Read Online The Viscount's Rose (The Farthingale Series Book 5) by Meara Platt - Free Book Online
Authors: Meara Platt
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that brought out the cool green of her eyes and the lush auburn of her hair. She looked as refreshingly sweet as the lime ices one would find in the best confectionery shops.
Nicola blushed lightly. “So do you. But you always do.”
“Nonsense, I feel so uncomfortable. I’m afraid to breathe for worry that I’ll damage the delicate fabric.” Her own gown was of the palest blue silk, almost a white-blue that shimmered in the glow of candlelight. “I’m not good at feigning elegance, but I have practiced walking around with my nose in the air. However, I shall be careful not become too full of myself. I’ll keep my feet firmly planted on the ground and my eyes clearly focused on where I’m walking.”
To emphasize her point, she gave a little wave of the decorative white cane she sported that almost matched the color of her gown. She’d borrowed it from Hortensia. Not that she really needed the cane, but it was her first full evening of keeping pressure on her ankle and she didn’t wish to make a fool of herself if it gave out.
They both giggled and continued to chatter as they made their way outdoors into Lady Winthrop’s garden. The walk they chose was lit with pretty lanterns hanging off lush tree branches. In the distance, fancier torches lit the lesser traveled walks.
Rose took a deep breath. “Isn’t it a lovely night? I’m so glad Lady Winthrop decided to hold the recital out here. Can you imagine the crush of hot, perspiring bodies crammed inside their music room?” She inhaled the light scent of roses, so much more pleasant than the heavy perfumes the older ladies and gentlemen seemed to adore.
The rain earlier in the day had ended so the Winthrop garden had managed to dry out in time. The summer sun had warmed the roses, and their petals were draped in full bloom across the arched trellises, their fragrant lemon and rose scent filling the air. “Is your brother here yet?”
Nicola gave a curt nod. “He and his countess are in the card room. Julian,” she said with a wrinkle to her nose to mark her displeasure, “is involved in a high stakes game of whist.”
Rose arched an eyebrow. “Whist? It’s a popular game. Doesn’t sound quite so alarming as you make it out to be.”
“It isn’t the game so much as the people involved and their wagers.” She quickly surveyed their little piece of the garden to make certain no one could overhear them. “They’re betting items of clothing.”
Rose shook her head in confusion. “That’s ridiculous. The loser has to purchase clothes for the winner? The haberdashers and modistes ought to be pleased.”
“No, silly. They’re not betting on articles of clothing to put on . They’re betting on what’s to be taken off . As in, the loser strips off a tie or a glove or a shirt. Or a gown if the loser is a female. But they won’t enforce their bets here. They’ll go to their private gaming club later and take a private room to watch the losers strip off—”
“That’s appalling!” Rose didn’t require further detail. “How did you learn of this? And why didn’t you tell me all the gloriously sordid details sooner?” She gasped. “Will your brother partake in this… in…”
“The orgy?”
“Nicola! He wouldn’t! Would he?” The mere thought of Lord Emory stripping out of his clothing to bare his hard, muscled body sent so much heat shooting into her cheeks that she knew they had to be a dark and fiery cherry red by now. “Oh, my heavens! Do you mean to say he’d strip naked?”
Nicola nodded. “Ew! The thought of my brother, ugh!”
Not quite the same response that Rose was having, for the thought of Julian Emory’s hard, golden body was quite the opposite of “ew.” Her own body was intensely hot and throbbing from the tip of her nose to the tips of her toes, and if she didn’t soon calm down, her usually pale skin would permanently remain that horrifying shade of cherry red.
“There you girls are,” came a
Nicola blushed lightly. “So do you. But you always do.”
“Nonsense, I feel so uncomfortable. I’m afraid to breathe for worry that I’ll damage the delicate fabric.” Her own gown was of the palest blue silk, almost a white-blue that shimmered in the glow of candlelight. “I’m not good at feigning elegance, but I have practiced walking around with my nose in the air. However, I shall be careful not become too full of myself. I’ll keep my feet firmly planted on the ground and my eyes clearly focused on where I’m walking.”
To emphasize her point, she gave a little wave of the decorative white cane she sported that almost matched the color of her gown. She’d borrowed it from Hortensia. Not that she really needed the cane, but it was her first full evening of keeping pressure on her ankle and she didn’t wish to make a fool of herself if it gave out.
They both giggled and continued to chatter as they made their way outdoors into Lady Winthrop’s garden. The walk they chose was lit with pretty lanterns hanging off lush tree branches. In the distance, fancier torches lit the lesser traveled walks.
Rose took a deep breath. “Isn’t it a lovely night? I’m so glad Lady Winthrop decided to hold the recital out here. Can you imagine the crush of hot, perspiring bodies crammed inside their music room?” She inhaled the light scent of roses, so much more pleasant than the heavy perfumes the older ladies and gentlemen seemed to adore.
The rain earlier in the day had ended so the Winthrop garden had managed to dry out in time. The summer sun had warmed the roses, and their petals were draped in full bloom across the arched trellises, their fragrant lemon and rose scent filling the air. “Is your brother here yet?”
Nicola gave a curt nod. “He and his countess are in the card room. Julian,” she said with a wrinkle to her nose to mark her displeasure, “is involved in a high stakes game of whist.”
Rose arched an eyebrow. “Whist? It’s a popular game. Doesn’t sound quite so alarming as you make it out to be.”
“It isn’t the game so much as the people involved and their wagers.” She quickly surveyed their little piece of the garden to make certain no one could overhear them. “They’re betting items of clothing.”
Rose shook her head in confusion. “That’s ridiculous. The loser has to purchase clothes for the winner? The haberdashers and modistes ought to be pleased.”
“No, silly. They’re not betting on articles of clothing to put on . They’re betting on what’s to be taken off . As in, the loser strips off a tie or a glove or a shirt. Or a gown if the loser is a female. But they won’t enforce their bets here. They’ll go to their private gaming club later and take a private room to watch the losers strip off—”
“That’s appalling!” Rose didn’t require further detail. “How did you learn of this? And why didn’t you tell me all the gloriously sordid details sooner?” She gasped. “Will your brother partake in this… in…”
“The orgy?”
“Nicola! He wouldn’t! Would he?” The mere thought of Lord Emory stripping out of his clothing to bare his hard, muscled body sent so much heat shooting into her cheeks that she knew they had to be a dark and fiery cherry red by now. “Oh, my heavens! Do you mean to say he’d strip naked?”
Nicola nodded. “Ew! The thought of my brother, ugh!”
Not quite the same response that Rose was having, for the thought of Julian Emory’s hard, golden body was quite the opposite of “ew.” Her own body was intensely hot and throbbing from the tip of her nose to the tips of her toes, and if she didn’t soon calm down, her usually pale skin would permanently remain that horrifying shade of cherry red.
“There you girls are,” came a
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