A Game of Persuasion: Extended Prologue for the Art of Ruining a Rake (The Naughty Girls Book 3) (5 page)

Lucy’s breath caught. As Miss Gray’s fingertips reached her ankle, she very deliberately turned the hem of her gown to show a peek of the white lace lining her underskirt, then flashed a view of her stockinged ankle. Lucy gasped.

“Now you do it,” Miss Gray murmured in a voice that slid down the back of Lucy’s neck.

Instinctively, Lucy wanted to say she couldn’t. Admitting as much, however, would prove Miss Gray right. Instead, she drew a breath and sank to the cushion. Awkwardly, she trailed her hand across her knee and down her leg to the top of her walking boot. Unlike Miss Gray’s slippers, her sturdy boot encased her ankle, but she supposed it was the spirit that mattered. She gave a saucy flip of her skirt, then grinned at Miss Gray. “Next?”

Miss Gray raised a brow. Without a word, she turned and absorbed herself with pouring the wine.
 

Lucy reached for the block of cheese and a knife. As she jabbed into the cheese, she asked, “Do you really wish to leave all this behind?”

Miss Gray didn’t answer immediately. Again Lucy reminded herself that whatever friendship they’d formed in Devonshire had been tarnished by Trestin’s repudiation. She must be patient and allow Miss Gray to warm to her again.

“I’m not sure I can,” Miss Gray said at last. “I’m not sure I want to. I’m not sure of anything except that something must change.” Her gaze fell to the cup in her hands. Quickly, she raised it to her lips.

As if fortified, she raised one hand to indicate the room. “I’m old,” Miss Gray declared. “Too old for this.”

Lucy stopped sawing at the hard cheese block and looked up. The breathtaking enchantress seated across from her couldn’t have been much more than thirty years of age. “Please do not say such hideous things. If you’re old, then I’m very nearly old, and where does that leave us?”

Miss Gray frowned. She reached for one of the cheese wedges. “I’m not sure. Can a former courtesan become a spinster?”

“Is there a clause saying spinsters must be virgins?”

“Perhaps those are old maids,” Miss Gray said, a twinkle coming into her eye at last.

Lucy half-laughed, half-snorted. When Miss Gray smiled in return, Lucy’s breath caught. It felt like an achievement to have broken through the woman’s reticence. And what a lovely smile, too!
This
was the carefree, confident woman she remembered from the country.

Suddenly, Lucy had three goals in life: Seduce Roman, open her school, and bring Miss Gray and Trestin back together.

Lucy reached for the wine decanter. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. Now,
you’re
too old to attract a man? Bosh. My brother fell head over heels for you the minute he saw you.”

Miss Gray allowed her wineglass to be refilled. “Rusticating in the country limited his options. He wouldn’t have looked twice at me in London.”

“Younger men enjoy older women,” Lucy reasoned, refusing to believe her brother would have been swept away as quickly by a proper, eligible miss as he’d been by Miss Gray. Helpfully, and because she couldn’t resist saying his name aloud, she added, “Roman kept a mistress twice his age when he was twenty.”

“Perhaps it’s me,” Miss Gray said, grimacing. “Perhaps I am simply not attracted to young men anymore.”

“Trestin is younger.”

Miss Gray gifted Lucy with another exasperated smile. “Your astuteness is wearing.” Then she placed her wineglass on the tray and brushed crumbs of cheese from her skirt. “If I don’t occupy you one way, you’ll think of other ways to entertain yourself. Why don’t we try something simple? Here, finish up, and we will use the mirror.”

“But I don’t see a mirror—Oh.”

Miss Gray inched over and tugged at a satin sheet covering a large mirror propped against the wall. As it was unveiled, it glinted in the sunlight. The entire room was visible in the reflection, though Lucy suspected it wasn’t placed there to make the room seem larger.

She let Miss Gray grab her hand and pull her onto her knees so that they knelt side-by-side. No two women could look more different: Miss Gray with her luminous, peach-colored complexion, burnished red hair, and generous bosom, looked radiant even with her hair pulled back into a simple knot. Lucy was merely ordinary beside her. Black hair, brown eyes, spindly arms and small breasts that could easily fit into her own palms. It wouldn’t matter if she wore bloodred silk; she would always be plain.

“Lesson one,” Miss Gray said in Lucy’s ear, “unless you have overly displayed your bosom, a man looks at your face first. Then his gaze travels. After he has perused you once, he does so again, this time in reverse. For this reason a woman must be sure her entire body is ready for a man at all times. If only one asset is to his liking, he will generally dismiss the woman. But a woman with many appealing characteristics will receive more notice. It is the sum, rather than the parts, which attracts him.”

Good advice for a woman with plentiful assets to display. Not terribly helpful to Lucy. “I have a plain face,” she pointed out, in case Miss Gray hadn’t realized it.

Miss Gray’s murmur tickled the outer edge of Lucy’s ear. “No woman is entirely plain or entirely beautiful. It is the confidence with which you hold yourself that affects how others see you.”

Intrigued, Lucy arched her back straighter. “You’re saying I have the ability to make myself beautiful?”

Miss Gray’s lips parted. In the reflection, she leaned in. Gently, her eyes heavy with promise, she asked Lucy, “Have you ever been kissed?”

Lucy’s heart skipped. Kit Whitechapel had stolen a kiss after church one Sunday. He wasn’t Roman, of course, but he was tall and had a ready smile. She’d been sixteen.

Her voice barely sounded above a whisper as she said, “Yes.”

Miss Gray cupped Lucy’s elbows and lowered her voice. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes.”

“Was he gentle?”

Lucy half laughed, half sighed. “No.”

Miss Gray’s velvety chuckle sent gooseflesh down Lucy’s arms. “Thank goodness.” She tipped her head even closer to Lucy’s. “Did he make you feel wanted?”

“Y-yes.”

“Desired?”

Lucy sighed.

“Look at yourself.”

The woman in the mirror watched Lucy through thick, dark lashes. Plump lips begged to be kissed. Her bosom heaved just enough to draw the eye. “I look drugged,” Lucy said, amazed.

“No, inviting.” Miss Gray placed her hand on Lucy’s shoulder. “See how your eyes are heavy? Your lips are full and slightly parted. You have a rosy glow.”

Lucy puckered her lips. Rather than silly, as she’d expected to look, she appeared coy. “Are you sure you didn’t apply cosmetics while my eyes were closed?”

Miss Gray chuckled and tugged at Lucy’s coiffure. Black curls fell to frame her face. “A man lives to see a woman’s pleasure,” Miss Gray explained, her voice lulling. “When he believes he can please her, he is attracted. When she laughs, he believes it is because he made her laugh. To attract Roman, you must be open to the pleasure he can bring you. Then you will be beautiful to him.”

Lucy frowned. “But I will not
be
beautiful.”

Miss Gray’s eyes snapped. “What is beauty? The arrangement of certain facial features in a particular order? No, it is a perception. When you feel beautiful, when you are open to beauty, others will find you beautiful.”

It sounded so obvious coming from Miss Gray, but could it be true? Surely, if it were that simple, others would be sashaying around with the sort of confidence that drew notice.

Others…like all the pretty girls drawing Roman’s attention.

Oh.

It
could
be true, then. What a brilliant idea on her part, to seek the advice of an expert temptress! “And smart,” she quipped, pleased with herself.

Miss Gray smiled. “We should definitely add ‘humble’ to the list.”

Lucy turned and faced her mentor, coming eye to eye with the more experienced woman. “Is that it, then? All I must do is walk around pretending I’ve just been kissed and men will flock to me?”

“No,” Miss Gray replied, tugging another strand of Lucy’s hair to fall in a fat curl at her shoulder, “but it’s a good first step. Kissing can give a woman confidence, so long as she is the one in control. Later, I will teach you about that. For now, try this: As you go about your day, remember how it felt to be desired by your gentleman. Imagine all the men you meet today feel the same way about you. You need not say anything different. Simply pretend you are allowing each man the honor of a moment of your time, and they will treat you differently.”

Lucy turned back to the mirror. She squared her shoulders, enjoying the sensation of cloaking herself in secret, feminine power—and looking forward with delicious anticipation to wielding it. “I truly need not change?”

Miss Gray smiled. Her eyes seemed to light with pride. “No.”

Lucy’s lips curled up in a sly smile. “What is lesson two?”

Chapter 2

SHE DIDN’T HAVE long to wait to apply her newfound knowledge. No sooner had Lucy returned to their London town house than did Trestin find her. He emerged from his library as she entered the foyer from the direction of the kitchens.

She stopped herself before her guilt wrote itself on her face. Instead she gave him a polite smile and moved toward the stair, as if she’d done nothing more than consult the cook on the night’s menu, instead of sneaking in through the servants’ door.

Trestin didn’t return her smile. He seemed distracted as he informed her, “There is to be a small dinner party at Lady Gladish’s residence tonight. I’ll have the carriage brought ’round at half eight.”

She paused with one toe on the bottommost step, her hand curved around the banister. As a matter of course, she found his pronouncement trying. Why did he assume she would readily jump at his command—even if she’d all but begged him to escort her about these last few weeks?

“Will Lord Montborne be in attendance?” She’d gladly attend whatever tame entertainment her brother deemed acceptable for a lady who was not yet fully out, if it meant she could practice being a flirt.

Trestin stiffened. Not because he could possibly know why she’d asked. More likely, he disapproved of her answering his edict with a question. “The marquis and I do not compare programmes.”

Lucy bit her tongue lest she form a retort designed to exasperate him. She loved her brother dearly, and when he was in good spirits, she even enjoyed his company.

Quite often, she thought that if their parents had lived, she and Trestin might have rubbed along better. But he’d been deemed her guardian just before she’d been scheduled to make her debut at eighteen. She’d been too close to her majority to have her independence snatched away and handed to her youthful older brother. Provoking him simply to ruffle his feathers was a childish habit she’d meant to cease years ago, yet it still galled her that he thought he had the right to dictate her every move.

He
expected
her to obey him. Even now, while he was battling blue devils, he had that look of command about him. His black hair swept to one side, not a strand amiss. His attire, simple and dated, was impeccably maintained. Since taking up sparring he’d begun to broaden through the shoulders, and in the inauspicious entryway of this small London town house, he was imposing.

The last thing Trestin needed was to look more imposing.

She smiled sweetly. “If you do not know if Lord Montborne will appear, then I shall just have to wait and see whether we are lucky enough to have earned his attention.” She began to ascend the stairs.

“Lucy.”
Trestin stressed each syllable so there was no doubt he was reprimanding her for her impudence.

She turned slowly.

He caught her gaze, then looked away. “Inform Delilah.”

It was such an odd, un-Trestin-like thing to say that she blinked. He was more the sort to speak to Delilah himself. It was part of his charm, the way he personally dictated what was to be done or not done.

He must have other engagements. But before she could decide whether to ask him what could be more important than ordering Delilah about, he quit the room.

Lucy was increasingly sure life with him was becoming impossible.

A few hours later, she was even more convinced her brother was going slowly batty when she entered the drawing room just in time to see Trestin down one brandy and pour another. He was going to be foxed before they even arrived.