The Irresistible Earl. Regina Scott

Allyndale.”

      Chase watched as both women blanched. Mrs. Price went so far as to take a step back, but Miss Price’s hand on her arm kept her from fleeing. Though he knew a few men who would run at the sight of him, he couldn’t recall a time when a lady felt the need to escape.

      And they were certainly ladies. In fact, Mrs. Price reminded him of his late mother—high jutting cheekbones; long aristocratic nose; narrow, elegant frame. But he had never met anyone quite like Meredee Price. She had the thick golden hair and wise gray eyes of a Saxon princess, yet the impressive curves of a heroine in one of Botticelli’s paintings. He could easily imagine her lifting the fragile Phoebe from the waves, or riding into battle against the Norse forces.

      She dropped her gaze, dipped a quick curtsy and spoke in soft tones, with a musical lilt. “An honor to meet you, my lord. But I wish you would not dwell on what happened in the waves. It was truly nothing.”

      The rest of the crowd insisted on her heroism, which only set her cheeks to blushing. Was she truly a shy, retiring creature, then? And why did that so disappoint him? After meeting any number of young society misses while escorting his sister, he’d resigned himself to being surrounded by shy, retiring creatures.

      “Nothing!” Phoebe cried, reaching out to snatch up Meredee’s hand and press it close. “How can you say that! I could not live with myself unless I found a way to thank you properly. You saved my life!”

      Normally Chase would have stepped in to temper his sister’s unbounded enthusiasm, but in this case he rather thought she had the right to it. Despite his efforts to raise his sister, who was twelve years his junior, the girl seemed to invite disaster. He hadn’t been able to see her from where he had waited along the shore, but he’d heard Phoebe’s cries for help and could well believe it had taken Miss Price’s intervention to save his sister.

      “Please allow me to thank you property for your kindness, Miss Price,” he said as the poor lady visibly squirmed in Phoebe’s fervent grip. “We’ve rented a house here in Scarborough for the summer. Perhaps you could join us for dinner tomorrow night, along with your mother, of course.”

      “I am not her mother,” Mrs. Price put in, laying a hand on the woman’s arm and acting as if she would tug her away from Phoebe. “And I think we truly must go.”

      Meredee Price did not seem agitated to find herself the rope in the middle of a tug-of-war contest. “What my stepmother means,” she said calmly, gaze rising to meet his and serving to fix him in his place, “is that we haven’t decided how long we’ll be staying in Scarborough. We may depart this very afternoon. I’ll send word if we’re able to accept your kind invitation.”

      He’d been mistaken. No Saxon princess this, but clearly the queen and just as regal. He inclined his head in acceptance of her dismissal, but Phoebe’s face crumpled. “Oh, but you can’t leave! I just know we’ll be the best of friends!”

      Miss Price’s smile was a gentle quirk of her peach-colored lips. “Then I’m certain our friendship will survive any absence. Good day, Lady Phoebe, my lord.”

      Chase could see the protest building in the stubborn set to Phoebe’s little chin. He refused to allow her to stage a greater scene than she had already done. He took Miss Price’s hand from his sister’s and bowed over it. “Your devoted servant, Miss Price.”

      She curtsied more fully this time, and when she rose he was surprised to see a shadow cross her eyes, like a raven swooping across storm clouds. Although Phoebe and Mrs. Price made their farewells in polite tones, Chase didn’t think it was his imagination that Meredee Price’s grip on her stepmother’s arm was every bit as fevered as Phoebe’s as they hurried up the beach for the shops and houses beyond.

      He only wondered who she was running away from—Phoebe or him.

      Chapter Two

      “What were you thinking?” Mrs. Price lamented as they hurried along the crowded streets that led through the town. “We cannot dine with Lord Allyndale! We daren’t stay in Scarborough another minute! Oh, my poor Algernon—hunted from pillar to post!”

      “Calm yourself,” Meredee said with assurance she was far from feeling. “Lord Allyndale obviously saw no connection between us and the Algernon Whitaker who so offended him.”

      “Well, of course not,” Mrs. Price huffed. “Nor would he have noticed us if you hadn’t made a spectacle of yourself!”

      Meredee bit back a retort. Angry words would do none of them any good now. She had only been trying to help. And even if she had known the girl was the sister of Algernon’s sworn enemy, she wouldn’t have let Lady Phoebe struggle. She’d never been able to overlook the pain or fear of others; it was in her very nature to offer help when it was needed.

      “Be that as it may,” she said, leading her stepmother past the shops overflowing with bright fabrics, exotic scents and fine literature, “we have been discovered. We have only to explain the situation to Algernon, and I’m certain he’ll see the wisdom of escaping.”

      Mrs. Price nodded and said no more, as if she needed her breath to climb the remaining way up the hill to the Bell Inn, where they had taken rooms. Meredee was just as glad for her silence. She could not stop thinking about their meeting with Lord Allyndale.

      When Algernon had confided to her a fortnight ago in their London town house that he feared Allyndale would challenge him to a duel, the man he’d described had been a monster. “He’s completely unreasonable,” he’d fretted, pacing about the yellow silk–draped bedchamber that had been hers since she had finished her schooling. “There’s no use talking to him or begging his pardon. If he issues a challenge, I’m a dead man.”

      “But the magistrates,” she’d protested from her four-poster bed where he’d found her that night. “Surely you could go to them, explain the situation. Dueling is against the law.”

      Algernon smiled at her as if he envied her her innocence. “Dueling may be against the law, but the magistrates will turn deaf as soon as they hear who’s involved. Allyndale is too powerful. Word at White’s is that he’s already forced one fellow to flee for the Continent.”

      “But why?” Meredee asked, fisting her bedclothes, never doubting the word of those who thronged Lon don’s most famous gentlemen’s club. “Why would he seek your ruin?”

      “It doesn’t matter,” her stepbrother had replied, pausing in his pacing to meet her gaze. His deep blue eyes had been mirrors of despair. “He has taken me in dislike, and he will not rest until he’s made my life hell.”

      Meredee shivered, remembering. Lord Allyndale was obviously a man who toyed with the lives of others just for the thrill of power. She could not allow Algernon to fall into his clutches. She’d proposed the plan to flee and the place to hide, sure that the earl would soon find someone else to torment. Yet here he was, on their very doorstep!

      She had to admit she was a bit disappointed.

      She’d expected eyes that flashed with dark intentions, a face slack with dissipation, a body gross with indulgence. But Lord Allyndale was well-formed, with broad shoulders that filled his tailored coat and long legs that showed well in chamois breeches. Her father had always said that evil could hide behind a winsome smile, but she still thought some trace should be visible, if only to warn away those with the insight to look for it.

      She had looked today, but she could not see the creature Algernon feared. Lord Allyndale’s smile held a pride and love for his sister; the way his arm draped around her shoulders spoke of a desire to protect her. And the way he’d gazed into Meredee’s eyes—so sure, so deep—why it had nearly taken her breath away.

      Had she mistaken the name Algernon had uttered with such despair? Or could her stepbrother have misunderstood the earl’s intentions?

      When they reached the inn and sought out her stepbrother, she wasn’t surprised to find him still in the little whitewashed bedchamber