“There is no need to flush and look so guilty,” her sister teased quietly. “I did not say which book you want to borrow.”
Her cheeks went hotter still. “You know very well which book.”
Christabella was undeniably the wildest of the Winter sisters. Everything about her was bold, from her brilliant red hair to her manner. And so, it had surprised none of the Winter sisters one whit that it was Christabella who had been able to secure a set of books containing forbidden words and engravings.
Naughty, carnal depictions of men and women, to be specific. One of the words she had seen printed in the book returned to her then.
Coitus.
If their protective older brother Dev ever found out his sisters had procured such sinful literature, he would be furious. Which was why they had sworn one another to secrecy.
“Thebook?” Pru, the eldest of the Winter sisters, asked.
Of all the books Christabella had in her possession, there was one which was the most shockingly descriptive. One that had put them all to blush. One Grace had vowed she would never open again.
“Yes,” Grace hissed, glaring at Pru. “Thebook.”
“I thought you said you had no wish to read it,” Christabella countered slyly. “I believe you called it rubbish.”
“I called it nonsense,” she argued, gritting her teeth. Of course, she ought to have known her sisters would not allow her to simply obtain the book with ease. “But the manner in which I referred to it matters not now. All that does matter is my necessity to borrow it.”
“Why should you wish to borrow it?” Pru asked, her tone shrewd.
Pru always saw straight through to the marrow of them all. It was one of her gifts.
“I…” she stumbled about and then paused, searching for the proper phrasing. “Oh, very well. I require distraction.”
“But I thought you said it was vile,” Christabella said. “The sort of filth you would never deign to read again.”
“Do hush,” Grace grumbled.
“You called it offensive,” Pru added. “The writings of a small mind. I believe you said it ought to be pitched into the ash heap.”
It was true, Grace had been shocked by the words and images contained in the book. It was also true she had been curious about what those pages contained ever since she had ridiculed the book in question. For some reason, ever since Viscount Aylesford had begun paying her such marked attention over the course of this cursed house party, she had been thinking of the book more and more.
“I have changed my mind,” she gritted. “I wish to borrow it. A day or two ought to be sufficient.”
Yes, one day to remove all traces of Viscount Aylesford’s handsome face from her mind. Two at the most. What she was experiencing was natural. An urge as simple as hunger. She would feed her curiosity using the book, and the impulse would be satisfied.
“What has changed your mind?” Christabella asked next.
“Nothing,” she lied.
“It would not be Lord Aylesford, would it?” Pru whispered.
Drat the man.
“No,” she fibbed a second time. “Of course, it is not.”
“You did make a striking couple when you danced at the ball,” Christabella mused. “And he is a rake.”
Her sister sighed, for Christabella was of the mind that there was nothing more delightful than a rake. She had her heart set upon marrying one. Grace could not fathom why.
“Stop speaking about him,” she ordered her sisters, all too aware of their audience and the carrying potential for their voices, even in a drawing room as massive as the one here at Abingdon House.
“She doth protest too much,” quipped Christabella.
“Silence,” she ordered her sister on another glare.
