“Knock knock!” Sophia’s voice echoed into the room as she peeked around the door. “Oh, good. Both of you are here.” Emily squinted her eyes and barely made out that Sophia’s arms were loaded up with garments. Rich, luxurious colored fabrics draped nearly to the floor.
“Perfect timing, Soph!” Rhoda swung around, leading Sophia to the bed where she dumped the gowns. “Where is Hettie?” Before Emily could answer, Rhoda had spun her around and begun working the hooks on the back of her gown.
Emily lifted her arms and the serviceable gown she’d worn for the journey was swept unceremoniously over her head. “Really, Emily, what were you thinking?” Rhoda tossed it aside, clucking her tongue.
“I think this one, Rhoda. The earthy red tones will set off the auburn highlights in her hair. And it’s not so bright as to overwhelm.” Sophia held it in front of her. “What do you think, Em?”
More than a little frustrated at her predicament, Emily turned to Sophia for a little support. “I can’t really tell. I’ve yet to locate my other pair of spectacles. Would you look around for them, Soph?”
“Just a minute, Em.” Taffeta swooped over Emily’s head and face. “Slide your arms in here. Oh, yes. This is lovely. Perfect, don’t you think?”
Rhoda observed her from several different angles. “Oh, indeed. And if we do her hair up, like so…”
The dress was removed, and a maid called in for a few alterations. Giving up on her spectacles for the moment, Emily plunked down in front of a mirror while what felt like twenty different hands fussed about her head.
As soon as they left her alone, she’d locate her spectacles. But for now, she was at their mercy.
The Proposition
Marcus tossed back a few fingers of whiskey and paced across the library. He’d arrived early for the pre-dinner gathering and thought he’d have a look around. Nothing better to do with himself.
Damn and blast, but his father had gone too far this time.
Unwilling to focus on the problems created for him by the duke, he stood before one of the shelves and began perusing the titles. Miss Goodnight’s extraordinary selection came to mind unwittingly.
What was a spinster doing with a book about a woman’s pleasure? And what the hell was amentula? Something he should have known, likely, but Latin had never been his subject. He’d been abysmal at most languages, for that matter. Give him math problems to work, or a scientific experiment, just don’t ask him about languages.
Approaching footsteps signaled a pending interruption to his peace and quiet. Feminine footsteps. Yes. They slowed almost unnaturally and paused outside the door. And then it ever so tentatively creeped open.
He should have guessed.
Miss Goodnight peered in and squinted. The first thing he noticed about her was that she still wore the spectacles with only one lens. The second was an abundance of flesh on display in a gown fit for a courtesan.
She almost looked… beautiful. He dismissed the thought nearly as quickly as it had materialized, for resting upon the bridge of her nose sat those broken spectacles. One eye gazed out, appearing normal, but the other looked huge. “Miss Goodnight. Are you lost?”
His question caused her to jump. The poor woman must be blind as a bat.
She turned her face in his direction and grimaced. “Is that you, Lord Blakely?”
Good Lord! “Why, yes, it is. May I be of some assistance?” This woman ought not be allowed to leave her mother’s house without a keeper.
“Actually.” She bit her bottom lip and approached him slowly. “I rather believe thatImight be able to be of some assistance toyou.”
Marcus lifted his brows and anticipated whatever words she’d spew unselfconsciously tonight. She never failed to entertain him. Before she knocked over any priceless vases or lamps, he skirted to her side and led her to the settee. “Let’s do sit down, then, by all means.” At the sight of her hand, he recalled it earlier in the coach… practically cradling his—
“I’ve been pondering your situation, my lord,” she interrupted his musing. “What with your father and such. Sorry to hear of your troubles, by the way.”
Good God, she was priceless. He could hardly wait to hear her comments on the situation. And she’d mentioned that she might be able to help him! “Duly noted. And might I add that I appreciate your sentiments, Miss Goodnight. By all means, do go on.”
She studied him suspiciously with one magnified eye but then went to fidgeting with her gloves. “Do you truly oppose marrying the woman he’s chosen for you? Are you quite set against her then?”
“Dead set.” The thought of his father had a way of sweeping away his momentary good humor.
“Well, then, I rather think you might wish to have a sort of—well, revenge—on him.” Marcus appreciated such a concept and wondered where she was going with this. She folded her hands in her lap and took a deep breath. “You might best extract this revenge by taking your contrary position one step further. By marrying, in fact, a most inappropriate lady. One mired in scandal and far beneath your status.”
“Are you by any chance proposing yourself, Miss Goodnight?” She’d surpassed even herself this time. Many a woman had made attempts to land him, but none had ever gone so far as to ask him outright. “A charitable proposal indeed. I must confess, however, that I rather prefer to maintain my bachelor status.”
Yet he felt a little sorry for the chit. Had he insulted her? Further angering his father was an intriguing notion. And she did possess one or two interesting… attributes. The mere idea, however, of Miss Goodnight as the future Duchess of Waters! He nearly laughed out loud.
