Read Online Amanda Scott by Lady Escapade - Free Book Online

accused me of more. And why is flirting so dreadful? Men do more—certainly you have done more—and no one so much as lifts an eyebrow in disapprobation.”
    “ I’ve done more?” They were glaring at each other now, standing on opposite sides of the floral carpet, Diana near the bed and Simon still near the door. He took a step toward her. “Just what the devil do you mean by that remark?” he demanded.
    “You know perfectly well what I mean,” she told him recklessly. “Why, if the streets of London are not littered with your cast-off women, then the road to Paris certainly is!”
    He had taken another step even as she spoke, but he paused now, regarding her with astonishment. “Where on earth did you come by such a crazy notion? Diana, you cannot possibly believe that nonsense.”
    She didn’t. Not really. But she wanted to hear him deny the accusation. “Why should I not believe such stuff, sir? You certainly had a reputation for charm before we were married, and I have seen the way too many women look at you even now, as though they know you intimately. And your behavior, let me tell you, does nothing to put them off.”
    “You’re all about in your head. I haven’t so much as looked at another woman since I met you. You’re imagining things.”
    “Rubbish, sir. You flirt constantly, and you know it.” But she was reassured, and a warm glow filled her. She knew he meant the words he spoke, that he honestly believed them. His flirtations were as natural to him as breathing. But if it annoyed him to watch her flirt, then he must learn to recognize the fault in himself. Still, she was sorry when he turned from her to light the ready-laid fire in the little fireplace. She had seen the glint of anger in his eyes and knew he had no liking at all for this particular argument.
    Suddenly, watching him as he knelt down upon one knee setting a taper from the chimneypiece to the paper in the fireplace, she felt tired, lonely, and a little sad. Simon looked worn to the bone. His very posture spoke volumes. She moved to stand beside him, resting her hand first upon the soft bronze hair and then upon his shoulder.
    “Simon,” she said quietly, “I’m sorry, my lord.”
    “We could deal together better than this, sweetheart.” Flames burst forth in the fireplace just then, consuming paper and small kindling, gaining energy to attack the logs above. Simon turned his head to look up at her. “What say we call a truce in this war of ours?”
    She knelt beside him, her hand moving from his shoulder down the lapel of his jacket and then to the buttons of his waistcoat. Playing with the top button, she murmured, “It was just too much, you know, to think you would believe such a thing of me as that I would betray you with your own brother.”
    He caught her small hand in his and gave it a hard squeeze. “I may have exaggerated my beliefs, sweetheart, in the heat of the moment.”
    Though his words could scarcely be construed as an apology, she knew they would have to do. He was unlikely to say more. So when he pulled her to her feet and guided her toward the bed, she made no objection, merely giving her thoughts up to anticipation of what was to come. One aspect at least of their marriage brought her nothing but delight. When Simon held her in his arms, she could forget the other, more distressing aspects, and when he was not by to hold her, her bed seemed much too large for one small person.
    Now, as he helped her to take off her dress, then moved to rid himself of his own clothing, she watched him in the light from the flickering fire and the glow of candles on the dressing table and chimneypiece. The muscles in his back rippled as he pulled off his shirt, tossing it onto a nearby chair. His boots presented a slight problem since he was not accustomed to removing them by himself, but she helped, and between them, they managed to pull them off without doing more than smudging their glossy surface.
    Simon chuckled