “I regret to inform you, madam, that I am not interested in pursuing this.” Not yet.
“I disagree.” She gestured toward him with the tip of her brush. “You appear to be very interested. Otherwise you would have never stayed this long.”
He snorted, realizing she’d called his bluff. “Allow me to take my leave before you drown in all that vanity. Good night.” He gave her a curt nod, turned and strode away, telling himself to keep walking. He needed to go home before he did something ludicrous. Like turning around, striding back and asking her if he could come up for the night.
“I am not vain!” she called out. “I was simply making an observation based on your mannerisms!”
He quickened his pace before she figured out anything else based on his mannerisms.
“Might we at least part amiably?” Her voice echoed across the entire square. “We are neighbors, Lord Moreland. Or might I call you Tristan? Or Adam? Or do you prefer Hargrove?”
He jerked to a halt. How the devil did the woman know his entire list of names? Who had she been talking to?
He turned and stalked back toward her, determined to instill a flick of sense and respectability into that head. “Keep your voice down. And for the sake of whatever reputation you may or may not have, do not ever call me or any other man by their birth name. It insinuates far too much. Now, I suggest you retire and that we avoid each other until I say otherwise.”
She looped a