“I have not readLovers’ Vows. Have you made a study of it? Is it truly so scandalous? Or is Fanny being insipid again?”
It was an ongoing discussion between us. I found Fanny to be meek and banal. He saw more good in her than I did.
“I believe there is a copy of it either here or in the London house. I can find it for you if you wish.”
I should not. I knew my father would not approve. I agreed anyway.
“As for whether the material is scandalous or not, I don’t know where your sensibilities lie. It deals extensively with illegitimate birth. Given my own situation, I hardly find that particularly distressing.”
It was the second time Michael had openly acknowledged the situation of his birth to me. His matter-of-fact tone, paired with his nonchalant shrug, was too studied. It pained me. He was bracing himself. As though he was certain I would find his circumstances shameful. Worried that the reminder of them would send me running. Worse still, not so very long ago, they might have. I felt a pang of shame at that acknowledgment.
I waited a beat, until he raised his eyes to mine.
“I should not find that upsetting.”
I infused my words with the sincerity I felt, willing him to understand my meaning. His posture softened, almost imperceptibly. I enjoyed the warmth of my success.
“There is also a rather frank discussion of certain… immoral behaviors.”
It took me a moment to parse his meaning, and I felt the flush rising in my cheeks. I cursed them for exposing my naiveté.
“Personally, I find them to be rather tame, but I am a known reprobate. I’m rather difficult to shock.”
He had grown to enjoy teasing me with implications of his degenerate behavior. He also had yet to provide me with any concrete examples, which led me to believe he was more talk than substance in this respect.
“What do reprobates find shocking then?”
“I’ll alert you the first time I find myself shocked,” he teased.
My lips were pressed tight in an effort to fight a smile. It was blooming, and I offered a reproachful shake of my head in its stead. I should not encourage such brash speeches. I enjoyed his flirtations more than I ought. Indeed, were he anyone else, I would discourage such behavior. It was necessary to avoid the appearance of encouraging affections where I could not reciprocate.
Still, he was a self-acknowledged rake, and I, little more than a disinteresting debutant. Nothing so extraordinary as the women he must surely entertain. My heart was the only one at risk of feeling more than I ought. And it was at risk. I had to pull more than a few stitches out of my work the last few days, when I found myself distracted by the warmth behind his eyes and thoughts of his crooked mouth.
It was an impossibly dangerous game I played with myself. It was one thing when what I felt for him was mere attraction. But I was forced to acknowledge it has gone much farther than that. Every night since we arrived, I had laid awake, distracted by thoughts of him. Each morning, I rose impossibly early, eager to see him again.
By all rights I should have been exhausted, but I was not. I was energized in his presence, strung tight and tetchy, but also soothed. It could have been the reprieve from the pressures of town, but I suspected it was him. I felt… extraordinary in his presence, intelligent and witty and beautiful and everything I ever wished to feel about myself. It was an addicting sensation. The flip my insides performed when he glanced up at me from underneath his dark lashes and paired it with a self-deprecating grin.
This flirtation between us was entirely inappropriate. Even if I were not betrothed, even if he did not have my father on the rocks, it would still be improper. My father would have a fit of apoplexy at the idea of such a connection. No, the entire idea was insupportable. Fortunately, Michael could have no serious designs on me. As he said, he could not be shocked. I, in my naiveté, would have no appeal to such a worldly gentleman, at least not beyond an amusing flirtation. With that distressing thought, I managed to pierce my ring finger with my needle.
* * *
MICHAEL
One would thinkher effect would become less striking with repeated exposure. It had not. If anything, her power over me was growing. She accidentally stabbed herself with the needle, and then she popped her ring finger in her mouth. Steel will was all that held back the groan that sight induced.
I glanced down, looking away in a desperate attempt to keep myself in check. She was working on embroidery today. She brought this piece with her several days in a row. It was an intricate series of flowers, vines, and leaves in a shimmering burnt-gold thread. When she first started, I thought it was rather more plain than the rest of her works, with just one color. Now I could see the intent, the different tiny stitches and knots forming unique textures, the density manipulating the tone. Previously, I had only ever seen Agatha’s work. Her stitching was plain and primitive in comparison. Juliet was stitching art.
“This is lovely. Do you have an intention for it?”
I was drawn back to her face where her finger was still at home between her lips.
She hesitated before responding, “It’s an appliqué, for a gown. I originally stitched it directly onto the gown while I was tailoring it, but I made quite the mess of it.”
“I’m certain that’s not the case. I’m sure the gown will be lovely. What’s the occasion for it?”
Apprehension crossed her face and realization washed over me. Her wedding gown. She spent days embroidering it for her wedding gown. She would wear it for another man. There was an instinctive pang at that thought before I reminded myself I had no right to feel such hurt, such jealousy. Even if her engagement to Rosehill were not in place before we met, she was the daughter of an earl. I was still a bastard whose only claim to fortune was bamboozling the Beau Monde out of their coin. Thinking I had a claim to envy was as ridiculous as thinking I had a claim to a star if I just stretched my arm a bit farther. I had no more right to pluck those stars from the sky than I did to entertain thoughts of her.
“Right, I’m sure he’ll be appreciative of your efforts.” My voice was more strained than I liked, and I cleared my throat and gestured toward the novel as an excuse.
