Not Proper Enough (A Reforming the Scoundrels Romance) (5 page)

She licked her lips and hated that she’d lost the keen edge
of her dislike. How awful if she had to forgive him. How utterly galling. “The truth is, I’m grateful for the way you defended her against Mr. Lane. I know
you
saw what makes Hester unique, astonishing as that is.” She shook her head. “
You
, of all people, saw what a good nature and fine mind she has.”

He tilted his head, and God, the silence. Horrible. She wished him gone. She did. He said, “That was a compliment. I’m sure of it. And lo, you’ve not been struck dead.”

Eugenia sighed. “I suppose there’s no way to convince you I don’t know what you mean. Or that I didn’t intend to offer you praise.”

He smiled. “No.”

“I could have kissed you for it, you know. For Hester, I mean.”

There was another awkward pause during which the image of her kissing Fenris took root in her mind and blossomed, and it shook the very foundation of her existence. My God. Fenris?

With no trace of a smile, he said, “I wish you had.”

“You ought to marry Hester.” The words came from nowhere, shocking them both. She babbled on, desperate to move the conversation away from her kissing him or him wishing she had, because that was unthinkable. There could be no world in which she would ever, ever want to kiss Lord Fenris. “She’s exactly the sort of girl who’d do you good.”

He scowled again, but smoothed his expression so quickly she now doubted she’d seen it. She’d not touched a man since Robert died. Not kissed one, nor held a man in her arms, nor wanted to, either. But Fenris, he reminded her of all that, and she was swamped, positively overwhelmed, by the fact that Fenris was a man, not a boy. A man.

Her brain disconnected from her mind. “According to you I am a blowsy girl.” She hadn’t been, not even in the days when he’d made the observation. When she’d first heard what he’d said, her heart had felt the cut. What woman wouldn’t upon hearing such an insult from a man she admired and found handsome? She hadn’t believed anything
except that the insult represented his opinion of her. Even after the comment had been repeated to her, or repeated within her hearing, she had only believed in the truth of his words when she was in a despairing mood. Was she a beauty? No. But she wasn’t an unattractive woman. Not then, and not today.

Kiss Fenris? Never.

But here she stood, looking at Fenris, and, my God, how delicious it would be to have a man’s strong arms around her.

Again without the slightest smile, he said, “You were never blowsy.”

Laughter burst out of her, tinged, alas, with an edge of hysteria. “I know very well what you think of me. There’s no point pretending otherwise. It’s insulting to think anything else.”

He frowned again. “I never thought you were blowsy.”

She couldn’t help laughing again. “How strange that you told everyone you thought so.”

“It was…a remarkable error in judgment on my part.”

“My lord.” She put her hands on her hips. Just so, she was released from the past. She wasn’t that girl anymore, and after all this time, who cared what Fenris had thought of her then? She’d met the man she loved, and had the great good fortune to have him love her back. She’d married him, and Robert had taught her to love herself better because he loved her. Fenris had only the power she gave him, and she chose to give him none. “Let us agree that you need not attempt to flatter me. We both know you are not sincere in it.”

He bowed, and there was more than a hint of the infamous Fenris disdain in the motion. “As magnanimous as you are lovely.”

“Do you trot out such double-edged tripe whenever you are compelled to make conversation with a woman as mentally inadequate as I am?”

His scowl reappeared, and she took a rather vicious satisfaction in it. Robert would disapprove of that, but no one was perfect. Not her. Not Robert. And certainly not Fenris. “No,
Mrs. Bryant, I do not trot out double-edged tripe. It wasn’t that, by the by.”

She snorted.

“Nor do I find you inadequate in any way. Quite the opposite.”

“Insupportable.” She paced the far side of the room and glared at him while she did. She might have put their past behind her, but not, after all, all of her resentment. “Death by a thousand cuts. Contrary to all that you believe, I am quite capable of discerning an insult when one is leveled at me. Even exceedingly clever ones. Tell me, my lord, have you a list of such things to say? Memorized for moments such as this?”

“An entire novel of them.”

“Have you?” She watched him while she paced. He watched her with an expression that spoke volumes of his irritation. She liked that she’d discomfited him. “Pray tell me another, sir.”

“The shape of your mouth puts me in mind of Titian’s
Salome
.”

She stopped pacing. “My mouth reminds you of a Venetian courtesan?”

His fingers tightened on his riding whip. Obviously, he hadn’t expected her to know that about Titian’s model. “I misspoke. I meant to say the world changes for the better when you smile.”

She laughed at him again. “You don’t say those things to other women, I hope. Lord, don’t say them to Hester. She’ll think you addlepated.”

“I’ll say them only to you.” The man was a monument to sangfroid.

“Oh, please.” She threw herself onto a chair and leaned one elbow on the arm. She was at a loss. How on earth had things between them so rapidly degenerated into trading cuts? And why, oh why, was it so amusing to trade them? “Let’s not insult each other if we can help it. Inevitably, I’ll win, and I know how you hate to lose.”

“Very well.” Fenris glanced at a chair, and she took a
perverse delight in not noticing and even more in not inviting him to sit. He looked at her gravely. “Having disposed of my primary aim in calling on you, I wish also to thank you for your support of me the other night. Against Mr. Lane.”

She remained slouched on her chair. Was it possible he’d changed? Become a better man than he’d been? The not very admirable part of her hoped he hadn’t. She did not wish to forgive him. “Did you expect me to lie?”

“No.” He shifted the position of his hat. “However, I would not have been surprised if you’d been silent.”

“Is that different from a lie?” Oh, damn. Was he going to mend things between them with an honest apology?

He let out a short breath. “Perhaps not enough to make a difference.”

She rolled her eyes.

“It kills you, doesn’t it, to find yourself beholden to me on account of Miss Rendell?”

“No, it does not.” She waved a hand, then caught his eye and saw his amusement. “Oh, all right. Yes. It does.”

His smile was appallingly triumphant.

She pointed at him. “This very moment thousands of lobsters are crawling out of the sea to exact retribution from you.”

His smile became a grin, and that did something to her, seeing that change of his expression. “I will apologize the next time my chef serves me one.”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed. “With luck he’ll plan that menu too late to save you from death by lobster pinches.”

Fenris held her gaze. Was there something on her face? A stain on her frock? Did her shoes not match her gown as well as she’d thought when she dressed this morning? He must be offended by her careless manner of sitting. Her back was not straight, and her feet were not placed just so. Doubtless he was totting up all the ways in which she fell short of his idea of a proper lady. Doubtless, he was mentally calling her blowsy.

The quiet continued. She hoped he drowned in it. But, Lord in heaven, he was handsome.

“Mrs. Bryant…” He quite visibly struggled with some thought. “Ginny…”

How fascinating that he should be at a loss for words. “My lord?”

“I—”

Hester came in, fussing with the skirts of a frock of seamist green that had got wound up in her legs. She nearly tripped but saved herself with a hand to the table between Fenris and the door.

“Miss Rendell.” He bowed and took the hand she extended to him. “How lovely to see you.”

Hester curtseyed and, with the same coolness as ever, said, “My lord.” She withdrew her hand from his and walked to Eugenia. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting, Lady Eugenia.”

“Not at all,” she said.

Hester took a seat and kicked at the hem of the skirt until it was disentangled. “Do sit down, my lord. I’m afraid Lady Eugenia and I have an engagement this morning, but we should be pleased to spend a few moments with you.”

“Thank you.” With a graceful sweep of his coattails, he took a seat near Hester. His clothes remained perfectly aligned. “Where are you ladies engaged for this evening?” He set his hat and whip on his lap. “Lady Edmon’s ball, perhaps?”

“No, my lord.” Eugenia gave silent thanks that she had not accepted that invitation.

Fenris’s eyebrows shot up. “No?”

“Hester did not arrive in Town in time for us to be prepared for an outing such as that.”

“We have calls to make this afternoon, and we’re to meet Miss Orpington at the British Museum.” Hester smiled. “An afternoon to which I am very much looking forward.”

“You have a full social calendar, I’m told.”

Hester cocked her head, and it was a twin to the way Fenris did. Before Eugenia could interrupt, Hester brought down disaster. “Not at all. In fact, I don’t believe we’re engaged anywhere tonight.”

Fenris looked unaccountably smug. Why? Because he’d caught her in a lie? Or because she and Hester were to spend a quiet evening at home? “Camber complains he is bored.” He smiled at Hester. “Since you ladies are not otherwise engaged tonight, I hope you and Mrs. Bryant will agree to dine with us at Bouverie and so explode my father’s expectation of a night of tedium.”

There was a moment of profound silence.

“Well…” Hester smiled with just the edge of her mouth. “Lady Eugenia and I were talking just the other day about how lovely it is to spend a quiet evening at home. Or at the home—”

“Yes,” Eugenia said. “A quiet evening—”

“—of friends such as you.”

“Hester, dear—”

“You did say that. And Lord Fenris is a friend.”

“Yes, but—”

Then Hester threw her to the wolves. Or, rather specifically, to the wolf sitting across from her. “Lord Fenris, I know Lady Eugenia would love to see Bouverie.”

Bouverie, London residence of the Duke of Camber.

“H
ESTER
. T
HERE’S SOMETHING WRONG WITH YOUR
skirt.” Eugenia put a hand on Hester’s shoulder while they climbed the stairs behind a white-haired and very proper butler.

“What?” Hester turned to look. “I’m sure not.”

“Slow down. Let me look.”

Hester swiped at the back of her gown and managed to get the upper portion of the satin ribbon meant to flow down her back twisted wrong side out. She missed a step, and only a grab at the banister saved her from a fall.

The butler, hearing the thunk of Hester’s slipper-shod foot against the stair, looked over his shoulder at them. Hester waved. The butler, who walked with a stoop, and none too quickly, continued up the stairs.

“When we get to the top of the stairs, stop and I’ll have a look.”

At the top of the stairs Hester duly paused, and Eugenia shook out the white silk of her skirt before she adjusted the trailing end of the bow at the back. Hester’s evening gown made the most of her considerable physical assets. The gown had a modest train, and she looked quite the thing in it. But
now Eugenia wondered if a train had been a wise decision. Unfortunately, the skirt refused to fall elegantly to her feet but persisted in a sideways pull that quite ruined the line. Neither would the bow lie flat as it ought.

Eugenia bent for a closer look. “What is this?”

“What?” Hester craned her neck to look.

“Someone’s sewn the ribbon to your skirt.”

“I thought it was clever of me.”

“But it’s crooked, Hester. No wonder your skirt won’t lie straight.” She glanced at the butler who had not yet noticed they weren’t following. He’d not got very far, and given his turtle’s pace, Eugenia doubted he’d make it out of their sight. She opened her reticule and dug out the tortoiseshell etui that contained needle and thread and a tiny pair of scissors. She snipped the thread that fastened the ribbon to Hester’s skirt. This time when she shook out the fabric, the bow straightened and the skirt took on the intended graceful drape. “There. Now you’re perfect.”

They hurried after the butler and arrived, not even slightly out of breath, at the doorway to an enormous saloon. Hester put her arm through Eugenia’s, and they went inside. The walls and outer ceiling were white and gold. Vermillion curtains drawn for the evening covered the tall windows that lined the long side of one wall. Gilt-framed mirrors reflected light from the two massive chandeliers required to light the room. All along the walls were portraits of men in armor or astride rearing horses, a thematic complement to the vividly painted battle scenes in the center of the ceiling. She would not have been the least astonished had blood been dripping from the bodies to the Axminster carpet beneath their feet.

Like Hester, she pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders. The air was frigid. They continued to follow the butler through the saloon and, thankfully, in the direction of the fireplace. It was at this point Eugenia realized the room was not empty.