The Scandal in Kissing an Heir Read Online Free PDF Page A

expected.
    “I hope you don’t think me presumptuous,” Brekenbridge said when next he stepped toward her, “but I must ask if you’re spoken for. You see, I . . . well, the thing of it is—”
    “No, my lord, I am not,” Rebecca said, rushing to his aid.
    Relief flooded the viscount’s features. “Well then, perhaps you would be so good as to introduce me to your father later. I assume he’s in attendance this evening?” he asked. “I would be very pleased to make his acquaintance—your mother’s too of course.”
    With her hand upon his, Rebecca followed his lead as they turned about in the middle of the dance floor, crisscrossing between other couples as they did so. “I live with my aunt and uncle, my lord. You see, my parents passed away some years ago.”
    A pained expression settled in Brekenbridge’s eyes. “My apologies, Lady Nuit . . .”
    “It’s quite all right,” she said, hoping to calm his distress. “As I said, it was not recent.”
    They parted ways again, and as they stood apart, she realized she wouldn’t be able to lie to him as easily as she had to Mr. Neville and Lord Starkly—not if he was to court her. For that, he’d have to know where she lived. She steeled herself, a bit wary of revealing her true identity to someone. She had little choice but to trust her instinct though, and instinct told her that he was not the sort of man who would abandon her once he knew the truth.
    “Are your intentions toward me . . .” she began, speaking in a hushed tone when they approached each other once more, her gown swishing about her legs as they twirled around. Now was not the time to lose one’s nerve. “That is to say . . . I was wondering if you were inquiring about my parents because you were interested in calling on me.”
    “Rest assured, Lady Nuit, I am most keen to further our acquaintance, if that is what you also desire.”
    She gave a little nod, took a deep, fortifying breath and said, “In that case, there is something that I must tell you. You see—” She was given no chance to make her confession, however, as the music faded and the dance came to an end. Having bowed and curtsied, Rebecca was just about to suggest they take a turn about the room so they could continue their conversation when Mr. Neville stepped in front of them, blocking their way. “Brekenbridge,” he said, though his eyes remained on Rebecca. “Always a pleasure.”
    “Likewise,” Brekenbridge said politely.
    Mr. Neville finally turned his gaze on Brekenbridge. “If you don’t mind, I do believe the lady has promised me the next dance.”
    An endless string of curses streamed through Rebecca’s mind at that moment. Why, the arrogant nerve of the man! Here she was, trying her best to secure a match for herself with a real gentleman, and this . . . this libertine had the gall to try and stake his claim with a lie. The rudeness of it was infuriating. If only Brekenbridge would think of an excuse—something (anything at all) that might prevent her from having to leave his side and dance with Mr. Neville. But of course that was unthinkable. Brekenbridge was far too well mannered to oppose any man who’d claimed a dance. “Of course,” he said as he disengaged his arm from Rebecca’s. Turning to face her, he offered her another bow. “Perhaps we can talk later, my lady? There is a great deal I’d like to discuss with you.” Brekenbridge’s eyes held hers, offering hope. His meaning was clear.
    Rebecca smiled at him and nodded. “I will look forward to it, my lord.” And then the moment was over and she was being led away toward the dance floor by Mr. Neville, acutely (and annoyingly) aware of the firm, masculine confidence he exuded. She would not allow her body to respond to his, to how sturdy he felt at her side, the tantalizing scent of him—sandalwood again—and the heat that entered her hand at the point of contact. Heavens! She felt well and truly flushed.
    No, she