Julia London - [Scandalous 02] Read Online Free PDF Page A

then? There is no hangman, is there? My uncle paid you to do this!”
    He laughed. “I assure you, there is no’ enough money in all of Scotland to entice me to this,” he said, gesturing to the two of them.
    “Then why would you agree to a handfasting?” she demanded. “You donna even know my name.”
    “That is no’ true—your name is Elizabeth Drummond Beal, otherwise known as Lizzie,” he said with an incline of his head. “And I did no’ agree to a handfasting, I was coerced just as you were.”
    Lizzie snorted. “Coerced is hardly an appropriate description.” Abducted, kidnapped, and dragged from her house while her horrified sister and servants looked on was more apt.
    “What I can no’ understand,” he continued, “is why Beal would feel the need to handfast you to anyone.You’re a handsome woman, aye? Surely your prospects are no’ so dim.”
    The offhanded compliment inexplicably made Lizzie blush. “’Tis none of your concern,” she said, and abruptly walked around the bed, as far away from him as she could possibly get in this small room, and pretended to examine a painting of an elk hunt.
    “Dimmer prospects than one might imagine, apparently,” he added with a snort.
    “I have prospects.” At least she hoped she still did.
    “Then I take it your uncle Beal does not approve of them.”
    She was not going to have this conversation with this man. She glanced over her shoulder at him. He gave her a slight but cocky smile. “How did he coerce you into this handfasting, milord? Who wants to see you hanged?”
    “ Ach, ” he said, and waved a hand before helping himself to more bread.
    “‘ Ach ?’” she echoed. “That’s all you will say? What have you done, then—murder someone?”
    “The thought has recently crossed my mind, aye, but no, I did no’ murder anyone. I had a…a wee falling out with the Prince of Wales.”
    Lizzie blinked. “The Prince of Wales ?”
    “A trifling matter,” he said with a dismissive flick of his wrist. He lifted his wineglass. “It will resolve itself.” He sipped.
    Lizzie turned round fully now, eyeing him curiously. “I’ve no’ seen you in these parts. Did I err in thinking you a Scot?”
    “Oh, is mise Albannach, ” he said, assuring her he was a Scot. “But I’ve lived many years in London.”
    His Gaelic, she noted, was roughly spoken. Lizzie studied him. He was obviously a man of wealth. He wasdressed in fine clothing, albeit rather rumpled. His boots were the finest leather she’d ever seen. “Perhaps you would have done well to remain in London, milord.”
    He smiled; his fingers toyed absently with the stem of his wineglass. “Perhaps. I think we are too intimate for titles, aye? You may call me Jack.” He flashed a deliberately seductive grin. “That is what all my intimate female acquaintances call me.”
    “The ones who would cause you to be hanged?” she asked sweetly. “Please make no mistake, milord—I am no’ an intimate female acquaintance of yours.”
    “No?” he asked, slowly gaining his feet. “As long as we are locked in this bloody awful room, we might at least consider the possibility.”
    When a man so strongly built and pleasing to the eye uttered those words, the possibility flitted dangerously across Lizzie’s mind. But she abruptly turned her back to him. “I’ll be lying cold in my grave before I’ll consider it.”
    That didn’t stop him; he walked a slow circle around her, studying her from the top of her head to the tips of her boots. “A pity, that.” He spoke low, shifting even closer to her. “I’d think lying cold in one’s grave is no’ as enjoyable as lying warm in one’s bed.”
    Her pulse was beginning to race. “This is a hideous circumstance in which to attempt a seduction.”
    “Seduction?” He straightened up and gave her another smile that left her feeling a little light-headed. “I am not attempting a seduction, I am making an observation. I will have you know