No, even John wouldn’t push the boundaries of decency that far. He handed his jacket to the modiste. “I’m afraid Miss Courtney is right. Forget the soap. Do you have any pure alcohol and vinegar?”
“I can get some.” A line creased the woman’s forehead. “But what will I do with it?”
“Mix a solution of equal parts of the liquids and apply it to the ink. Let it rest for several minutes, then pour salt over the stain.”
“Salt?” both Netta and the modiste asked.
“Yes. That white granular mineral that preserves food and improves its flavor.” John sighed. The stain was setting on his lovely jacket as they spoke and the women wanted to question his every directive. “Allow it to rest for another ten minutes and then scrub the stain with a soft brush and rinse with hot water. The ink should dissolve.”
The modiste looked from him to the jacket. She shrugged. “It will do no harm to try.” She turned to her assistant. “Fetch the items the earl mentioned and meet me in the back room. Monsieur,” she said to John, “if this doesn’t work, I will…” She swallowed. “I will of course compensate you.”
He waved his hand. “We’ll worry about that later. Attempt the alcohol and vinegar solution first.”
The woman nodded and hurried from the room, her seamstress two steps behind.
Netta stepped out of the yellow dress and picked her own gown off the floor. She lifted it over her head. “Alcohol and vinegar to clean ink stains?” Her question was muted through the fabric until her head popped free. “Wherever did you learn such a thing?”
He stepped behind her and worked on the buttons down her back. If his fingers lingered over their task, it could be forgiven. It went against their nature to assist a woman in covering up. “At King’s College, Cambridge. I studied chemistry there.”
She looked up at him over her shoulder, her mouth a tantalizing circle. “Truly? Such an education is hardly necessary for an earl, is it? Or were you that determined to never lose an article of clothing to ink accidents? I realize fashion is of utmost importance to you, but that is what valets are for.”
He smacked her rump. “You are not nearly as droll as you think you are, woman.”
She smirked. “I found it amusing and that is all that matters.” Peering at her reflection, she adjusted her bodice. “But truly, why chemistry? What could have been the use?”
“The use?” He cocked his hip against a low bureau, tracking her movements as she slid her gloves onto her hands. “My knowledge of chemical science saved my earldom. I’d say it was of immense use.”
She lifted her hands, palms up. “And? You can’t start a story like that and then stop. What did your family need to be saved from? And how did chemistry save it?”
One side of his mouth edged up. “Why Netta, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you cared.”
She slid her arms into a blush-colored redingote. “But you do know me better. And even though I find you arrogant and infuriating, I also think you are—”
“Preternaturally comely and uncommonly virile?”
She tied the strings of the overdress with more force than necessary. “Moderately interesting. I want to know your history.” She dipped her chin and raised her eyebrows. “I also think it is time you tell me about this scheme of yours. I believe you’ve worked out the details and I’d like to know what my part is.”
Yes, he supposed it was time. Netta needed to know what her performance would be. But something made him hesitate. If he told her and she objected, if she left…. He rubbed his chest. Well, that would put him in a poor position to reclaim his property. That could be the only reason for his reticence.
But it was one he needed to overcome. He scratched at a spot on the bureau. “My mother died giving birth to my youngest brother when I was but six. I only mention it because it has a bearing on my family’s fortunes. My father, you see, used the loss as an excuse to gamble and whore his way through London. Within two years, the family was bankrupt.”
He heard her gown shift as she moved closer, but he didn’t raise his head. “Ever since a boy, when I mixed black pepper with gunpowder to see if I could cause a bigger bang, I was interested in chemistry. I made enough money as an apprentice to a couple men of science to pay my way through college, then I took what I learned and restored the Summerset name.”
The toes of her slippers came into his line of view. Then her hand holding a small sack.
He sniffed. Licorice. That explained why she smelled of it.
She opened the sack wide and held it up to him. “I always find it easier to speak of disagreeable things when there is something sweet in my mouth. Pomfret cake?”
John huffed and raised his eyes. There was no pity or condemnation in her gaze over his fallen circumstances. Only interest. And kindness. He plucked out one of the shiny black confections and popped it in his mouth. Spicy and sweet. Just like Netta.
“Where was I? Oh yes. How I made my fortune.” He swung his foot back and forth, much more comfortable relaying this section of his history. “Although pepper does nothing productive for gunpowder, I found several minerals that did. I brought my family out of debt selling my new, more stable brand to the British government.” He shrugged. “Of course, now that the wars have ended, that income stream has virtually dried up. Which leads me to why I want you.”
She looked down at her bosom and back up at him. “I know why you want me.”
John turned to sit more fully on the bureau. He looped his finger in the closure of her redingote and pulled her between his legs. “You are more than an impressive pair of breasts, poppet. Don’t undervalue yourself.”
“That has never been a problem.” She rested her hands on his shoulders. “Now, to my part in your scheme.”
