The Perfect Scandal. Delilah Marvelle

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СКАЧАТЬ edged the large wheels closer to the window, until the tip of her slippered foot, which was set upon the padded footrest, was propped against the wall below the sill. Readjusting the embroidered curtains around her, she secured them more firmly together to ensure no candlelight filtered out into the night beyond, to better keep her hidden from the outside world.

      Well satisfied, she snatched up her spyglass from the sill of the window and extended its brass length, determined to stay privy to all the goings-on with her oh-so-dashing British neighbor, the Marquis of Moreland. The one with the mysterious dark eyes and brooding features.

      Although she’d planned to coordinate an introduction between them with the assistance of His Majesty, she was astounded to find him standing beneath her window late one night, observing her in the manner she’d been observing him through her spyglass all along. Lunging at the opportunity to meet him, she discovered he was far more impressive in full size than he was palm size.

      Everything about him, from his appearance, to his prospects, to his respectability, to his political seat, to his wit, intellect, demeanor and even his dialect was perfect. Too perfect. It made him untouchable to a one-legged Polish Catholic such as herself. But no man could be that perfect. He had to be hiding something beneath that cultivated, regal facade. But what?

      Annoyingly, instead of calling on her, as she had invited him to do, his footman had merely delivered a red leather-bound book about British etiquette. It made her wonder if the man was onto her ostentatious scheme. Though it was unlikely. A man only considered a woman to be a threat to his money or his heart. Neither of which she wanted or needed. Wealth she had, and her heart … her heart was already spoken for by something far more important than a man.

      With the delivery of that etiquette book—which she’d tossed after briefly skimming—she was beginning to think he was simply too respectable to crack. Until he’d rounded his coach past her home one afternoon, peering in through all of her windows. That was when she knew he wasn’t as civil minded as he was leading her and the rest of the world to believe.

      A movement on the cobblestone street below made her pause and glance down toward it. Her fingers tightened on the spyglass, the cool brass pressing against her moistened palm, upon seeing a broad-shouldered figure saddled upon a snowy stallion, dressed from head to boot in dark military attire. Lingering beside the lamppost, he was strategically aligned beneath her window.

      Her heart skipped, realizing he’d actually been watching her all along while she had been situating herself. A large military hat shaded his nose and eyes, only revealing the shadowed outline of a strong, shaven jaw. He hesitated, as if wanting to dismount.

      Instead, he swept off his military hat, revealing dark, shoulder-length hair, and inclined his head, gallantly acknowledging her as he pressed his feathered hat to his chest with a large gloved hand.

      She blinked, trying to make out that shadowed face against the dim light of the lamppost, but he had already reaffixed his hat and veered his horse away from her window. Glancing back up at her one last time, he nudged his riding boots into his stallion’s sides and galloped down the cobblestone street, his black riding cloak flapping behind him in the wind. He galloped out of the square, down one of the streets and disappeared from sight.

      Wide-eyed, she leaned forward, pressing the tips of her fingers against the cool pane. Who was he? And why did he acknowledge her with such reverence? It was very odd.

      Instead of being concerned that she and the house were now under military surveillance ordered by the crown, she sensed there was something far more to him. It was as if he’d been lingering in the hopes of glimpsing her. Similar to what Lord Moreland had done.

      She hesitated, then sat back against her wicker chair and rolled her eyes. Glimpse her, indeed. She’d be nothing short of vain to think every man in London ardently longed to linger beneath the window of a one-legged Catholic for a glimpse. Unless it was for amusement purposes.

      She paused. Speaking of amusement purposes—

      Zosia leaned back toward the window and propped up the spyglass to her right eye. She squinted, edging it toward the direction of Lord Moreland’s window, until she could see straight into his candlelit bedchamber. Fortunately, the curtains draping his window were not entirely drawn, allowing her to peer past into a small section of his room. A section displaying a four-poster bed.

      It was a very nice bed, actually. Certainly much nicer than her own. It had a silvery, plush coverlet with an assortment of burgundy and dove-gray pillows piled high against the carved headboard. It made her want to marry the man merely for an opportunity to roll around in it.

      She smirked at the thought. Her cousin Basia, who’d been married for almost a good dozen years, had enthusiastically informed her all about what really went on between a man and a woman. And if she was going to do that with a man, he had better well look as good as Lord Moreland.

      A shadow passed across the lens, and though she tried to follow the movement, it was too quick. The side of the curtain obstructed the rest of the view. She pulled the spyglass away and eyed his window to decipher where she was supposed to point the lens.

      Realigning it, she tried again. A bare, sculpted chest came into view. She fumbled, momentarily losing sight of said broad chest. Her heart thumped as she scrambled to set the telescope back against her eye. She leveled it again, trying to keep it steady.

      Having glimpsed many bare-chested men working in the fields during harvest whilst she and her cousin rode out of Warszawa and into the country, she had learned to appreciate a good chest. And this man had a good chest.

      He turned away, tossing a robe onto the bed, his broad, muscled shoulders shifting. With a few swift movements, he dropped his trousers and undergarments around muscled legs, leaving him gloriously naked.

      Zosia gasped. Only the support of her own chair kept her from toppling over. Whilst she considered giving him his due privacy, ultimately, she decided against it. After all, if she planned on marrying him, she had every right to know what his body looked like.

      The muscles in those long, lean legs and firm backside flexed and rippled like satin as he leaned over and grabbed up his nightshirt. To her disappointment, he never once turned around to present what she was most curious to see.

      The length of his body disappeared in a single sweep beneath a long, white linen nightshirt. He grabbed up a robe that was also on the bed, slid it on and adjusted it into place around his solid frame.

      She’d never thought British men could be as attractive as Polish men. Her cousins were always telling her how stoic and uninteresting the British were. Of course, none of her cousins had ever been to Britain.

      Lowering the spyglass, Zosia slid the brass extension back into its casing and set it on the sill of the window, letting out a breathy sigh. She tugged out the braided chain buried beneath her nightdress and fingered her ruby-studded locket, wondering how she could get him to call on her. Without annoying him.

      A movement made her release her locket as the partially closed curtains she’d been keenly watching were swept wide open. The bright glow of countless candles filtered out, fully displaying Lord Moreland as he casually braced the frame of the window and stared out toward … her.

      Mother in heaven. He was going to think she was obsessed. Her heart pounded as she grabbed hold of the spoked wheels and pushed back. For some reason, her chair resisted movement. Her chest tightened as she glanced down toward each large wooden wheel and realized it wasn’t the two side wheels that were caught, but the small wheel behind her chair. СКАЧАТЬ