Her Proper Scoundrel Read Online Free Page A

Oakland too had risen and now, clearly astonished, she stood beside Josceline. “He recently bought a nearby estate and this evening we are introducing him to our neighbors.”
    “I do not,” declared Josceline. “We have met, however.” She scowled, pinning her venom on him. His obstruction had caused her tardiness.
    “No longer captain, I’m afraid. I’ve just resigned my position in the Royal Navy.” Sharrington pulled away from the wall and straightened up. “And as much as I would like to claim acquaintance with the young woman, I am afraid we have not met before. I would not forget someone as enchanting as Lady Woodsby.” A mocking smile hovered over his lips. Prove me wrong, he seemed to say.
    Of course. He denied any knowledge of their earlier encounter. Reason fled at his sardonic manner; anger fueled her tongue.
    “He is lying,” she blurted. “Why, it is thanks to him I am late. He-.” She stopped when she noticed the skeptical faces surrounding her. It was a case of her word against his. If anything, she had only succeeded in making herself appear deranged with her outburst. “I must beg pardon. It appears I am mistaken,” she whispered, feeling the fool. Her knees shook with fatigue. “Is there somewhere I might sit?”
    Lady Oakland took one look at her and waved the others back to the salon.
    “Let us sit here a moment, shall we?” She took Josceline’s arm and showed her to a horsehair armchair beneath the painting Josceline had examined earlier.
    A grateful Josceline took the seat proffered her. “Please do not concern yourself for me. I shall be fine in a few moments. I swear, I was certain I had met Mr. Sharrington before.” She clutched the arms of the chair, the stiff fabric pricking her fingers.
    “An honest mistake.” Lady Oakland patted Josceline’s hand.   “Join us in the salon when you feel ready.”
    At Josceline’s nod, Lady Oakland turned and swept off, disappearing into the salon. Her voice drifted back to Josceline. “Agatha, oh Agatha, do sing more for us.” Notes rippled again from the pianoforte, joined by a strong soprano voice. The tune was not familiar to Josceline and she listened for several moments, welcoming the distraction. The song ended, applause sounded, reminding her of her precarious situation.
    The last thing she felt like was facing the party. Really, the only thing she felt like was finding a bed to fling herself upon and pulling the sheets up over her head. She had no position, she had no means to return to London and she had only succeeded in making herself look a fool with Lord and Lady Oakland with her accusation against one of their guests. They must be appalled.
    Never mind that. The problem was what could she do now? The apparition of her father staggering into the Eversleigh’s ballroom shimmered in her mind. To return home to London to face his ire and an unwanted marriage with Mr. Burrows did not sit well with her.
    But if not that, then what?

     
    * * *

     
    Christopher could not believe the rotten luck.
    Snagging a glass of port from the sideboard, he stalked past the twin sisters, ignoring their high pitched giggles when he inadvertently brushed against their skirts. Damnation, seeing Josceline had rattled him so much he had forgotten their names which meant he couldn’t even mount a proper apology.
    Instead he swept them an exaggerated bow which elicited another round of hysterical giggles. If the two were an example of the women of the upper crust, then he doubted very much the nobility would last beyond another generation or two. Which then raised the interesting question: Why was he trying so hard to ingratiate himself into that very echelon of society? He swirled the maroon liquid around in his glass, looking into it as if he could find the answer there.
    He lowered himself into his seat, slouching against the high back. If he turned his head, he could see Lady Josceline Woodsby sitting beneath that dreadfully pompous