“And what are you finding amusing, gentlemen?” Liliah asked, her tone less than humor-filled.
The viscount’s gaze slid to Miranda, and she swore she could read his mind, and that he’d been thinking along the same path as she regarding the colors. He gave a small nod, as if affirming her suspicion, and then turned to Liliah. “Miss Miranda has a very valid point.”
Miranda felt a swell of pride that her assumptions, both of them, were correct.
Liliah gave a slight huff, then turned to her sister. “I’d ask them for assistance—”
“But you’d be afraid of our meddling?” her husband cut in.
Miranda turned to Lord Heightfield, watching as his eyes twinkled with merriment. “After all, masquerade parties are our forte.”
Miranda shot a curious glance at her sister, fragments of conversations piecing together, though not enough for her to completely understand the picture they presented.
“That’s very much what I’m afraid of. I don’t wish to createthattype of party.” She spoke in a low tone, meant for their ears alone.
“Nor do I,” Lord Heightfield answered quickly. “But I do believe we may have more insight than you would expect.”
Liliah twisted her lips, then glanced at the viscount. Then, finally, her gaze landed on her sister.
“What is your opinion?”
Miranda turned back to the paper, then to her sister. “What is the worst that can happen?” She hitched a shoulder, the gesture quite blasé.
Liliah raised a brow.
“You’ll be in good hands,” Lord Heightfield said before his wife could offer more than a dubious expression. “Why don’t you two ladies see about the clothing, and Heathcliff and I shall see to the . . . details?”
“They always say the devil is in the details,” Liliah remarked wryly, arching her brow.
Lord Heightfield grinned wickedly, and Miranda felt the need to take a step back, even though his grin was focused on his wife. “How appropriate.”
Miranda turned to the viscount, curious about his reaction in the middle of all this. What she wasn’t expecting was to see him watching her, as if gauging her reaction.
She wasn’t used to people studying her; it was an odd feeling and she wasn’t sure if it made her feel flattered that he was curious about what he saw in her or suspicious. As soon as her eyes met his, whatever was in his expression was shuttered and he turned away. “You’d better move along if you wish to have a dress made. A week isn’t much time.” He directed the comment to Liliah.
Miranda turned to leave before she could find another chink in her armor. How was it he found each one?
