Page 47 of A Scandal for the Beastly Earl

"We can take it hour by hour if you prefer."

"And this hour?"

"This hour, you get dressed, we have breakfast, and we pretend to be a properly married couple."

"As opposed to what we actually are?"

"What we actually are," he said, moving closer, "is a work in progress."

He kissed her, quick but thorough, then walked away before she could respond. She watched him go, admiring the way he moved, the broad set of his shoulders, the way morning light caught in his dark hair.

"My lady?" Jane's voice came from within her chambers. "Your bath is ready."

Arabella entered to find Jane practically vibrating with suppressed excitement.

"Not a word," Arabella warned.

"I wouldn't dream of it, my lady. Though might I suggest the rose morning dress? It brings out your complexion beautifully."

"My complexion?"

"That lovely glow you've developed. Quite becoming."

"Jane!"

"Yes, my lady?"

But the maid's innocent expression fooled no one.

An hour later, properly dressed and attempting to look like she hadn't spent the night doing thoroughly improper things with her husband, Arabella made her way to the morning room. She could hear voices as she approached; Lucien's low rumble and another, higher, feminine laugh that made her stomach clench.

She entered to find her husband standing by the window, tension in every line of his body, while a vision in pale blue silk occupied the settee. Lady Cassandra Velott had arrived.

She was everything Arabella wasn't—tall, willowy, with golden hair arranged in perfect ringlets and a complexion that suggested she'd never done anything as vulgar as falling into a lake. Her dress was clearly London-made, probably cost more than Arabella's entire wardrobe, and she wore it with the confidence of a woman who'd never questioned her place in the world.

"Ah," Cassandra said, rising with fluid grace. "You must be the new Lady Blackthorn. How delightful to finally meet you."

Her tone suggested it was anything but delightful. Her eyes, a cold pale blue, swept over Arabella with an assessment that found her wanting.

"Lady Velott," Arabella said, proud that her voice remained steady. "How unexpected."

"I did write that I would call."

"Yes, yesterday. I hadn't anticipated such... promptness."

"I was in the neighbourhood." Cassandra's smile was sharp as glass. "Staying with the Desclaires. Perhaps you know them?"

She knew perfectly well that the Desclaires were above Arabella's former social circle. It was a deliberate cut, elegantly delivered.

"I haven't had that pleasure," Arabella replied evenly.

"No? How strange. They know everyone worth knowing." Another cut. "But then, you've been rather busy lately, haven't you? Such a whirlwind courtship. Why, surely no more than a week has passed."

"Five days, actually," Arabella said, deciding to own it rather than apologize for it.

"Five days!" Cassandra's laugh tinkled like breaking crystal. "How impulsive. But then, Lucien always did have a weakness for impulsive women."

"Did he?" Arabella looked at her husband, who appeared to be contemplating murder.