She paced across the chamber, plagued by the memory of the marquess’s delicious kisses. “We are not. Our betrothal is a pretense because of the bee incident.”
“Because Dorset was found beneath your skirts.” Charity flashed a saucy smirk.
Clementine’s cheeks went hot. “He was not beneath my skirts.”
“He was a bit,” Olive countered.
And she was not wrong, which only served to heighten Clementine’s discomfiture.
“Are your ears flushing?” Melanie asked, sounding intrigued.
“Aye, they are,” Raina said. “I thought that was an affliction only redheads suffered from.”
“My ears are not flushing,” she countered, though they did feel as scorching as her cheeks.
A brief stop before the small looking glass in her dressing area confirmed that her ears were as red as her face and neck.
Blast.
“You are positively aflame, Tiny,” Charity offered, rolling onto her back on the bed and hanging her head off the edge.
The effect would have been comical had Clementine not been wallowing in embarrassment. “I cannot speak to you when you are upside down. And be warned, Charity, that eschewing one’s drawers in the summer is inadvisable when walking through a garden populated by an abundance of flowers and bees.”
“But you are speaking to me whilst I am upside down,” Charity argued.
She glared at her friend’s chin. “You know what I mean to say. It is disconcerting, to say the least.”
“Come now, Clementine,” Raina interrupted. “Ye ken Charity is always disconcerting.”
“I shall consider that a compliment,” Charity said, wiggling her fingers in Raina’s direction.
“Enough nonsense, the two of you,” Olive countered. “Clementine is clearly in need of our aid.”
“Yes, she needs to throw over her betrothed who is not truly her betrothed,” Melanie said slyly.
When she put it that way, it did sound rather ludicrous.
“Because Charity persuaded her to gad about in the gardens without her drawers,” Angeline said with a chortle before her countenance turned pensive. “If that is the true means of securing a betrothed, perhaps I shall have to give it a try myself…”
“No, do not,” Clementine advised sternly. “Look at the horrid mess in which I have found myself.”
“Everyone should try it at least once,” Charity said, of no help at all, in her usual fashion. “Our great-grandmothers did not evenweardrawers and they went about in dampened dresses that were transparent. Drawers are a waste of fabric if you ask me. I suspect our great-grandmothers understood they so often get in the way of a bit of fun.”
Clementine did not dare ask her friend what she meant bya bit of fun. Though, much to her shame, the words brought with them forbidden thoughts about the Marquess of Dorset.
All the more reason to put an end to this farce.
“I blame you for finding myself in this untenable position,” she told Charity. “If I had never followed your advice, I would not have gotten stung by that wretched bee, and if I had never been stung by that wretched bee, the Marquess of Dorset would never have had cause to so much aslookat my skirts let aloneliftthem.” A new, furious blush stole over her cheeks as the words left her. “That is not to say that I allowed him to lift them in a suggestive manner, but to aid me. And if we had not been caught in a compromising position, I never would have kissed him.”
And if I never kissed him, I would never have realized how bloody fine a kisser he is.
“Ye ken he is a fine kisser?” Raina asked.
Clementine fought the urge to stomp her foot. “Blast. Did I say that aloud?”
“You did,” her five friends confirmed in unison.
“I am at sixes and sevens,” she confessed. “And Idoknow he is a fine kisser. An exceptional one, in fact. I was alone with him in the gardens last night and I…we…he…”
