Ripe for Scandal by Isobel Carr

flexing her hands, nearly overcome with the urge to smash
     something. She veered toward the fireplace. The Meissen shepherdess on the mantel was perfect for her purposes.
    The sound of her father clearing his throat brought her up short, and she spun about to face him. “Boudicea, sit down,” he
     said, his tone brooking no disobedience.
    Beau threw herself into the window seat, staring resolutely out at the lawn. Her elder brother had fled the moment that her
     parents had arrived. Her sister-in-law was playing least in sight, and her parents were driving her mad. Her mother was planning
     a wedding, while her father was planning a funeral. It had got so bad that the two of them had stopped speaking to each other.
     Beau couldn’t remember her parents ever disagreeing about anything to this extent.
    “I don’t want to hear any more of your stories, my dear. As I’ve already told you, I’ll make up my mind aboutwhat’s to be done when I’ve spoken to Mr. Sandison.” He drummed his fingers on the desk. Beau turned her head to find him
     studying her with a resigned look on his face.
    “Perhaps your mother’s right,” he continued, “and a quick marriage under the aegis of your family would be best. But I want
     you to think—truly think—about whether you really want to tie yourself to such a man. He’s a rake, my dear. And everyone knows
     it. He’s been playing fast and loose with Lady Cook these past few months, and the pair of them have been none too sly about
     it. Think about that. He’s been debauching another man’s wife while seducing you. Is that really the kind of man you want
     to marry?”
    Beau let her breath out in a long sigh. Though her father’s facts were faulty, the sentiment wasn’t. Sandison had been having
     an affair with Lady Cook, and before that it had been Mrs. Langley, and before her, some blond girl from the opera house—one
     could hardly have missed the way they flaunted themselves about Rotten Row. Beau might only have been on the marriage mart
     for a few years, but she could tally at least a score of Gareth’s conquests, and no doubt she’d missed just as many.
    He never stayed loyal to any of them very long. Like a stallion with his harem of mares. Would she be any different? Perhaps
     she was mad to believe so, but she did. Once given, Sandison’s loyalty was steadfast.
    “Would it be indelicate of me to say I don’t care, Papa? Or rather, that I might care, but not so much that I’d rather spend
     the rest of my life in quiet obscurity, paying penance for my supposed sins.”
    “So you really want to marry him?”
    “I do,
a’dhadaidh
,” Beau said, using the Gaelic of her childhood rather than the English
father
.
    “Well then,
mo cridhe
, we’d best hope your brother hasn’t killed him.”
    Gareth reined Monty in and studied Dyrham in the moonlight. The house was quiet. Every window was dark. He was late. He’d
     ridden all night, but it was the morning of the third day. No getting around the fact that he’d failed to meet Leo’s deadline
     by several hours. He only hoped Beau hadn’t been worried that he’d fail her… and that she still wanted him to follow.
    That niggling doubt had been torturing him the entire ride. What might have seemed a good idea under one set of circumstances
     might look very different after a couple days apart, or after her family had had a chance to formulate an alternative.
    Monty’s hooves fell heavily on the gravel of the drive, overly loud in the quiet of the predawn morning. As he rounded the
     house and entered the stable yard, a light appeared in a window, followed by a pale face. Gareth raised a hand in greeting,
     but whoever he’d seen was already gone.
    Perhaps he was wrong about the likelihood of a few hours’ grace and Leo had been waiting to pounce.
    Gareth unsaddled Monty, twisted a handful of hay into a wisp, and rubbed the gelding down. The layer of sweat that Monty had
     built up on their race to