Page 97 of A Much Maligned Miss
“Do you like it?” Caroline asked, turning this way and that, so he could get the full effect. “I feel very grand. Rather like a duchess.” She turned her head to look back over her shoulder. “I’ve never worn a Watteau pleat before. It feels like I am wearing a train.”
He held her hands out to the sides and narrowed his eyes. “I think pink may be your color after all, my dear Miss Halperston.”
She gave a breathless laugh. “Really? You don’t think it too…girlish for me?”
“No,” he said decisively. “It suits your coloring which is that of an English rose. We will have to buy you more pink gowns. Pinks of every hue.”
“I don’t know why you did not want me to wear it downstairs though,” Caroline said, brushing an appreciative hand down the plush velvet robe. “It is not particularly scanty, and it’s so lovely it seems a shame not to show it off.”
Catching sight of his expression, she said quickly, “Oh, not paired with this nightgown, of course! This one is…rather low. But with a high-necked gown I feel I would be quite respectably covered. And after all, ladies receive morning callers arrayed like this, do they not?”
“They receive other ladies to drink tea and gossip with,” he stressed. “They do not mingle with occupants of a common gin palace, which is a different thing altogether.”
“There is nothing common about this place!” she objected strenuously.
“Besides,” he finished, ignoring her interjection. “I have no intention of buying you any high-necked nightgowns. You will be showing them off to me, and me alone. That should satisfy any exhibitionist tendencies you may harbor.”
“I—” She broke off, looking taken aback. “Exhibitionist tendencies?” she repeated faintly.
“As for Romulus,” he continued smoothly, “I would encourage you not to waste your breath. I’m afraid he is a wayward youth who will cause us much heartache over the next twenty or so years. I am quite resigned to the fact already and recommend you do likewise. We will rely on Remus to carry on the dignity of our family name.”
He walked over to the cabinet containing a selection of liqueurs. “Can I get you an aperitif? A dry sherry, perhaps?”
“That would be lovely, thank you,” she replied, taking a seat on the sofa and being careful to avoid any protruding paws.
“There you are,” he said, passing her a delicate crystal glass which she accepted with thanks.
“What—er, what did you order us for supper in the end?”
“We will be partaking of a meal from a local chop house. I predict brown soup, roasted meat with potatoes and gravy, and to finish, something stodgy like a treacle pudding.”
“Well, that all sounds very…traditional.”
“English dining at its finest,” he agreed, sitting down next to her.
“You are not having a drink?”
“No, I crave another indulgence altogether. Come, sit on my lap.”
“Your lap?” she queried, even as she rose off the sofa and perched herself in his lap. “Well, this is an easy favor for me to grant.”
His arms settled around her, and he brushed his lips against her brow. “You are beneficent,” he said, resting a hand on her thigh and spreading his fingers. “But you could be kinder still to this poor petitioner.”
“How so?” she asked, cautiously sipping her sherry.
“You could take exquisite pity on me and allow me to lift your skirts and finger you to completion,” he whispered in her ear.
Caroline coughed, nearly spitting out her drink. “How is that an act of pity?” she asked, turning watery eyes on him.
“It is an act of pity, because I have been dying to get my hands on you, Miss Halperston, ever since I clapped eyes on you in that nightgown.”
The look in his eye no doubt convinced her of his sincerity. “Someone will be coming soon with our food,” she uttered, crimson-cheeked.
“Yes,” he agreed. “That is why I did not ask to put my mouth between your legs.”
“I see!” she spluttered. “Very considerate!”
“And? What is the verdict?” He traced his fingers over her satin-clad thigh.
