Anna Campbell – Regency Rogues and Rakes: Silk is for Seduction / Scandal Wears Satin / Vixen in Velvet / Seven Nights in a Rogue's Bed / A Rake's Midnight Kiss / What a Duke Dares (страница 72)

“Us.”

“My sisters and me.”

“What do you propose? Dressing him to death? Tying him up and making him listen to fashion descriptions?”

“If necessary,” she said. “But pray, don’t trouble yourself about it.”

He stared at her.

“Whatever you do, do not injure, maim, or kill him,” she said, in case she hadn’t made everything perfectly clear. “The right uppercut was excellent. It expressed magnificently a brother’s outrage—”

“Did it, by Jove. You wouldn’t by any chance be composing your eulogy on my sister’s reputation? The one to appear in tomorrow’s Spectacle?”

“If I don’t do it, someone else will,” she said. “Better the devil you know, my lord. Only let me do what I can—and you go out and be all manly and protective of your womenfolk.”

“Ah.” His black eyes widened theatrically. “So that’s what I’m to do.”

“Yes. Can you manage it?”

“With one hand tied behind my back.”

“I beg you to do it the usual way,” she said. “Don’t show off.”

“Right.” He stood looking at her.

“Yes,” she said. “Time to go. Your mother will be getting the news any minute now if she hasn’t already.” She made a shooing motion.

He only stood, still looking at her in a very concentrated way, and she became aware of a heat and hurry within and a feeling of not being entirely clothed.

Oh, for heaven’s sake. Not now.

“You need to go,” she said. She tried to give him a push.

It was like trying to push a brick wall.

She looked up at him.

“That tickles,” he said.

“Go,” she said. “Now.”

He went.

Mere moments earlier, Longmore had been primed for murder.

Now he had all he could do not to laugh.

There Sophy was, in her demure housemaid’s dress, the wide-eyed, stupid look fading when she lost her patience and called him an ox.

Then the darling had grabbed his arm, trying to manhandle him. That was one of the funniest things he’d seen in a long time.

Leave this to us, she’d said.

Not likely, he thought. But if it pleased her to think so, he was happy to please.

In this agreeable state of mind he sought out his mother and sister. Finding them wasn’t difficult. All he needed to do was walk in the direction of the scream.

Only one scream before Lady Warford collected her dignity and swooned.

He arranged as graceful a departure as possible for his mother and sister. He acted all manly and protective, exactly as he’d been told to do.

He’d deal with Adderley later, he promised himself.

And then …

Why, Sophy, of course.

* * *

Warford House

Saturday afternoon

Clara, how could you!” Lady Warford cried, not for the first time. “That bankrupt!”

She lay on the chaise longue of her sitting room, a tray laden with restoratives on the table at her elbow.

Clara had far greater need for restoratives than her mother did. She wished she were a man, and could solve her problems the way men did, by getting drunk and fighting and gaming and whoring.

But she was a lady. She sat straight in her chair and said, “What sort of question is that, Mama? Do you think I humiliated myself on purpose?”

“You did what you ought not to have done on purpose,” Mama said. “Of that I have not the slightest doubt.”

It hadn’t seemed so very wicked at the time. Clara and Lord Adderley had been waltzing, and she’d felt dizzy. Too much champagne, perhaps. Or perhaps he’d steered her into too many turns. Or both. He’d suggested fresh air. And it was a thrill to slip out onto the terrace unnoticed. Then he’d said things, such sweet things, and he’d seemed so passionately in love with her.

And then …

Had she been alone at present, she would have covered her face and wept.

But that’s what Mama always did. She wept and screamed and fainted.

Clara sat straighter, hands folded, and wished she could climb out of the window and go far, far away.

The door opened and Harry came in.

She wanted to leap up and run at him the way she used to do when they were children and she was frightened or brokenhearted about this or that: A robin’s nest on the ground and the eggs broken. A sick puppy. An injured horse put down.

But they weren’t children, and Mama was already using all the hysteria in the room. Harry had enough to cope with.

“There you are, at last!” Mama cried. “You must fight Adderley, Harry. You must kill him.”

“That’s a bit sticky,” he said. “I saw Father as I came in. He told me the blackguard’s offered for Clara.” He walked to Mama and dropped a light kiss on her forehead. He straightened and said, “I should have killed him when I had the chance. But Clara got in the way.”

What choice had she? She’d been afraid Harry would kill Adderley—a man who hadn’t tried to fight back. It would be murder, and Harry would hang or have to run away and live in another country forever—all because she’d been silly.

It seemed more than likely she’d ruined her own life. She wasn’t about to destroy her brother’s as well.

“Mama, if Harry kills Lord Adderley, my reputation will be ruined forever,” Clara said steadily. “The only way to mend this is marriage. Lord Adderley’s offered and I’ve accepted and that is that.”

Harry looked at her. “Is it?”

“Yes,” she said. “Since Mama is too upset to stir, and I’m sure she isn’t ready to go out in public, in any event, I wish you would take me to buy my bride clothes.”

“Bride clothes!” Mama cried. “You think entirely too much about your clothes—and all the world knows too much about them. In my day, young ladies did not make public spectacles of themselves, advertising every stitch they wore. To have your chemisette described—in detail!—in a public journal, as though you were a courtesan or a banker’s wife! You ought to be sick with shame. But nothing shames you. Small wonder you behaved last night like a common trollop. I blame those French milliners. If you set foot in their shop again, I’ll disown you!”

“Gad, what difference does it make?” Harry said. “Unless Adderley meets with a fatal accident, she’ll have to marry him, like it or not. She might as well have some frocks she likes now, since she’s not likely to have many after the wedding.”

“Adderley may take her in her shift,” Mother said. “He’s no better than a fortune hunter, and a vile seducer in the bargain. Oh, that ever I should see this day! A fresh-minted baron—swimming in debt, thanks to the gaming tables—and his mother an Irish innkeeper’s daughter! When I think that she might have had the Duke of Clevedon!”

“I strongly advise you not to think about it,” Harry said. “They’d have made each other wretched.”

“And Adderley will make her happy?” Mama sank back on the pillows and closed her eyes.

“Clara will break him to bridle,” Longmore said. “And if she can’t cure his wild ways, who knows? Maybe he’ll ride into a ditch or get run over by a post chaise, and she’ll be a young widow. Do try to look on the bright side.”

He ought to know this wasn’t the best tack to take with Mama. She wouldn’t know whether he was joking or not, and that would only add irritation to the emotional stew.

Clara took a more effective route. “I wonder what Lady Bartham will say when she hears I’m to be sent away without a trousseau, without so much as a wedding dress,” she said.