Baron of Blasphemy (Lords of Scandal 12)

greement and I’d like for my sister, your wife, to join this conversation, if you please.” Then she found the chair she’d originally been sitting in and serenely took a seat, spreading her skirts about her as she drew in a long breath in an exaggerated show of patience.

Bash’s face went pale and he muttered something about Carrington women being too smart for their own good before he crossed the room and pulled the bell cord near the door.

Abigail smirked. She may have bested Bash after all.

But then Blasphemy took the seat next to her. He did not sit like a gentleman ought. Rather, he lounged back, his legs spread wide, one ankle coming to the other knee and as he laced his fingers behind his head. “Cad,” she whispered, looking away so as not to be caught staring. She wouldn’t want him to think she approved of such a casual display even though he did look rather handsome in that animalistic sort of way.

“Princess,” he muttered back, and she sniffed with disdain.

A servant arrived and Bash chose to step just outside the room to speak to the man. Abigail narrowed her gaze trying to decide what her brother-in-law was about when her musings were interrupted.

“We’re alone,” Blasphemy said, leaning closer. “Shall I kiss you?”

She clucked her tongue, leaning away. “Gads, no. Ick.” But she did look at his mouth for the barest second, noting that his lips were rather pleasant. Not full but not thin either, just right.

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. I make no bones about the fact that I’ve been a rake, but it does present certain advantages to you, and I thought you might like a display of one of them.”

She choked a bit as words failed her. “You want to make an asset of that fact that you’ve…” She had no idea how to politely refer to his promiscuity.

“Had my share of women?” He cocked a brow as he returned to leaning back.

She raised a finger, this time leaning closer. “Just because I am young, does not mean I am a fool. I know what is implied here but not said. You’ve had your fair share of women and you will continue to do so after you’ve pilfered all my money and had your share of me.”

His hands dropped and his eyes widened. Her barb had hit its mark. “I…” he swallowed, not finishing.

She leaned forward then, her fingers resting on the arm of his chair. “I am not going to play your fool.” She leaned even closer, her eyes narrowing. “Keep your lips and your hands to yourself.”

Bash chose that moment to enter the room, though he stopped in the threshold. “What did I miss?”

“Not a thing,” Abigail replied, slapping an overly bright smile on her lips. Bash wasn’t the only one who could use a false smile to dress up bad news. “I was just explaining to Blasphemy that he has no license to touch me.”

“That name is hardly appropriate for you—”

“I agree.” She looked back at him, gripping on the arm of his chair. “It’s a dreadful name, crass and gauche. But as you use it almost everywhere, I assumed it was your preferred address.”

“Your tongue is far too sharp,” he said, sitting straighter.

Abigail looked away. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard that criticism. It was bandied about often. Her sisters also liked to claim that she’d been the favorite of her father and therefore got her way. It had been her only weapon as a child to defend herself against their bossiness where they were all bigger and louder than her.

But here and now, she’d wield her advantage without remorse. “You likely shouldn’t marry me then. I’ll only make you miserable.”

Rather than looking offended or even irritated, a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. The man was not supposed to be amused. This was not part of the plan at all.

Bash still stood in the doorway, blocking the entrance to the room. “Bash.”

Abigail heard her sister speak from behind her husband.

She stood quickly and called out to Isabella. “You must help me, dear sister. They are attempting to sell me off like a piece of furniture.”

Bash groaned even as he moved to the side to allow his wife in.

Isabella entered the room and glared at Abigail, until her eyes landed on Blasphemy. Then they widened. As her gaze snapped back to her husband’s, her arms crossed, and her eyes narrowed into slits.

Abigail returned to her seat. She spread her skirts out once again, humming in satisfaction. Was having bossy older sisters a problem? Not today it wasn’t.

Bash was in trouble now.

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