Read Online Scandal Wears Satin by Loretta Chase - Free Book Online
Authors: Loretta Chase
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think hard while he drank in the scent. Woman, of course, and . . . lavender . . . and what else?
He realized his head was sinking toward her neck. He straightened. “Bullies,” he said. “In a dressmaking shop.”
“Two great brutes,” she said. “To deal with the drunks and thieves. Or so Dowdy claims. Personally, I believe she’s hired the men to intimidate the seamstresses. You know, the way they keep them in brothels to—”
“That sounds like fun,” he said. “And you’ll be in disguise, of course.”
“Yes.”
“As a serving maid, I suppose.”
“Certainly not,” she said. “What would a serving maid be doing buying expensive dresses? I’m going to be your cousin Gladys.”
L ord Adderley wasted no time in putting the notice of his engagement in the papers, but the news traveled through London in a matter of hours—faster even than the Spectacle could get it into print. By Monday his tailor, boot maker, hatter, vintner, tobacconist, and others who provided for his comfort and entertainment had once again opened their account books and allowed him credit.
He’d had a narrow escape.
Another week and he would have had to flee abroad. While peers could not be arrested for debt, they weren’t immune to other unpleasantness, like having their credit shut off. All of his creditors seemed to have joined a cabal, because every single one, including all the shopkeepers, cut him off at the same time, two days before Lady Igby’s ball.
The forthcoming nuptials put everybody in a more forgiving frame of mind.
He celebrated on Monday night with Mr. Meffat and Sir Roger Theaker in a private dining parlor of the Brunswick Hotel. They toasted one another throughout the meal. By the time the table had been cleared, wine had loosened their tongues—no matter, since there was nobody nearby to hear.
“A close-run thing it was,” said Sir Roger.
“Perilously close,” said Lord Adderley.
“Wasn’t sure you’d manage it,” said Mr. Meffat. “Watching like hawks, they were.”
Lord Adderley shrugged. “As soon as I saw Lady Bartham settle in to gossip with the mama, I knew there wouldn’t be trouble from that quarter for a while.”
“It was Longmore who worried me,” said Mr. Meffat.
Adderley resisted the urge to feel his bruised jaw. He’d had more reason than anybody to worry. He’d broken into a sweat, which he’d explained away to Lady Clara as excitement, to be so close to her, to hold her in her arms—all the usual rubbish, in other words.
He said, “I only needed a few minutes, and he was on the other side of the room. Still, it was your quick acting that saved the day.”
It was Meffat’s and Theaker’s job to attract attention to the terrace without attracting too much attention. Not the most difficult job in the world. One only had to say, “Wonder what Adderley’s about on the terrace? Who’s the female with him?”
One didn’t have to say it to too many people. One or two would do. The drift terrace-wards would begin, and some others would notice, and follow, curious to see what was attracting attention.
Clara had been easiest of all to manage. Though no schoolroom miss—she was one and twenty, older than Adderley would have preferred—she was as ignorant about lovemaking as a child. All he had to do was keep her wineglass filled and whirl her about the floor until she was dizzy and whisper poetry in her ear. Still, one had to be careful. Too much wine and too much spinning and she’d be sick—on his last good coat.
“At least you got yourself a beauty,” Theaker said. “Mostly, when their pa sets a big dowry on them, it’s on account of being squinty or spotty or bowlegged.”
“What he means is, mostly, they’re dogs,” Meffat said.
“I’m fortunate,” Adderley said. “I know that. I might have done so much worse.”
She was a beauty, and that would make the bedding and getting of heirs more agreeable. Still, she wasn’t to his taste, a
He realized his head was sinking toward her neck. He straightened. “Bullies,” he said. “In a dressmaking shop.”
“Two great brutes,” she said. “To deal with the drunks and thieves. Or so Dowdy claims. Personally, I believe she’s hired the men to intimidate the seamstresses. You know, the way they keep them in brothels to—”
“That sounds like fun,” he said. “And you’ll be in disguise, of course.”
“Yes.”
“As a serving maid, I suppose.”
“Certainly not,” she said. “What would a serving maid be doing buying expensive dresses? I’m going to be your cousin Gladys.”
L ord Adderley wasted no time in putting the notice of his engagement in the papers, but the news traveled through London in a matter of hours—faster even than the Spectacle could get it into print. By Monday his tailor, boot maker, hatter, vintner, tobacconist, and others who provided for his comfort and entertainment had once again opened their account books and allowed him credit.
He’d had a narrow escape.
Another week and he would have had to flee abroad. While peers could not be arrested for debt, they weren’t immune to other unpleasantness, like having their credit shut off. All of his creditors seemed to have joined a cabal, because every single one, including all the shopkeepers, cut him off at the same time, two days before Lady Igby’s ball.
The forthcoming nuptials put everybody in a more forgiving frame of mind.
He celebrated on Monday night with Mr. Meffat and Sir Roger Theaker in a private dining parlor of the Brunswick Hotel. They toasted one another throughout the meal. By the time the table had been cleared, wine had loosened their tongues—no matter, since there was nobody nearby to hear.
“A close-run thing it was,” said Sir Roger.
“Perilously close,” said Lord Adderley.
“Wasn’t sure you’d manage it,” said Mr. Meffat. “Watching like hawks, they were.”
Lord Adderley shrugged. “As soon as I saw Lady Bartham settle in to gossip with the mama, I knew there wouldn’t be trouble from that quarter for a while.”
“It was Longmore who worried me,” said Mr. Meffat.
Adderley resisted the urge to feel his bruised jaw. He’d had more reason than anybody to worry. He’d broken into a sweat, which he’d explained away to Lady Clara as excitement, to be so close to her, to hold her in her arms—all the usual rubbish, in other words.
He said, “I only needed a few minutes, and he was on the other side of the room. Still, it was your quick acting that saved the day.”
It was Meffat’s and Theaker’s job to attract attention to the terrace without attracting too much attention. Not the most difficult job in the world. One only had to say, “Wonder what Adderley’s about on the terrace? Who’s the female with him?”
One didn’t have to say it to too many people. One or two would do. The drift terrace-wards would begin, and some others would notice, and follow, curious to see what was attracting attention.
Clara had been easiest of all to manage. Though no schoolroom miss—she was one and twenty, older than Adderley would have preferred—she was as ignorant about lovemaking as a child. All he had to do was keep her wineglass filled and whirl her about the floor until she was dizzy and whisper poetry in her ear. Still, one had to be careful. Too much wine and too much spinning and she’d be sick—on his last good coat.
“At least you got yourself a beauty,” Theaker said. “Mostly, when their pa sets a big dowry on them, it’s on account of being squinty or spotty or bowlegged.”
“What he means is, mostly, they’re dogs,” Meffat said.
“I’m fortunate,” Adderley said. “I know that. I might have done so much worse.”
She was a beauty, and that would make the bedding and getting of heirs more agreeable. Still, she wasn’t to his taste, a
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