“Ah, brother,” George said, his tone laced with his signature good-natured humor, which made Malcolm reflexively glad that it was George and not Severn managing this exchange.“You misheard me.Or perhaps I misspoke.This,” he said, gesturing toward the beauty, “is Miss Perkins,” and “this,” he said, gesturing toward the other, “is Miss Matilda.”
Once again, Malcolm was struggling to breathe.
His family expected him to hand into dinner and sit besidethis womanall night?This absolute siren, from a daydream?No, not a daydream… from the kind of dream he had at night and tried to forget?Because she did look awfully like, he realized, the woman he rutted frantically in his dreams.
Christ.
“My apologies,” he managed to stammer, turning toward the real Miss Perkins, the far too beautiful one.
At that moment, the dinner bell sounded.For which his gratitude was immeasurable.At least, his humiliating botch of this introduction, which showed all of his unfitness for being in this society, had been cut short.
“I will find you in the drawing room after dinner,” George said with a friendly smile to the tolerable sister.Then, dropping his voice, he added, “Now, I must see to my duty.”
Malcolm knew George wished he could spend the evening beside his favorite.But as the male host, he had to attend Lady Fortenshire.
It was curious, really, Malcolm thought, as he took another glimpse at the real Miss Tilly.He had heard both George and Severn describe her as extraordinarily comely.And yet he saw nothing in her that was at all remarkable.
Whereas, he recollected now, his sister had described the beautiful woman in front of him as on the shelf, suggesting thatshewas seen as undesirable.It made no sense to him.But he supposed fashions in London were different than in Somerset.Among the Parkhorne stable hands and laborers, Miss Scarlett Perkins would be regarded as the kind of woman one went to lengths to secure as their wife.
Severn appeared by his side.
“Miss Matilda,” he said to the younger sister, “I have come to do what my brother wishes to but cannot.”
Tilly blushed rather deeply at that.Malcolm supposed she liked the compliment.
She stood and took Severn’s arm.“Thank you, Mr.Westmore.”
At his other side, Philip had appeared to escort in Mrs.Perkins.
There remained nothing to do but his own part.
He looked down at the stunning woman before him.
And, he was ashamed to admit it, he shut his eyes.
When he opened them again, he was sure she had seen him do it.
He knew this behavior must make him only appear stranger to her.
But he couldn’t bear to look at her for a moment longer.
It was like staring into the sun.
He offered his arm, in a fashion that he was sure was vulgar and ill-bred and all wrong, and said, with his eyes still closed, “May I attend you into dinner, Miss Perkins?”
She rose from the sofa.And was staring at him with stone-cold hatred in her light-brown eyes.
He tried not to glory in their rich color.But he found himself doing it anyway.
He had not realized that lady’s evening wear could be quite so… revealing.
He hadn’t realized that such a bosom as this one would be on full display.
Because Miss Scarlett Perkins’s breasts were—well, he didn’t understand how any other man in the room was able to look at anything else.Her bosom, large and ample, was so tempting that he found himself a bit weak in the knees.
He opened his mouth, feeling that he should have something else to say, but was unable to speak.Instead, he just stood there, completely poleaxed with desire and anxiety.
“If we must,” Miss Scarlett said roughly.
