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Authors: Embracing Scandal
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hands, whether you like it or not.”
She scowled. “I. Will. Not.” Stabs to his chest accompanied her words. “Accept that.”
“You either accept my protection or I refuse to gather the evidence you require to convict these men.” Anticipating victory, he displayed a smug smile.
Though his ultimatum silenced her, her foot tapping resumed. Drat the woman. She was probably pondering how best to prick his momentary bubble of swollen-headedness.
She tapped a finger to her front teeth. “As you’ve declared open warfare, I’m forced to reveal my trump card.” His attention skidded away from her mouth and his smile slipped a little. “You require our assistance as fully as we need yours. It has come to our attention — ”
“Laura or Charlotte? Who was eavesdropping this time?”
“How we gain our information isn’t important. What matters is that you are about to be besieged.”
His demeanour changed as quickly as a jungle animal that had scented a predator. “Besieged. By whom?”
“We feel reasonably sure we know the identity of your foe but, despite intensive enquiries, we can’t confirm the identity of the person who is orchestrating the plan. We’re narrowing the events down. Estimating times and locations the plot will be executed.”
“Damnation! Your convoluted explanations tie my thoughts in knots.”
“I’m surprised I need to explain. I expected that a man of your ilk would detect a trap long before it snapped shut on him.”
“Just tell me how and why I’m about to be trapped?”
She gaped at him. “I thought it was obvious. You’re a duke. Someone wants to force you to marry.”
“Marriage?” Sweat dotted his brow. Not another of these schemes. “I can promise you I’m not marrying anyone. Not for a long time.”
“No matter your wishes, if we can’t stop it, you will be caught.”
He swiped at his damp forehead with his coat sleeve. “If your aunt thinks she can force me to marry one of your sisters, she is very naïve.”
“Oooh!” Her hands went to her hips and his eyes followed every movement. “Your ducal conceit is beyond ridiculous.”
He met her angry eyes. “Perhaps it’s you! Maybe you’re after my title.”
“Certainly not!” Her hands flew upwards. “A married woman is a man’s possession. Marriage would rob me of the control I’ve worked so hard for.”
“Husbands could shoulder the burdens. Instead of you ladies.”
“Ha! Relieve us of our burdens while they rob us of our fortunes?”
“Not all men think that way, you know.”
“Most do. And Laura certainly isn’t after you. She cares little for titles. She’s studying the aromas men emit. Their differences. If a man’s scent attracts us, draws us to be with him, then he could be the perfect mate to provide companionship and to give us children. I advised her to attack the problem scientifically. List each gentleman’s qualities, good and bad, and according to Madame Faberge’s summations. Unsuitable gentlemen are quickly eliminated. Some will be given further tests.”
“Rather a cold-blooded scheme.” He considered the idea. “Unless of course,” he said with a smirk, “the final test is bedding each candidate in turn. Comparing their virility.”
“Ridicule Laura’s methods if you must, but I agree with Madame Faberge. If men constantly think about — ”
“Women’s bosoms?”
“Marital relations. Wives should know how to please their husbands in bed. Otherwise, married men will keep mistresses. Or visit brothels.”
Images of a willing Becca catering to her husband’s every whim burned his eyes. The notion that some nameless man-about-town would benefit from Becca’s well-researched sexual activities burrowed like a maggot into his brain.
Though their selection process seemed methodical, detached, and even vaguely humiliating for a candidate, he could easily picture himself auditioning. Could see Becca’s red curls rioting across his pillows. Feel her
She scowled. “I. Will. Not.” Stabs to his chest accompanied her words. “Accept that.”
“You either accept my protection or I refuse to gather the evidence you require to convict these men.” Anticipating victory, he displayed a smug smile.
Though his ultimatum silenced her, her foot tapping resumed. Drat the woman. She was probably pondering how best to prick his momentary bubble of swollen-headedness.
She tapped a finger to her front teeth. “As you’ve declared open warfare, I’m forced to reveal my trump card.” His attention skidded away from her mouth and his smile slipped a little. “You require our assistance as fully as we need yours. It has come to our attention — ”
“Laura or Charlotte? Who was eavesdropping this time?”
“How we gain our information isn’t important. What matters is that you are about to be besieged.”
His demeanour changed as quickly as a jungle animal that had scented a predator. “Besieged. By whom?”
“We feel reasonably sure we know the identity of your foe but, despite intensive enquiries, we can’t confirm the identity of the person who is orchestrating the plan. We’re narrowing the events down. Estimating times and locations the plot will be executed.”
“Damnation! Your convoluted explanations tie my thoughts in knots.”
“I’m surprised I need to explain. I expected that a man of your ilk would detect a trap long before it snapped shut on him.”
“Just tell me how and why I’m about to be trapped?”
She gaped at him. “I thought it was obvious. You’re a duke. Someone wants to force you to marry.”
“Marriage?” Sweat dotted his brow. Not another of these schemes. “I can promise you I’m not marrying anyone. Not for a long time.”
“No matter your wishes, if we can’t stop it, you will be caught.”
He swiped at his damp forehead with his coat sleeve. “If your aunt thinks she can force me to marry one of your sisters, she is very naïve.”
“Oooh!” Her hands went to her hips and his eyes followed every movement. “Your ducal conceit is beyond ridiculous.”
He met her angry eyes. “Perhaps it’s you! Maybe you’re after my title.”
“Certainly not!” Her hands flew upwards. “A married woman is a man’s possession. Marriage would rob me of the control I’ve worked so hard for.”
“Husbands could shoulder the burdens. Instead of you ladies.”
“Ha! Relieve us of our burdens while they rob us of our fortunes?”
“Not all men think that way, you know.”
“Most do. And Laura certainly isn’t after you. She cares little for titles. She’s studying the aromas men emit. Their differences. If a man’s scent attracts us, draws us to be with him, then he could be the perfect mate to provide companionship and to give us children. I advised her to attack the problem scientifically. List each gentleman’s qualities, good and bad, and according to Madame Faberge’s summations. Unsuitable gentlemen are quickly eliminated. Some will be given further tests.”
“Rather a cold-blooded scheme.” He considered the idea. “Unless of course,” he said with a smirk, “the final test is bedding each candidate in turn. Comparing their virility.”
“Ridicule Laura’s methods if you must, but I agree with Madame Faberge. If men constantly think about — ”
“Women’s bosoms?”
“Marital relations. Wives should know how to please their husbands in bed. Otherwise, married men will keep mistresses. Or visit brothels.”
Images of a willing Becca catering to her husband’s every whim burned his eyes. The notion that some nameless man-about-town would benefit from Becca’s well-researched sexual activities burrowed like a maggot into his brain.
Though their selection process seemed methodical, detached, and even vaguely humiliating for a candidate, he could easily picture himself auditioning. Could see Becca’s red curls rioting across his pillows. Feel her
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