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book, How To Avoid A Scandal.

      “Ladies do not huff out breaths.” Mrs. Lambert’s brown eyes pinned her with an agitated stare.

      “Yes, Mrs. Lambert.” Setting her chin, Victoria held her open book up with the refined poise expected of her. She didn’t understand why she was being forced to tolerate the teachings of an etiquette book in preparation for her coming out, which was still a whole seven months away. Not seven days away.

      She read the very first page:

      Whether or not a lady possesses excellent character, astounding wealth, esteemed rank, or is simply a mere Miss with nothing more than a face and a figure to recommend her to the world, society will still demand the same of each and every woman: perfection. If this appears too daunting, this author can assure you it most certainly is. Society is a ruthless creature expecting perfection in everything a woman does, yet it rarely applies those same expectations toward men. This manipulated form of prejudice creates an unfortunate imbalance that allows men to deviate in ways that put women at a disadvantage. This disadvantage is what ultimately compelled me to offer an array of words in an attempt to rescue and retain a sensibility in a woman. There is only one reason as to why a lady should read this book, and that is to prevent her from becoming a flapping fish upon a hook.

      Victoria wrinkled her nose. Why did she suddenly feel intimidated by the very idea of being a woman?

      Several male voices floated down the corridor, followed by heavy booted steps thudding in her direction.

      A high-pitched bark echoed within the house.

      Victoria’s heart leapt. She slapped her book shut, setting it on the arm of her chair, and jumped to her feet in disbelief. “Flint?”

      Mrs. Lambert closed her own book and sighed.

      Standing in the doorway of the library, wearing a wool greatcoat, was Remington. His silken black hair was windblown and scattered and his boots well muddied as he gripped a very wide-eyed, mud-matted and exasperated Flint. Flint barked again, excitedly squirming his tiny, tawny furred body in an effort to be released.

      Remington’s bright-blue eyes met hers. “I found him in an overturned barrel on the other side of the field. Do you still want him? Or shall I toss him back outside?”

      Victoria grinned, but otherwise couldn’t move. She was simply too mesmerized by Remington to even think. He really was divine. In so many ways.

      Her father, somewhat out of breath, staggered in behind Remington, his lopsided cravat unraveling. He shook his unkempt blond-gray head, stern dark green eyes flicking toward her. “You need to ensure the servants don’t let that dog out again without a leash. I’m tired of tending to your responsibilities at every turn. If you can’t oversee the needs of one goddamn dog, then you can’t keep him.”

      Her grin faded. Since the passing of her mother, there were times she barely recognized him anymore.

      “There is no need for such harsh words, my lord. She is undeserving of them.” Remington quickly bent and set Flint onto the floor.

      Flint sprinted toward her, his nails clicking against the wood floors as he dripped and flung mud. Mrs. Lambert squeaked in protest and scrambled back toward the chair she’d risen from, gathering her morning skirts to keep them away.

      Victoria dropped to her knees and didn’t care that Flint’s muddy paws climbed up onto the folds of her new lilac gown. She reveled in the cold, muddy kisses that drenched her entire face. “Flint,” she breathed down at him, ruffling the damp, dirty fur around his head. “You aren’t nearly as witless as you lead everyone to believe. You survived a storm all on your own, didn’t you? Yes. Yes, you did. You even found a barrel to hide in. I am so proud of you. And Victor would be, too.”

      She squeezed Flint tightly against herself, causing him to yelp. He ducked and scampered back out of the room, no doubt in search of a meal from the kitchen.

      Her father sighed and met her gaze pleadingly. “It appears Remington is more of a gentleman than I. I should have never spoken to you with such vile impatience. ‘Tis unforgivable.”

      Victoria smiled, feeling at peace with her father once again. “There is no need to apologize, Papa. Flint is my responsibility. Not yours.”

      “Good. I am pleased to hear we understand each other. Now go. Carry on with your lessons. I will visit with you once the rest of our guests depart. Perhaps a bit of chess?” Her father smiled, turned and disappeared from the library.

      Victoria glanced toward Remington, who continued to linger in the entryway, and rose to her feet, smoothing her skirts. “Thank you.” He always had an amazing way of making everything right.

      A grin ruffled his lips, causing his shaven cheek to dimple. “I told you the ring was of merit.”

      How could she not adore this man when all he continued to do was try to get her to adore him? Aside from valiantly coming to her defense, he’d also tramped through muddy fields all morning. Not even Grayson, drat him, had been willing to look for Flint, and her father had only gone out into the fields because Remington did.

      She glanced over at Mrs. Lambert, who had turned away to gather a set of books for their upcoming lessons. She needed to return the ring. She had kept it on her finger long enough.

      Victoria darted across the length of the room, toward Remington. Halting before him, she slid the ring from her finger and held it out with a mud-crusted hand. “I believe the magic lies not in this ring, but in its master. I bid you a glorious journey and promise to write if you promise to return in time for my debut.” She smirked. “I will need someone to vie for me. You may be the only one.”

      His grin faded. He observed her for a solemn moment. Glancing toward Mrs. Lambert, he whispered hoarsely, “Put it back on your finger. Please. We are done playing games. I will see you upon my return.”

      She blinked up at him. He wasn’t … was he?

      He jerked a mud-streaked thumb toward the corridor behind them. “I leave for Portsmouth in an hour and from there to Venice. Grayson knows where I’ll be staying. Retrieve the address from him.” He lowered his voice, his lean face flushing as he now seemed to almost mouth the words, “I will compete for your hand upon my return, let there be no doubt. I only hope you won’t already be spoken for because after last night, I …” He glanced toward Mrs. Lambert and winced. “I should go.” He offered a quick bow of his head, turned and disappeared.

      Her eyes widened as she glanced at the ring still pinched between her fingers. He really did intend to vie for her hand. Heavens above. This wasn’t a mere wayside fancy, was it? He really did harbor an affection for her. One she had sensed all along and yet one she had refused to acknowledge for fear it would be a farce and lead to something beyond her control as a respectable lady.

      But it had already fallen beyond her control, hadn’t it? She had kissed him. Willingly. She had taken his ring and whispered to it because he told her to. Willingly. Although she had fought her adoration for him since their very first exchange of words, deep inside she knew she couldn’t fight it anymore. She had to assure him that she felt the same. Before he—

      She frantically shoved the ring onto her finger and rushed out of the library. Her gown rustled around her slippered feet as she dashed after him down the corridor. “Remington?”

      He paused and swung back toward her, his blue eyes capturing hers. “Yes?”

      She came to an abrupt halt before him. Lingering, she wrung her hands. “I—”

      “Lady Victoria!” Mrs. Lambert shrilled from the library. “Wherever have you gone to now?”

      Victoria cringed, knowing she didn’t have much time. “I will write the first letter. I will also ensure Mrs. Davidson sends a few of her Banbury cakes to you in Venice. Would you like that?”

      “You honor me.” Grabbing her hand with cool fingers, he brought it to his lips and kissed the ruby she had placed on her fourth

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