Wedded in Scandal

the other stuffy old people. I suggest you go there and leave the younger generation to dress as we wish.”

Robert gaped at the girl, completely flabbergasted. It was bad enough that she had spoken so tartly to him—a peer of the realm. But to call him stuffy? Old? Good God! Thankfully, Mrs. Mortimer intervened before he could find the right words to blast the chit back into her place.

“Yes, well, I believe Lord Redhill’s tastes have been adequately expressed. Come along, my lord. This is a place for ladies. I believe your tea awaits in the front room.”

She grabbed his arm and pulled him along. She could not have budged him if he had not allowed it. But his mind was still grappling with the girl’s words. Had it happened to him? Had he really turned old so young?

He stepped into the front parlor, moving easily to the settee as Mrs. Mortimer directed. Anthony appeared a moment later, the tea set rattling on the tray.

“Thank you, Anthony,” said Mrs. Mortimer as she gracefully removed the tray from his hands before the china shattered. “And in the future, I believe guests should wait in this parlor, not the back workroom.”

Robert looked up to see the young man blush again, his gaze going down to his feet. “Er, yes, mum. It’s just that…er, well…”

“It was raining,” Robert inserted, trying to rescue the man. “And I was rather forceful in pushing my way into the nearest doorway.” He had, in fact, maneuvered exactly to get into the back workroom. He learned much more about a business from the back.

The lady turned to frown at him. “You bullied your way inside my workroom?”

“Er…yes.”

Her eyes narrowed and he had the uncomfortable feeling that he was about to receive a well-deserved dressing-down. It didn’t come…at him. She turned to poor Anthony, and he was stunned to hear how cold her voice became.

“Any number of lawbreakers and miscreants will attempt to push their way into the back. If you cannot stand proof against them, then you are of no use to me.”

As expected, Anthony flushed a dark red, but he was not entirely without a spine. He lifted his chin. “I am an excellent bookkeeper, Mrs. Mortimer. I have served you extremely well in that capacity.”

“Not if you allow anyone to push their way uninvited into my back room. Good God, Anthony, there are ladies there! Clients and their families, not to mention Wendy and myself. Can you imagine what could happen?”

Robert all but rolled his eyes. “Doing it a bit too brown, aren’t you? I hardly think you were in any danger from me.”

“Really?” she drawled as she spun around. “And how would you feel if I pushed my way past your valet to enter your bedroom, my lord?”

It was a poor choice of words, especially since he was thinking how magnificent she looked. Her clothing was perfect, emphasizing her height and her full bosom, but it was the color in her cheeks and the smudge of dirt on her forehead that he found so appealing. She appeared both statuesque and infinitely human. Which made her a woman in his mind, and a very appealing one.

His thoughts must have appeared on his face, because she abruptly glared at him. And that, perversely, made her more attractive to him.

“Very well, my lord. I shall remember that you find it perfectly acceptable for a stranger to bully your staff, enter your library, and rifle through your personal papers at will.”

“That would be most unwise,” he said, his voice dropping at the very idea.

“As it was for you to try the same with my own.”

He arched his brow in outrage, but honesty forced him to keep quiet. That was exactly what he had been trying to do when he went into the workroom. He had wanted to know what sort of woman she was. But all he could manage was a stiff rebuke.

“Anthony was most discreet regarding your personal affairs. And he never left me alone in the back.”

She huffed as she turned to face the boy. “And that, my lord, is the only reason Anthony has not been sacked.”

He could see her words hit the young man, as well they should. In truth, no bookkeeper would stay employed for long if he did not live and breathe the word “discretion.” But he didn’t say that aloud. At least not until after Anthony had bowed stiffly and retreated. And even then, Robert waited while Mrs. Mortimer took her seat and served him tepid tea.

“Not many young men can withstand a peer, you know,” he said gently.

“And I’m sure you were most forceful.” She lifted her chin. “That does not endear you to me.”

Far from being insulted, he was rather amused by the idea. Usually merchants tried to ingratiate themselves with him, not the other way around. He found the difference in her delightful. But that did not mean he had to be nice.

“And I find your manner of dressing women to be deplorable,” he said.

She nodded. “And I agree with Francine. You should dress yourself on Bond Street. Leave the young to those who are young.”

He arched a brow. “Are you calling me old, Mrs. Mortimer?”

“And stuffy.”

“Good Lord, soon you will be offering me a cure for rheumatism.”

She tilted her head. “I believe my mother has one. Would you like me to fetch her?”

He shook his head, startled to find his lips curving into a rueful smile. “I believe I have more than enough women in my life.”

She dipped her chin in agreement, and he noticed that her eyes were sparkling with humor. His mood as well had lightened considerably. Then, contrary woman that she was, she had to go about and destroy his bizarre mood.

“I dress my clients as they wish to be dressed, my lord. Francine needed to see herself as desirable.”

“You will not do that to my sister!” The response was automatic, the words irrational even to his own ears. And the dratted woman wasted no time in pointing that out.

“Your sister is about to be married. She is a woman grown and able to choose for herself how to dress. Obviously, you have no respect for me, but do you have none for your own sister?”

He swallowed. Did he truly have no respect for this woman? “On the contrary,” he said, though the words came stiffly to his lips. “I have respect for your fearlessness. Bold business dealings are the only way for a woman to manage on her own. You impress me with your very survival.”

She set her teacup down without the slightest sound. “I do not know whether to be complimented or insulted.”

“Complimented, Mrs. Mortimer. Definitely complimented.”

She paused, and he could tell she was thinking deeply. A tiny furrow appeared between her brows, which he found unexpectedly charming. “Does that mean you will pay in advance for your sister’s trousseau?”

He released a sharp bark of a laugh. “I have told her that such a practice is ridiculous and demanded only by sharks and thieves.”

“Now I am definitely insulted,” she retorted coldly. Oddly, she did not sound insulted so much as resigned. She had expected his opinion to be as such.

“But I stand by my word. She has been given access to her funds. She will choose how to spend them.”

The woman visibly brightened, and he couldn’t help but feel pleased by the change. “You will not stop her then? You will allow her to come here?”

“It’s not real freedom unless she has the right to make bad choices.”

Her shoulders lowered in relief. She didn’t speak at first, and he became captivated by the slow dawning of humor in her expression. Her brows lifted, her cheeks seemed to gain color, and her lips curved in the slightest of smiles.

“Thank you for your wisdom.”

He blinked, his mind only slowly shifting away from the sight of her lips. “You make me sound like an old cleric sitting on a dais. You know, some women find me quite spry.”

“Some women would find aged Cheddar cheese to be spry.”

He blinked. “Did you just compare me to cheese?”