Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
D ear Edmund,
I cannot explain why I must hide my identity except to say exposure threatens all. It is a risk I cannot afford.
I know you will not like this answer, but please accept it. Stop trying to uncover my identity and instead focus on the social causes that need us. I have enclosed information regarding Lord Cattlyn, which will aid in your endeavors. I will continue to search for information so long as you cease your inquiries into me. Already it has affected our work…
Yours,
P
It had been going so well. With every drink, Roxbury had grown more and more talkative; with every question, he offered increasingly useful information. She’d learned about several mistresses as well as other promising details.
Then Bradenton arrived.
He hadn’t followed her. She’d arrived far before him, and had been careful to study her surroundings every step of the way. Likely he was here for the same reason as she, to investigate on the day neither had a major ball to attend.
He didn’t know who she was when he came to the table.
He knew now.
It was apparent the second he did. The quick intake of breath, the tensed muscles, the shocked reflection glinting off the glass mug.
Their eyes locked. Then suddenly…
She was lifted out of the chair.
She gasped as she was slung over a hard and large shoulder, as she landed against a solid body she knew so well. Muscular arms snaked around her, powerful bands holding her as securely as iron shackles. She kicked and struggled, yet it was useless.
She was captured.
Roxbury shot up. “What in blazes are you doing?”
“This belongs to me.”
Roxbury swore, stammered, sputtered. He took a drunken step, then looked at his piles of money. With an unfocused shrug, he slumped back down. And her?
She was still being kidnapped.
“Put me down!”
Edmund paid her no heed as he stamped through the gaming hell like a gladiator holding a trophy of victory. Hard muscles flexed under his shirt as people darted out of his way, staring and pointing and yet not intervening. They delved closer and closer to the exit as he carried her to a destination unknown.
“He’s the little brother of one of my friends.” He patted her rear. “It’s time for him to go to bed.”
“Why you!” she squealed. She opened her mouth to demand he release her when he pushed her into his thick coat. His heady scent filled her nostrils.
“Do you want someone to recognize you? Keep your head down!” He stopped briefly to talk to someone. Oh no – Crawford and Peyton were here! Now she voluntarily stilled, until he moved once more, exiting the hell with her in his firm possession. As they entered the crisp night, she resumed her struggles. “Let me go!”
“No.”
She yelped as they ascended into a closed carriage, as he murmured something to the coachman she couldn’t make out, as the door slammed shut. He deposited her in the seat next to him. A moment later, the carriage jerked into motion.
She lunged to the door, but he was too quick. He grasped her arms and brought her into his lap.
Heat flooded her.
“How dare you! Let me go this instant. You have no right to kidnap me!”
He looked at her incredulously. “You were the one traipsing through a gaming hell. Do you have any idea what would have happened if they discovered you were a woman?”
“No one was going to discover the truth. I look just like my brother.”
“You look nothing like a man,” he growled. “The only reason I didn’t realize sooner was because you were turned away. The moment I caught your scent, it was obvious. Not too many men smell like gardenias.”
She cringed. One forgotten detail.
“Do you know what could have happened?” he thundered again.
“Nothing! Perhaps a minor scandal, but they were gentlemen. I would have left immediately.”
“You think they would have just let you leave? Half those men were foxed! What if Roxbury learned the truth?”
She suppressed a shudder at the thought of the beefy, corrupt man. “He would never guess. I’m dressed like a boy.”
“You may be dressed like a boy, but any red-blooded male would see you’re all woman.” His voice came out low, husky. “Nothing can hide your beauty.”
From anyone else it would have been meaningless flattery, yet from him it held untold meaning. The fire burning in Edmund’s eyes belied deception, pooling heat in sensitive spots.
“Those breeches hide few secrets, Priscilla.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs. Anger fled, replaced by desire. She couldn’t stop herself from reaching out, touching his heated chest. A thousand whispers warned of danger, yet she ignored every single one.
He looked down at her hand, back at her lips. “I suppose I will have to prove it to you.”
He did not wait an instant.
The kiss was intoxicating, tasting of brandy and heady male. He pressed his lips to hers as he grazed her curves, smoothing sensitive skin underneath the thin fabric. Pulled against his solid body, she could not shield her femininity.
He ran his hands along every inch, cupping her back to press her tightly into him. She moaned as she pressed closer… and closer…
The carriage hit a bump.
Priscilla yelped as they bounced up and down. It was enough to break the spell. She pulled back, rubbing her swollen lips with the back of her hand.
He gazed at her with the intensity of a hungry lion.
She put a hand in front of her, as if it could stop the powerful man. “This was a–”
“If you say it was a mistake, I’m going to do it again.”
She looked at him. Clenched her jaw. And just barely managed not to claim it was a mistake.
“Do you understand you are no less desirable in boy’s clothing?” he ground out.
She could scarce deny it. Which meant, if someone else had realized…
Stop it. She knew the danger going into the investigation. “It was worth the risk.”
“Worth the risk?” he ground out. “Why were you really there?”
“I was there to–”
She froze. Blazes! The kiss had her so befuddled she almost blurted out the truth. “I– I was there to see what it was like, of course. It’s ridiculous men experience all these wondrous things while women are expected to sit home and sew.”
His eyes narrowed. “I thought you liked sewing. You started an organization dedicated to it.”
Woops.
“And you call a gaming hell wondrous?” He folded his arms across his chest. “You can’t be serious.”
“Perhaps wondrous was the wrong word. Let’s call it an adventure. And although I like sewing, it is not an adventure.”
“Acting as Roxbury’s good luck charm was an adventure? You’re going to have to do better than that.” He flexed his muscles, and her breath caught. Battling equal wits, she sometimes forgot how physically powerful he was.
“I didn’t mean to get trapped next to him. I simply wanted to experience a gaming hall.”
“But you approached him.”
Heat crept up Priscilla’s neck. He had been watching her. Did he know she targeted Roxbury directly?
Did he know why?
She had to redirect the conversation before he figured out the truth.
She notched up her chin. “Vingt-et-un is one of the few games I know. I didn’t realize he was there until I went up to him,” she lied.
“Roxbury is gregarious, oafish and loud. How could you possibly miss him?”
She shrugged.
“Why do I keep catching you in all sorts of strange places? First Roxbury’s garden, then next to him in a gaming hall.” He stopped. “Gracious, Priscilla, please tell me you and Lord Roxbury aren’t–”
“No!” she screeched.
“Then why were you truly there?”
“I told you. I want to experience all life has to offer, even and especially activities not deemed ladylike. I was having a lovely time before you kidnapped me. You had no right to carry me out like you owned me.” Feminine power infused her. She held out a finger. “I demand you stop this carriage right now.”
He leaned back. “No.”
“Yes!”
“No.”
“Yes!”
“No.”
She clenched her fists. “I live life as I choose. If I want to gamble in a gaming hell, I will.”
“And if I want to kidnap you, I will.” He flexed his muscles. “I will not allow you to put yourself in danger.”
“You will not allow it?” she sputtered. “You have no say!”
“What do you think your parents would do if they learned of this?”
She gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
His bold gaze belied her denial. “You’d have a hard time denying it.”
She wouldn’t have a chance. If her father knew she snuck into a gaming hell, every choice she had – or thought she had – would disappear in an instant. He’d marry her to the first suitable lord he could find.
Bradenton.
“If you do that, I’ll never speak to you again,” she hissed.
For a moment, he said nothing. As the carriage hit another bump, she looked out the window. They were nearing her home.
“You will never go to a gaming hell again.”
“You have no right to make demands.”
“I have every right.”
“Based on what?”
“I don’t think you’re ready to hear that.”
Her heart lurched. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, go there. “Would you agree to the same?”
“Priscilla…”
The voice held a warning. She had no intention of obeying him, yet she refrained from saying so. Hopefully he would take it as an affirmative.
He sighed. “No one hurt you, right? Did or said anything that troubled you?”
Unwittingly, she softened. “Except for Roxbury’s odor I was perfectly safe.”
“I only want to protect you.”
She swallowed as warmth infused her, even as she fought it. She could resist an overbearing brute and high-handed tyrant. A chivalrous crusader? Not so much. “I must live my life, Bradenton. If you tell my parents, life as I know it will be over.” She swallowed. “As a gentleman, will you keep your silence?”
He gazed a moment more, slowly shook his head.
Her heart stumbled.
“All right.”
She let out a breath.
“For now.”
The breath caught in her throat.
“I promise to not say anything tonight, yet I reserve the right to speak if something changes. I will see you safe, whether you like it or not.”
She opened her mouth to protest, yet he stopped her with a raised finger. “Do not test me, Priscilla. Keeping silent goes against everything in me.”
It was less than she hoped, yet more than she feared. She had no choice to take it. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
The carriage came to a sudden halt, not in front of the townhouse, but in back. Edmund pointed. “I assume you weren’t planning on entering through the front door. I will watch to ensure your safety.”
“That’s not–”
His harsh look stopped her.
She took a shuddering breath. “Fine. But remember, you are not responsible for me.” She rose as eloquently as her tight breeches allowed, brushing by his taut muscles as she threaded to the door. With a curt nod good-bye, she descended the carriage and walked into the darkness.
As the cool night air tickled her sensitized skin, the breeze carried his final words. “Not yet, Priscilla. Not yet.”
“How can I investigate while someone is investigating me?” Priscilla slammed her hands on the table, remembered that ladies were not supposed to slam hands on tables, and slammed them harder. She paced back and forth, too agitated to stay still.
“He shows up to every single event I attend. He demands a dance, or two or even three!”
He also managed to steal a kiss. Or two. Or even three.
“How he does it is a mystery. With so many competing events, someone must be sharing where I will be. Once I changed plans at the last minute, and he still came to the ball. Before me! Of course, getting access to anything and everything is easy for him. Hostesses compete for the opportunity to entertain the most lauded duke of the ton .”
She stopped pacing. “I don’t know what to do. I won’t chance investigating while he is there, and he is always there. I haven’t gotten anything useful in a month.”
Emma gave a hesitant smile. “You found information about Lord Cattlyn.”
Priscilla shook her head. “That was sheer luck. Once I discovered how much he admired Lady Letitia, I was able to recruit her to change his mind. She did a splendid job.”
“If I recall, she returns his affection,” Hannah remarked.
Priscilla nodded. “There’s to be an announcement soon. With her influence, hopefully we won’t have to worry about his vote again. Yet there are so many others whose votes are vulnerable. I can’t do anything while Bradenton watches my every move. He acts like we’re betrothed.” She suppressed a shiver. The words were spoken in indignation, yet other emotions surfaced. Craving. Desire. Longing.
“Are you certain you don’t want the match?” Emma asked softly.
“Of course not.” Priscilla stomped her foot. “Bradenton is one of the most powerful men in the ton . If he discovers my identity, he’ll take control of everything.”
“But how do you feel about him?”
She suppressed a shiver. “I feel hunted.”
“Yes, but what else?” Emma pressed. “You’ve gone against many lords, but you’ve never been so passionate.”
“I’m not passionate about him.” Well, except for the kiss. And the other kiss. And the kiss she was currently imagining. “I am not passionate about him,” she repeated louder and stronger. “I am frustrated by his pursuit. I’m scared he’s going to succeed. And I’m not entirely certain I don’t want him to.”
She swallowed emotions she hadn’t meant to reveal. In truth, Edmund inspired many feelings, and not all of them were bad. He was indeed like chocolate. The more she tasted, the more she craved.
“Oh darling,” Emma’s expression softened. “Have you considered telling him the truth?”
“Don’t you dare!” Hannah admonished. “If she reveals her identity, we’re all finished. We’ll be sentenced to a lifetime of embroidery, tea rooms and the pianoforte. Just give it time. Bradenton is actively searching for a wife. When he finds a suitable bride who is not Priscilla, he will cease his investigations, and everything will be like before.”
“Exactly,” Priscilla agreed. And if the thought of Edmund with another woman made her think of vases, she would just ignore it.
“Girls, are you ready?” The duchess breezed into the room, garbed in a fashionable blue dress, matching shoes and a decorative hat. She was holding a small silk bag.
The ladies straightened as Priscilla frowned. “Is it already time to go to the modiste? I thought our appointment wasn’t until this afternoon.”
“We need to leave now.” Her mother beckoned them forward with ruthless efficiency. “You’ll need more than a few hours to order new gowns and all the accompaniments. Hannah and Emma, your parents entrusted me to help you.”
Priscilla grimaced. She’d much rather be plotting her next move than being pinched, poked and prodded. Yet there was no stopping a duchess intent on the modiste.
Her mother held up the bag. “You received a gift.”
Priscilla accepted the parcel as she walked to the door, with the ladies trailing behind. It was soft, silky, and surprisingly heavy for its size. “Who is it from?”
Her mother shrugged. “There was no card, and the footman who brought it left immediately.”
Priscilla frowned. She received many gifts, yet typically the suitor claimed credit with verses of poetic prose. “Perhaps there’s a card on the inside.”
There was a card, but no name. She unfolded the crisp square paper and read, “For the safety of all.”
She opened the bag to reveal….
The smallest vase she had ever seen.
It was tiny and delicate, only a few inches in height and intricately carved from a piece of mahogany. Covered in detailed miniature paintings and encrusted with sparkling gemstones, it truly was a work of art. Rubies, sapphires and diamonds glistened as she turned it under the light.
“Extraordinary.” Her mother leaned in. “Who do you suppose it is from?”
“I can’t ima–”
She stopped. Remembered the message.
For the safety of all.
She tried to hold back the laughter. Really, really tried.
Failed spectacularly.
The other ladies looked at her in bemusement as she laughed in a most unladylike manner, giggling until her eyes moistened. How Edmund found such a small vase, she would never know. She turned the vase over, and something shiny fell out.
She sobered immediately.
Emma gasped, and even Hannah’s eyes opened wide. Priscilla bent down and slowly lifted the heavy golden chain from the floor. A huge diamond solitaire dangled at its end, sparkling in the light, casting a rainbow of colors from its fathomless depths.
“Goodness,” Emma whispered. “Is it real?”
The duchess took the necklace. “I’ve seen this piece before. It’s from a very exclusive jeweler whose wares are only available to a select clientele.” She pointed to a small symbol on the chain. “This is his mark. The price is as massive as the diamond.” Her mother gave her a long look. “Your secret admirer is quite extraordinary. Do you have any idea who he is, Priscilla?”
She didn’t have an idea. She knew.
Her heart thumped in her chest. The vase had been a clever and amusing gift, but there was nothing humorous about the diamond. It held meaning, importance, a message .
Suitors did not send priceless diamond jewelry. They sent flowers, chocolate, cards of poetry. Edmund was conveying something far more important with the necklace.
“Put it on.”
She looked up. “Mother, no–”
“Yes.” Her mother’s voice brooked no argument. “We are searching for gowns. I daresay you will wear the necklace when you wear them. You can see what best complements it.”
“But we don’t even know who sent it.”
“We don’t?”
Her mother stared at her. She could continue to feign innocence, but the truth could not be denied. It was Edmund.
“Something like this should not be taken lightly,” Priscilla said quietly. “If the gentleman sees me wearing it, he may make assumptions–”
“You will wear the necklace, Priscilla.”
Priscilla regarded her mother for a moment more. Finally she breathed out. “As you wish.”
Her mother smiled, patted her arm. “It’s all right, my darling. All will be well. But we must hurry. We do not want to keep Bradenton waiting.”
Priscilla’s breath hitched. “Bradenton?”
“Did I forget to tell you?” Her mother smiled. “The duke asked for assistance in purchasing gowns for his sister. We’re to meet him in half an hour.”
The vase was definitely way too small.
“Tell me again why we’re here.”
“Because my duchess-to-be will soon arrive, and I need her where she can’t escape.” Edmund rubbed his hands together. “Hopefully, my sister can convince her I’m not nearly as controlling as she believes.”
“You are that controlling.” Crawford examined a piece of lace like it was some foreign creature. “And does she know she’s your duchess-to-be?”
“I’m not going to answer that.”
Edmund pushed aside a curtain of jewel-colored silks to view Sophia. Normally his mother would accompany his sister to the modiste, but he needed an excuse to enlist the duchess’ help. His sister was looking far too mature with her golden curls and bright blue eyes, and a dress that made her look older than her years. He was not the only one who noticed, but his piercing glares ensured she was left alone. He always made sure to keep his sister, and any men who would deem approach her, in view.
He turned back to Crawford, “I’d like her to see marriage will not be as dreadful as she assumes.”
Peyton inclined his head. “Fine. That explains why you are here. But why are Crawford and I here?”
“Because you are kind enough to distract Lady Emma and Lady Hannah.”
“Ahhh.” Crawford smiled. “I do not mind distracting Lady Hannah. The lady is refreshing.”
Edmund looked at him frankly. “She dislikes you intensely.”
Crawford smiled wider. “She does indeed.”
“I do not mind entertaining Lady Emma.” Peyton straightened his sleeves. “She is pleasant enough, even if she doesn’t utter a word. And what about you, Bradenton? How goes your suit?”
Edmund grimaced. With her spirit, kindness and intelligence, Priscilla would make the ideal duchess, yet she remained resistant, defiant. “As frustrating as my search for my informant.”
“You have no new leads?”
Edmund shook his head. “If only I had pulled the curtain back sooner. I’ve done a little investigating during several parties, but the only lurkers I found were…” He cleared his throat. “Indisposed.”
“That must have been awkward.”
“Indeed.”
“Did Lord P mention the episode in a letter?”
“No, so I cannot even be certain it was him,” Edmund replied. “One thing did change, however. Whereas in the past, we discussed specific lords to target, now he will neither suggest nor confirm any names.”
“He doesn’t want you to find him.”
“Likely. But I have a plan.” Edmund stood up taller. “He won’t be able to hide the truth for much longer.”
A gasp pierced the air.
All eyes turned to the door as the Duchess of Sherring, Lady Priscilla, Lady Hannah and Lady Emma entered, accompanied by an army of maids and footmen. Most smiled warm greetings.
Priscilla stared at him.
No matter how many times he saw her, her beauty stunned him. Today she wore a pale blush dress accentuated with tiny flowers and ethereal puff sleeves. It fit tightly around her ample bosom and skimmed gracefully over her hips. Ladies’ fashion was not normally something he admired, or even noticed, but he couldn’t help but appreciate how the silky fabric hugged her curves. Her creamy cheeks were flushed pink and her eyes shone brightly.
She was wearing his necklace.
The shimmering jewel lay nestled against her creamy décolleté, perfection among perfection, its beauty a glittering complement to the flawless woman. A surge of satisfaction emboldened him. He wanted to spoil her with all the riches in the world, give her everything she ever desired.
She caught his gaze lingering on the jewel and visibly tensed. No doubt she knew its origin.
She was the one who had gasped. But why? She must have overheard his statement and assumed it pertained to her.
“Are you all right?”
Emotions flitted across her face, fleeting panic melting into concern and then neutrality. She straightened. “Of course. I was simply startled.”
She gave no other explanation, and he didn’t ask for one. Blatant questions wouldn’t unlock the mystery that was Priscilla Livingston. He would have to be clever, and subtle, to uncover the truth.
He greeted the other members of their party. Upon seeing his friends, Emma smiled shyly and Hannah looked as if she’d eaten spoiled fish. The duchess took charge, immediately suggesting Emma and Hannah pair with Peyton and Crawford. All the ladies started to protest, but Crawford and Peyton led their respective charges away before they could formulate an argument strong enough to counter the duchess’ clout. A true master of the ton , the duchess then declared herself in charge of Sophia, and stomped off towards the unsuspecting chit, beckoning the bevy of servants like a general heading to war.
And just like that, he was alone with Priscilla.
“I’m so glad you could meet us here. As you see, my sister is busy at work.” He gestured to Sophia, who juggled three bolts of fabric and four spools of lace. He laughed softly.
He turned to find Priscilla staring at him. He frowned. “Are you certain you’re all right?”
“Perfectly fine,” she said in a clipped tone. She studied the fabrics as they started to walk, but soon her eyes darted back to his. “What were you speaking of earlier?” Though said casually, an undercurrent of tension laced every syllable.
“Don’t worry, my dear. I wasn’t discussing you.”
She looked even more worried.
He gently touched her arm, careful to angle her out of eyesight of others. “Truly. I was speaking of someone else.”
She gave a strained smile. “So I’m not the only one you’re investigating?”
Bemusement surfaced at her frank response. “No, but don’t worry. The other is more business than personal. I wish to help a friend of mine, but he is being obstinate.”
She turned back to the material and started sorting with ruthless efficiency. “What did your friend do to deserve your scrutiny?”
He frowned. Except for Crawford and Peyton, he hadn’t told anyone about his informant, and he would not go into details now. Yet the urge to share with her was strong. “It wasn’t something he did. I would like to help him.”
Now she flipped through fabric at a dizzying speed. His sister could spend half an hour on a single bolt before declaring it the ugliest thing in existence, but Priscilla barely gave them a second’s attention. “If he does not wish for your assistance, why force it? Shouldn’t he be allowed to solve his problems on his own?”
He shrugged. “Many in need of aid do not ask. I merely desire a more productive relationship.”
She stopped, turned her bright emerald gaze on him. Clearly she didn’t quite believe what wasn’t quite true. “If he doesn’t wish for your interference, perhaps you should allow him his privacy.”
He stared. Something about the way she said that…
“We should help your sister!” Suddenly, she was leading him along, all but dragging him towards Sophia.
He shook his head. What had gotten into her?
“Lady Sophia, how lovely to see you again!”
Sophia looked startled, but quickly recovered. She gave a genuine smile. “It is an honor, Lady Priscilla. Your mother has been so kind to assist me, and I look forward to your insight as well.”
Edmund’s gaze turned mischievous. “Priscilla will be quite helpful. She loves spending time at the modiste.”
Priscilla relaxed into a smile. “Ah, yes, my favorite pastime.”
“Outside of collecting vases.”
“Speaking of vases.” The duchess put her hand on Priscilla’s shoulder. “My daughter received the most unusual miniature vase this morning. It came with this diamond necklace. Isn’t it stunning?”
“It is indeed.” he murmured to the duchess, even as his eyes never left Priscilla. “Yet it pales next to its wearer.”
Priscilla’s cheeks tinged pink. Despite her attempts, she was not immune to his flattery.
“Did the gift please you?” he murmured.
“The vase was far too small to be practical.”
He chuckled.
Sophia was looking back and forth between the two of them, her lips curving into a slow smile. “Lady Priscilla, will you be so kind as to give your opinion on these patterns?”
Priscilla nodded. Soon the ladies were in an animated discussion about fabrics, chatting and laughing like old friends within minutes. Priscilla was patient and kind with his sister, listening intently and offering sage advice. They shared similar personalities, marked by intelligence, consideration and clever wit.
They spent a few minutes consulting, then separated once more, the duchess tailing Sophia as she left to be measured, and Edmund following Priscilla back to the fabrics.
Yet before they could start looking, a harried assistant came rushing from the back, clutching a small piece of paper. “Madame Fleur wanted me to give you the latest on your accounts.” She reached out with the paper, but stumbled at the last minute. As she righted herself, the paper fluttered down.
Priscilla caught it.
The horrified woman backed up. “I’m so sorry, Your Grace! We had a huge rush order and I’m three gowns behind and–”
“No harm done.” He held out a placating hand. “I certainly won’t mention it.”
The woman relaxed. “Thank you, Your Grace. Thank you so much.” She scurried away.
Edmund waved after her, then turned to Priscilla. He stiffened.
She was reading the paper.
“Priscilla–”
“I can’t believe it.” Fury blazed in her eyes. “It says you fund accounts for over two dozen ladies.”
He reached for the paper. “It’s not what you think.”
“Then what is it?”
He hesitated.
She snatched it back. “Tell me what it is.” With every word, her voice grew in volume. Others looked their way, but she paid them no heed.
He should just tell her the truth, explain it was not as she assumed, yet something stopped him. This was personal.
“Wait a minute.” Her stance softened, anger changing to confusion in an instant. “This account is for a sixty-year-old widow, this one is for a disabled grandmother and this one is for a woman who almost lost her home before a mysterious benefactor helped her…” Her voice trailed off. She pinned him with a look far stronger than anger. “These are charity accounts?”
“Yes, well…”
She softened further, held out the sheet. “I’m sorry.”
He stood taller and took the paper. He folded it and placed it in his pocket. “No need to apologize.”
“Of course there is,” she said quietly. “I assumed something very bad, only now I understand. You’re helping disadvantaged ladies with nowhere to turn. Do they even know you’re their benefactor?”
He hesitated, shook his head.
She gave him a small smile. “How do you find out about them?”
He looked away. “Some I know personally, others I heard from gossip or general knowledge. Madame Fleur will sometimes suggest a lady in need.”
“Does she contact them?”
He nodded. “She tells them an anonymous benefactor paid for their clothing. We provide everything they need to rebuild their lives.”
“Everything?” Her eyes widened. “This isn’t just about clothing. Did you save that lady’s home?”
He’d done that and far more. It was a true injustice when people were left unable to fend for themselves, especially the most vulnerable. Fortunately, the Bradenton coffers were vast, and he had a talent for making money. “It’s nothing.”
She shook her head, gazing at him in an entirely disconcerting way. “Oh no, Bradenton. This is beyond special. It is extraordinary.”
He grunted and moved back to the racks. He felt her smile as she followed behind him.
Now Priscilla searched through the fabrics slower and more focused, actually giving her attention to the task. He split his time between watching her and keeping an eye on his sister, who was smiling gaily, even with the serious duchess.
Priscilla noticed his perusal. “Your sister is delightful.”
“Thank you. I can’t believe her come out is next year.”
She smiled. “You sound worried.”
“A trove of rakes pursuing my beautiful baby sister? What’s there to worry about?”
Priscilla chuckled lowly. “Come now. It isn’t as bad as all that.”
“Sophia deserves someone who will make her happy. I’m also hoping she’ll stay nearby.” His sister moving far away to only correspond by letters every half year was simply unacceptable. He would encourage suitable close gentlemen.
“I bet you have a hundred requirements,” Priscilla teased.
“Actually, five hundred and thirty-eight.”
She chuckled, yet they both knew it was not a complete exaggeration. He would ensure his sister had a happy life, even if it meant being a little, or perhaps a lot, overbearing. Yet he didn’t want Priscilla even warier of him. “As I said before, I will allow her to choose her own match.”
Priscilla sent him a skeptical glance. “Truly?”
“Truly.”
“But you must approve.”
“I am certain we will find a choice that satisfies us both.”
“I hope you allow her the freedom you claim. Your sister is very kind. We get along well.”
“I am pleased to hear that.” And pleased she mentioned it. It provided the perfect opportunity for further investigation. “Since you get along so well, perhaps you’ll reconsider her attendance at your sewing guild.”
She hesitated. When she spoke, the words were low, careful. “I still don’t think it’s wise. The conversation may not be appropriate.”
He cocked his head to the side. “You speak of inappropriate matters at a sewing guild?”
“No, of course not.” Pinkened cheeks belied the denial. “I meant we speak of things above her age. You do not want Lady Sophia growing up too fast.”
If he had his choice, she’d remain in the schoolroom forever. But she was nearing womanhood, whether he was ready or not.
And he’d wager Priscilla’s true objections had nothing to do with age.
“Castleberry’s sister is in it. She’s only a year older than Sophia.”
“What a difference a year can make.” Priscilla rubbed her hands together. “Let’s discuss this next year then.”
Likely she had no intention of ever discussing it. “Perhaps I should join you for a meeting.”
She gasped. “You can’t come! You are… a man!”
From anyone else, the explanation would have made sense, yet something else lurked behind her horror. Was there more to her sewing circle than obvious? “I was jesting, of course.”
“Of course.” She gave a lighthearted laugh, yet it rang hollow. She quickly turned back to the fabrics.
He would let it go for now, but he wouldn’t forget. He added it to the list of clues surrounding the mysterious Priscilla Livingston.
For now, they both gave their attention to the task at hand. The tension between them softened as they returned to comfortable conversation, light jokes and amicable laughter. She knew what fabrics she liked, but was open to views beyond her own. He never imagined he would enjoy shopping for ladies’ fashions, yet with Priscilla he did exactly that.
The fabrics came in every color of the rainbow, with countless thicknesses, textures and embellishments. She picked several in a variety of colors suitable to her age and position. Finally, they reached the greens. He grimaced.
“Let’s skip these. I know you dislike them.”
He halted.
She continued walking, then turned back. “What is it–” Her eyes widened, nostrils flaring.
They stared at each other.
A moment passed, and then another, as his mind reeled. “How did you know I dislike green?” he finally managed. His hatred of the color, and the reasons why, were only known by a select few, close friends and family who would never tell. How in blazes had she discovered it?
“I, um…” She stumbled on the words. “I don’t know.” She smoothed her dress. “No one told me. I just assumed because you never wear green.”
“There’s a difference between not wearing a color and disliking it. Do not evade me, Priscilla. How did you know?” He gave her a long hard stare. “The truth this time.”
She sucked in a breath, hesitated. And finally, notched up her chin.
“You told me.”