“Yes, yes, who cares? Come along now. I’m an old man and it is after midnight. I have very few miracles left.”
“Oh, yes, you do,” his wife said as she walked up the stairs beside him.
Very few men care to have the obvious pointed out to them by a woman. MARGARET BAILLIE SAUNDERS
“You’re being a moron, James Sherbrooke. Go away before I knock you in the head with that fireplace poker.”
“No, I will not.” He caught her arm before she could grab the poker. He even shook her. “You will answer me now and truthfully, madam. I want to know exactly what happened between you and Devlin Monroe last night.”
She stepped toe-to-toe with him, tilted back her head, and said, a lovely sneer lacing her voice, “Nothing happened that I didn’t want to happen.”
“You drank too much of that champagne punch, didn’t you? I knew after I tasted it that a score of girls would lose their virtue last night.”
“Nonsense, James. Most girls have much harder heads than you give them credit for. Yes, I drank two glasses of that delightful brain-numbing punch, but Devlin was a perfect gentleman. Do you hear me? A perfect gentleman. Can a vampire be a gentleman? No matter. Now, I am going riding with him in the park this afternoon at exactly five o’clock, if it doesn’t rain, which it looks like it might.”
He took a step back, otherwise he might grab her and throw her over his legs and wallop her again, though he doubted she’d feel it. “How many petticoats are you wearing?”
“What?”
“How many petticoats do you have under that gown?”
A man’s mind, she thought, an astounding thing. “Well now, let me see.” She tapped her fingertips against her chin. “There are my drawers, then my chemise-you know, it’s nearly down to my knees with really pretty lace around the neck, a soft, white muslin-what is this? Your eyes are crossing? You asked-”
“Tell me only about petticoats, not all the rest of it. For God’s sake, Corrie, you don’t talk about your drawers, much less about the soft white muslin chemise, particularly in front of a man.”
“All right, I suppose I don’t want to know about what you’re wearing beneath your breeches either. Now, where was I? There’s the flannel petticoat, just one, to keep me all toasty even when it’s already hot. Then there are four cotton ones, and on the very top is this very pretty white lawn petticoat that, if my gown happens to flip up in the wind, will show even the most critical of ladies that I am well-dressed beneath my clothes. As for what the gentlemen would think, well, you will have to tell me the answer to that, won’t you? There, are you happy now? Why the devil do you want to know about my petticoats?”
“I liked you better in breeches. I could see exactly what was going on with you.”
“Just what does that mean?”
“I could see your bottom. Well, not really; those damned breeches were so loose.”
This was her aunt’s drawing room. Uncle Simon was hunkered down in his study not more than twenty feet away. Her Aunt Maybella, goodness, she could be right outside the door, listening.
“You are not to speak of my bottom, James. Surely that isn’t the thing.”
“It’s not. I apologize.”
“Well, forget my breeches too. You always made fun of them in any case. Don’t you like my gown? Your father selected it. It’s very white, all virginal, don’t you think?”
“You hang around Devlin Monroe much longer and you won’t have a virginal thought in your head. Not to mention the rest of you.”
“Now you’re accusing me of taking off my clothes with a man I scarcely know? Stripping off all those wretched petticoats?”
“I saw you drinking that champagne punch last night. It was dangerous stuff, not at all proper for young ladies. You waltzed with him twice, Corrie. That wasn’t proper of your aunt to allow it.”
“She was flirting with Sir Arthur. I saw you having a wonderful time with that Miss Lorimer, who, my aunt tells me, is considered the very best catch in London at the moment, and isn’t it a pity that she had to show up when I arrived? Did you enjoy yourself with her, James? Did you?”
“Juliette-”
“Her name is Juliette? As in Romeo’s doomed schoolroom girl? That makes me want to-” Don’t spit, not in your aunt’s drawing room. His eyes were gleaming. She didn’t know if they were violet or the shade of blue that made her innards ache, but she saw them gleaming. She tacked right into the wind. “Ah, she’s surely lovely, isn’t she? But you know, James, I’ve heard that she prefers different sorts of things, just like Devlin Monroe, and I don’t think it wise of you to spend too much time with her. You might find yourself without your breeches and wouldn’t that be shocking?”
James could only stare at her, his mouth hanging open, his brain soggy in his head. “What different sorts of things? Are you calling Miss Lorimer loose?”
“You mean do I think she is wicked? Like Devlin Monroe?”
“I never said he was wicked, dammit.”