The Scandals Of An Innocent

were more suited to a farmer’s daughter than a leisured heiress. “I know you mentioned that you would call, but the weather is so bad I assumed you would not come.”

Miles laughed. “You must think me a poor fellow to be put off by a bit of snow when you are at the end of the journey, Miss Lister,” he said. “After our encounter yesterday I was anxious to see you again.”

Alice bit her lip. She did not want to start thinking about that encounter again. She had only just stopped thinking about it.

“I fear that we are not receiving visitors as Mama is indisposed,” she began, stopping as she caught sight of her reflection in the hall mirror. There was a large smear of flour on her cheek. She gasped, her fingers flying to cover it even as she saw Miles laughing at her.

“It becomes you vastly,” he said, but there was an intent look in his eyes that brought the color flaming into Alice’s cheeks.

“I was making a plum pie,” she said. “If you will excuse me, my lord, I think it best for you to leave for now. Perhaps we might meet this evening, in company-”

“I am sorry to hear of your mother’s indisposition,” Miles said, ignoring her blatant attempts to get rid of him, “but perhaps she might agree to your joining me for a short drive? The snow has stopped and the Row looks very pretty. I would ensure you were wrapped up against the cold,” he added. “You would take no chill, I promise you.”

Alice felt even more flustered now. There was something ridiculously seductive about Miles offering to wrap her up and take care of her. She wiped the palms of her hands down her apron.

“I don’t think-” she began, but stopped as Miles laid one palm against her cheek where the flour still dusted her skin.

“Don’t think,” he said softly. “Come with me.”

Alice closed her eyes. Her skin tingled beneath his fingers.

Come with me…

How easily he could make her forget that he was an unprincipled scoundrel. This unexpected sweetness between them felt like a true courtship rather than the coercion it was.

“I know you do not have to ask-you have the means to command what you are requesting,” she said, angry that with no more than a smile and a touch, Miles could seduce her into liking him.

Her words were sharp and she saw the smiling light die in Miles’s hazel eyes and the coldness return in its place.

“Then you had best go and fetch your cloak and not oppose me,” he said, harshly now. Their gazes clashed and Miles raised his brows. “Why do you wait? As you have reminded me, I can demand whatever I want of you, Miss Lister.”

Feeling a little sick, Alice hurried up the stairs well aware that Miles’s gaze followed her. She felt tense and tired all of a sudden. Just for a moment it had felt as though there was something so tender between them that it had made her tremble, but it had been just another illusion.

Slipping into her mother’s room, she found Mrs. Lister propped against her pillows and deeply engrossed in her book with her lapdog, Bertie, curled up beside her in his knitted jacket that bore the Lister coat of arms.

“Mama, Lord Vickery is here,” she began. “He asks permission to take me for a short drive on Fortune’s Row. The snow has ceased now but I am not sure that it is a very good idea to go with him.”

Mrs. Lister looked startled. “Lord Vickery has come all this way from Drum in the snow to see you, Alice?” Her face broke into a smile. “What devotion!”

“To my money,” Alice murmured, determined to remind her mama that Miles’s reasons for seeking her out were scarcely disinterested.

“Hmm,” Mrs. Lister said. She reached for her empty teacup. “The leaves show me an anchor, which means constancy. Yes, by all means go, my love.”

“Constancy indeed,” Alice said. “A constant interest in saving his own skin. Are you sure I should go, Mama? You are my chaperone and as you are indisposed I would be alone with Lord Vickery, which is most improper-”

“Lord Vickery does not want me there, Alice,” her mother said in tones of one addressing a small, stupid child. “Really, my love, have some sense! It would be the greatest drawback to Lord Vickery’s courtship if I were to accompany you.” She looked at Alice over the top of her book. “You might think about showing him some kindness, too, Alice, whilst we are on the subject.”

“Kindness?” Alice said. “Whatever do you mean, Mama?”

A flicker of irritation crossed Mrs. Lister’s face at having to spell matters out further. “Lord Vickery is a man of somewhat…ardent…emotions,” she said. “He will probably find it difficult to wait the three months or more until you are wed, my dear. That is what I mean by kindness. If you are discreet…” She let the sentence hang suggestively and looked at Alice, her eyes bright, brows arched.

“You mean that he is a rake,” Alice said, sitting down heavily on the edge of her mother’s bed and feeling quite scandalized at what Mrs. Lister was advocating, “and you think he will stray if I do not allow him to sleep with me.”

Mrs. Lister gave a little shriek. “You can be so distressingly blunt, my love! What I meant was-”

“That he is a rake and that he will stray if I do not sleep with him,” Alice repeated. “But if he does stray then he will forfeit my fortune under the terms of Lady Membury’s will, won’t he, Mama?” She traced a pattern on the bedspread with her fingertips. “Lord Vickery is trapped. He will have to try to exercise some restraint in his intimate affairs-for a change.”

As she slipped on the promenade gown that Marigold had wanted to lay out for her earlier, Alice reflected that it would probably be too much to expect her mama to behave as a chaperone ought, for Mrs. Lister was so desperate to see the match made and her daughter a marchioness that if Miles suggested an elopement she would probably pack Alice’s bag herself. Shaking her head in resignation, Alice tied her hair back with a ribbon and bundled it up under her bonnet, grabbed a thick pelisse and put on her sturdiest boots. She hoped Miles’s horses had not taken cold standing out in the snow. Actually when she came to think of it she was surprised that he had any horses, and when she saw the curricle, all gleaming silver and green with fine chestnuts at the head, she was more surprised still.

“Mr. Haven at the livery stables has loaned it to me against my expectations,” Miles said, handing her up into the carriage, “so I have you to thank for this, Miss Lister.” He gave her a mocking look. “You see how my betrothal to you materially benefits me.”

The groom came forward with a hot brick for Alice’s feet, and Miles wrapped a warm woolen blanket about her. Alice was relieved to see that there was a groom to chaperone them-until Miles dismissed him a second later.

“Thank you, Chester,” he said. “You may go into the village for an hour or so if you wish.”

“My lord,” the groom said, raising a hand in salute and whistling as he strode away down the drive.

“So you are already borrowing against my fortune,” Alice said coolly, as Miles swung himself up beside her and took the reins.

Miles shot her a smile. “That’s right, Miss Lister,” he said. “I am.”

Hmm, Alice thought. Miles did not appear to be having much trouble with telling the unvarnished truth. Perhaps it sprang from having no shame.

“I thought,” she said, “that the idea was to use my money to pay off your debts rather than use the promise of it to incur more.”

“Not at all,” Miles said. “The skill is in managing one’s credit.” He looked at her. “I shall always be living on tick, Miss Lister. Not even eighty thousand pounds will see me clear of debt.”

It was unwelcome news to Alice. If Miles succeeded in meeting the terms of the will and she was obliged to marry him, they would be forever living in debt. She had never been in such a situation even when she had only her servant’s wages to manage upon, and she did not care for it at all. The imprudent, extravagant style of the aristocracy was totally deplorable to her.

She sighed, pressing her gloved hands together within the thick fur of her muff. The snow had stopped and a pale sun was peeping through the clouds but the air was still cold and heavy. The curricle had turned out onto the lane and was rolling gently along toward the center of the village. The road had been swept clear of snow, and as they reached the main square, Miles turned the curricle onto Fortune Row. This was a miniature version of Rotten Row, and Alice and Lizzie had often laughed at Sir Montague Fortune’s delusions of grandeur that had led him to