Read Online The Spinster and the Rake by Anne Stuart - Free Book Online Page A

would have had apoplexy.”
    “Darling, the thought is worth far more than the present.” She embraced her niece’s slender shoulders, laughing. “I would have had no place to wear such an indecent dress, apart from my bedroom, and though the locket or the earbobs would have been divine, I didn’t really need them.”
    “A woman always needs more jewels,” Felicity said. “To ensure her femininity.”
    “And where did you hear that?” Gillian demanded, fascinated.
    “From Grandmama Smith-Davies, of course. Who else would I know who would look and talk like a courtesan?” questioned the young lady demurely.
    “Well, I am in no great need of jewels to ensure my femininity,” Gillian said in repressive tones belied by the sparkle in her eyes.
    “I think it completely rotten that no one thought to celebrate your birthday.”
    “I am just as happy to celebrate it with my niece and nephew,” Gillian replied.
    “Very well, then we’ll celebrate it. Bertie, go upstairs and put on full evening dress. Gilly, I want that nile green dress on you or I’ll dress you myself. I’ll send Marjorie in to do your hair—she’s much better than your Flossie, you know. And I’ll have Reynolds put champagne on ice, and Cook will make us up some festive little cakes . . .”
    “Felicity, it’s half past eight already,” Gillian protested, laughing, as she was pushed from the room with Bertie.
    “You see,” Felicity said triumphantly. “It’s quite early. The gaming salons don’t open until ten, do they, Bertie?” There was hidden meaning in her voice, and Bertie turned a guilty red as he escorted Gillian toward her bedroom. In the distance they could hear Felicity’s voice raised, giving excited orders to the servants.
    “We might as well do what she says, Gillian,” Bertie said with an effort at good cheer. “And don’t worry, I’ll go out and get you a present tomorrow. Can’t think what made it slip my mind.”
    “Perhaps it was gaming debts, Bertie?” Gillian asked gently.
    Bertie’s face flamed. “Never you mind about them. They’re not half as bad as most people I know. By the way, I didn’t hear Felicity aright, did I? She couldn’t have said Lord Marlowe walked you home, could she?”
    “She could, and he did. He’s a gentleman with a great deal of address. Have you met him?”
    “A . . . a few times. I wouldn’t have thought Uncle Derwent would approve of that.”
    “I’m sure he wouldn’t,” Gillian tossed it off lightly. “But then, there’s a very great deal that Derwent doesn’t approve of, and if one spent all one’s time paying attention to it, one would have time for nothing else.”
    “You didn’t always used to feel that way,” Bertie observed shrewdly. “For as long as I can remember you’ve done exactly what everyone else has wanted you to do, and paid no attention whatsoever to your own needs and desires. What in the world has made you finally decide to consider yourself for a change?”
    She stared at him, nonplussed. “I suppose it is abominably selfish of me.”
    “Not at all,” Bertie protested. “It’s about time someone thought of you for a change. You’ve got my backing, Gilly. Any help you need, just let me know.”
    “Bless you, love.” She kissed him. “I’ll remember the offer. For now you would please me no end if you would hurry up and change. I want some champagne. After all, it’s not every day I turn thirty.”
    GILLIAN STARED AT her reflection in the dressing table mirror in the gleam of candlelight. The nile green dress was as pretty as she knew it would be, clinging tightly to her small, well-formed breasts, exhibiting an attractive expanse of chest and shoulder. Marjorie had dressed the red-gold hair in loose waves around her delicate head, framing the pretty face and softening her features. Her blue eyes were large and shining, the lips tremulous, the cheeks too pale. With a touch of defiance Gillian reached into her bottom drawer