Read Online A Scandalous Countess: A Novel of the Malloren World by Jo Beverley - Free Book Online Page A

think of his corpse.
     
    She looked at the small portrait on her dressing table, which she much preferred. It showed him smiling and in fashionable finery, full of life and the joys it held. She kissed her fingers and touched them to the image, but the glass was as cold as his corpse had been.
     
    She swallowed and stood to survey herself in the long mirror.
     
    “Lud! Perhaps Beaufort and the rest won’t even notice my presence.”
     
    Jane snorted.
     
    Georgia put on her plain black shoes. “It might be pleasant to be ignored, like a ghost at the feast.”
     
    “There’s an odd thought for Lady May,” Jane said.
     
    It was indeed. Georgia took the gray fan Jane offered and turned back to the mirror for a final check, tucking away a curl, smoothing away a crease in the bodice.
     
    Delaying.
     
    “Enough of this dithering,” she said and left the room.
     
    She went downstairs, but when she heard conversation from the Terrace Room, she halted three steps from the bottom.
     
    She forced herself onward, but perdition! Her heart was beating faster than it should. She’d never been afraid like this before. Never. A burst of laughter felt threatening, as if they laughed at her.…
     
    A footman was stationed in the hall, observing her.
     
    To excuse another halt, she asked, “Has Lord Dracy arrived yet?”
     
    “Yes, your ladyship, but I saw him just now go out onto the terrace.”
     
    “Thank you,” Georgia said, meaning it, and turned to go onto the terrace by a different door.
     
    A cowardly move, but she could cloak it in duty. LordDracy was her charge, and it seemed he’d already fled the company. Poor fish out of water. No, a beached tar, like a beached whale.
     
    Rotund, floundering, helpless.
     
    Georgia went through an anteroom and out onto the terrace, but then she paused.
     
    There was only one man on the terrace, a gentleman in brown country clothing who had his back to her. It had to be Lord Dracy, but he was no gouty whale. Broad shoulders, long, strong legs…
     
    But what on earth was he doing?
     
    Dracy had been introduced to the Hernescroft house party and none of the ladies had fainted. Some had been uncomfortable, however, so he’d relieved them of his face by strolling out through open doors onto the terrace. After so much time at sea and in foreign lands, he never tired of the English countryside.
    He walked up to the stone balustrade, amused by the fancy of being on the poop deck of a ship, with a fair sea spread before him and a brisk wind making music in the sails.
     
    Instead of gray waves he was surrounded by the rolling green of a skillfully designed park, and the music came from the twitter and song of birds. English birdsong was a rare treasure.
     
    He inhaled with satisfaction and realized a sweet perfume rose from below. He leaned forward across the wide coping to find the source. Ah, roses and a honeysuckle vine were climbing the wall. But what were the tall, ungainly plants bearing pale flowers?
     
    “I do hope you’re not attempting to put an end to your existence, Lord Dracy.”
     
    He straightened but took his time in turning. If that mellow voice didn’t belong to Circe, he’d be damned disappointed.
     
    It did, and Lady Maybury, a teasing light in herbig blue eyes, was as perfect in the flesh as in the painting, despite a gray dress and a demure cap that hid most of her hair.
     
    In fact, she was even more alluring.
     
    In such a gray frame, she glowed with vitality.
     
    He pulled his wits together and bowed. He almost said, “Lady Maybury,” but remembered in time that she was supposed to be a stranger.
     
    “You have the advantage of me, ma’am.”
     
    She dipped a curtsy. “The Countess of Maybury, my lord, Lord Hernescroft’s daughter. He requested that I take tender care of you, so I fear he’d be most disappointed if you did away with yourself at the terrors of your first social event.”
     
    Heaven help him, a gentle wit, good