“He made a very halfhearted apology for calling me an umbrella”—Penelope’s eyebrows went up—”and he gave me50 Ways to Sinby sliding it down the back of my gown”—Abigail gasped loudly—”and then he kissed me.” She said the last three words in a rushed whisper that was almost drowned out by Penelope’s whoop.
“Did you enjoy it?” demanded Abigail.
“Huh! Who cares?” snorted her sister. “She was kissed by the handsomest viscount in London!”
“It was very pleasant,” said Joan primly, aware that her face was scarlet. “Until he said he’d only done it to make me stop talking.”
The expression on her friends’ faces was comical: Penelope outraged, Abigail dismayed. And then they both began trying to hide their amusement.
“Oh, Joan.” Abigail sighed, her eyes brimming with laughter. “You drove a notorious rake to distraction and hekissedyou.”
“I want to be like you someday,” gasped Penelope, her shoulders shaking.
“Yes, well, that’s not all. He called on me the other day and said Douglas made him promise to escort me about town. Like a brother, I’m sure he meant to say, but can you imagine?”
“I’m trying desperately,” murmured Penelope.
“Naturally I thought it presented a great opportunity to pay him back for his impertinence, so I didn’t tell him no. But I couldn’t help asking if he meant to kiss me again, to which he replied an emphatic no.” Joan smiled in satisfaction. “I said I hadn’t cared for it the first time—”
“Liar,” said Abigail under her breath.
“To which he replied that it sounded like a challenge,” Joan went on with a dark look at her friend. “He even said he’d wager a shilling he could kiss me again and make me like it ...” Her voice trailed off as she belatedly realized she might have revealed too much.
Penelope gave a little shriek. “A wager? Did you accept it?”
“Of course not!”
“But you wanted to.” Abigail was watching her closely, still grinning. “You want him to kiss you again.”
Joan opened her mouth, then closed it. “I promised my father I would be on my very best behavior. I couldn’t possibly engage in such unladylike pursuits as wagering.”
“Just kissing.” Penelope laughed.
“But Joan.” Abigail sobered. “It’s very thrilling to have a gentleman steal a kiss, or even two, but what do you want to come of it? You called him Lord Boor the other night and said you punched him in the face.”
“Don’t be so grim, Abby,” scoffed Penelope. “It was just a kiss!”
“And a wager, about more kisses. I just think Joan should be wary.” Abigail lifted one shoulder. “He’s a notorious rake, known for his scandalous affairs. I doubt Joan wants to be caught up in one of those.”
“Not particularly,” she murmured, just a shade wistfully. A scandalous affair would be very bad after it ended, of course, but while it was happening ... well, it could be very thrilling.
“Unless he falls madly in love with her and proposes marriage,” suggested Penelope. “Other scandalous affairs have ended that way. Sometimes notorious rakes do fall in love, you know.”
Abigail looked at Joan. “Is that what you hope?”
She said nothing, because she had no idea what to say. It was hard to deny that kissing Tristan Burke had been pleasant. More than pleasant. It had set her nerves on fire and made her skin yearn for him to touch her again. A wicked part of her even thrilled at the thought of more intimate touches, fed by the memory of his hand on her hip and his body pressed against hers. And if he wanted the same, she didn’t know how she would refuse him, no matter what his motivations. To feel desired, even for just a while, was a powerful temptation.
But Lord Boor, fall in love with her? She couldn’t imagine it. He seemed determined to find new ways to be rude and impertinent every time they met. Joan didn’t want to marry someone who would constantly argue with her, call her unattractive, and bully her to his will. And even if he managed to improve on further acquaintance, there was her family to contend with. Her mother would sooner lock her in a convent than let her marry the likes of Lord Burke. And if she did let herself be drawn into a scandal, a convent and a securely locked door would most assuredly figure in Lady Bennet’s plans.
“No,” she finally said, very quietly.
“Then be careful.” Abigail gave her a rueful smile. “Not the most exciting plan, I know.”
“Your pardon, but are you ready to go home? Mrs. Townsend is growing overheated in the sun.” Mr. Weston’s voice made all three girls jump. He had dismounted and walked up behind Abigail.
“Oh! Yes, we’re ready.” Penelope took her brother’s arm and led him back toward the carriage, shooting a glance of compassion at Joan. “How dare you let Olivia sit in the sun, Jamie? You ought to have stopped in the shade ...”
Abigail fell in step beside her as they followed more slowly, ignoring Penelope’s chatter. “It was really lovely, wasn’t it? When he kissed you. I could tell from your face.”
