When A Lady Misbehaves by Michelle Marcos

Author:Michelle Marcos
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2007-08-13T14:30:00+00:00

PETER NORTHAM FITTED THE ARROW IN his bow, and drew back the bowstring. The arrow sliced through the air, and thudded onto the wooden target, landing somewhere inside an outer ring.

Lady Agatha clapped. “Good shot, Mr. Northam.”

“Thank you, Lady Agatha.” His hazel eyes glowed gratefully.

“I am reluctant to contradict you, Lady Agatha,” said Riley, “but I think it was an appallingly bad shot. In case you didn’t know, Northam, the idea is to get the arrow to land inside the bull’s-eye.”

Northam looked askance at Riley. “All right, old boy. You can’t brag without proving you can do better. Go on, it’s your turn.”

“Very well.” Riley aligned his black Hessian boots on the toeline. He squared his shoulders, lifted his bow, and pulled taut the bowstring. He glanced at the leaves of a nearby tree, gauging the direction and strength of the wind. Closing one eye, he retargeted his arrow, and released.

The arrow whipped through the air and landed a hairs-breadth inside the bull’s-eye.

“Perfect! Well done, Riley!”

Riley beamed, and bowed curtly to Agatha. “There, you see, Northam? That’s how it ought to be done.”

“Hardly.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, old boy, any simple bowhunter can hit a target at this distance. But a skilled archer gets as far as he can from the target. The distance with which an archer can vanquish his enemy is the measure of his ability.”

Riley shook his head. “My friend, the attorney. You always did enjoy the adversarial process more than getting at the truth.”

“Which is?”

“That I’m better than you.”

Northam laughed jovially. “Then truth is relative, old boy.”

From beneath her parasol, Agatha continued to watch them taunt one another. Northam was a handsome man, with an intellectual face and a faultless manner. His sandy hair gleamed in the midday sun like fine gold thread, setting off the caramel-colored coat. He had a casual, friendly air about him, and an easy smile that he offered all too frequently. He would make a fine husband someday.

But not for her.

She looked over at the man who clapped Northam on the back. Her eyes raked down Riley’s form. What a beautiful specimen of manhood. He fairly radiated money, the kind that lasts for generations, like a waterfall that never goes dry. The vines of his social connections entwined around every family of significance in Britain. A man with great influence, and with the power to exert it.

Power. Precisely what sparked her desire for him. She was drawn to strength in a man like a compass needle points true north. And with Riley, that allure was much more potent. His body, his mind, his position—all of them screamed power. She purred to think what a man like that could do for her if she possessed his heart.

If only she had been wise enough to keep it when she had it.

She cast her mind back to the days when he was nothing but a callow youth, all intellect and no experience. To him, she was beautiful, brazen, seductive, and worldly, all the things he found irresistible.

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