Seven Secrets of Seduction (18 page)

 

M
iranda walked blearily into the front of the shop the next morning to see Georgette sporting a new bonnet and pelisse, bag clutched in her hand, badgering Miranda's uncle as he was leaning over his ledgers, and teasing Peter standing wide-eyed to the side.

Georgette smiled like a cat cornering a bird as soon as she spotted her. “Miranda!”

Miranda murmured greetings to everyone. She had gotten in well past her usual bedtime, then tossed and turned all night. Thoughts of the night had run through her head over and over again. What she could have done differently, what she might have said at the end, what had happened in the garden under the moonlight. Both wonderful physical memories and uneasy sifting thoughts.

“Come.” Georgette took Miranda's arm. “Let's
leave your uncle to his figures and dear Mr. Higgins to his manly handling of the counter.” She steered her toward the back table behind the stacks. The paper was tucked beneath her arm. Miranda stared at it in sudden dread, all of her uneasy thoughts overriding every single dreamy one.

Her friend waited until they were out of earshot before pouncing. “So? Last night? I stopped by to see you, and it seems that you hadn't yet returned home. And it was going on
ten
in the evening.”

She pulled out a chair and gave Miranda a push, seating herself on the other side and leaning across the table without even removing her coat, the paper sliding onto the top of the wood. “And you look like the cat dragged you in screaming this morning.”

“I just woke,” she admitted.

Georgette stared. “Just woke? It's a good thing your uncle barely has a thought about stricture. He just waved last night away and said you were a good girl and likely around somewhere. He must have had no notion when you returned, especially with you looking as you do this morning. Even
my
father would have been pacing, and I get away with everything. Where were you? What did you do? Tell me everything.”

Miranda rubbed the back of her neck and laughed uncomfortably at the dichotomy between her uncle's words and her actions the previous night. “Your timing is always impeccable.”

“I know.” Georgette gave a wave of her hand. “Now speak.”

“I was out.”

Georgette stared, then waved her to speak again.

“I went to Vauxhall.”

“On a masquerade night? You?” Her friend's brows
rose like feathers caught on a stiff wind. “Oh, there is a story here.” She quickly divested herself of her fashionable coat, her new bonnet covering the paper. Her merchant father always made sure she had the best.

Though even Georgette would have been dumb-founded by the gown hanging upstairs.

“Now what were you doing at the gardens on a night when the naughty come out to play?”

“Dining?”

Georgette's mouth turned up. “This is delicious. Downing took you to dinner at the gardens. Then into the dark walks, mmm?”

“I didn't say that,” she said in a weak voice.

Georgette's mouth dropped for a second before she regained herself. “He
did
take you there? Good Lord.”

Miranda's brows drew together, and she cast a look around the corner to make sure they were still out of earshot. “Well, first you assume it so, then you say it as if you'd never believe it possible.”

“You have to admit, darling, surprise over that response is warranted under the circumstances. You are hardly one to walk the dark path with a gentleman.” She whistled. “But what a one to begin with.”

“I hardly stepped onto the path.” He had lifted her above the path and laid her out over it. “Merely to observe a flowering bush.” At very, very close range. Upside down.

“You went
onto the dark paths
?” Georgette leaned forward, mouth gaping.

“You just said—”

Georgette wildly waved her words away. “Tell me everything. Leave nothing out.”

“He was a perfect gentleman.” A perfectly naughty
gentleman. “There was nothing unseemly about it.” One of the seams of her gown had been ensnared by a bramble when his leg had gone between hers, lifting against her. “The moonlight was exceptionally bright.” Bright against bared skin and naked desire.

Georgette looked disappointed, and to Miranda's relief and chagrin looked as if she believed her. “Why did he invite you then?”

“I don't know.” Miranda shifted nervously. “What did you do last night?”

“I went to the Mortons' revel. It was a bit of a bore though. Dinner next week should prove far more exciting. There are some new men in town.” She shifted her bonnet, the paper shifting into view. “I am sure there is something about Vauxhall in the paper. Anything exciting happen other than you stepping a toe onto an illicit chip?” She pulled the paper fully into eyeshot.

Miranda watched the paper with a sudden panic she had never quite experienced upon looking at a printed piece. “But I want to hear more of your night.”

“I'm sparing you the rehashing of an uneventful time. I'd rather hear about your time with the delicious viscount. I'm sure that I can get at least a modicum of naughtiness from your mind in regards to him.” Georgette gave her a wink and opened the paper perfectly to the gossip section.

Miranda watched in terror as Georgette scoured the page. “Oh, the Cirque Diamant players were there? Drat. I can't believe I went to the Mortons' revel instead. I've been wanting to see them. Sold out for their entire run. How were they?”

“Um…”

“Um?” Georgette raised a brow. “I think your late night has hampered your ability to utter a coherent sentence.”

“They were very good.”

“They were very good. That's it?”

Miranda saw the shining window of opportunity. “Oh, they were beyond good. Jugglers and acrobats. And the stunts. Why, they were beyond marvelous. Let me tell you all about it.”

“You wretched friend, seeing them and
nearly
taking dark walks, and here I have to pull it from you.”

“Oh, I'm just tired. Exhausted from watching them. Let me tell you all about it.” Miranda warmed to the topic. “There was a man who could do two flips and land on another's shoulders.”

Georgette looked impressed. Then her finger started to move down the column.

Miranda leaned forward, attempting to block her view. “Don't you want to hear more?”

“I can listen and read at the same time. Keep talking.” She looked back to the page.

Miranda leaned in more and put a hand on the paper. “And there was a fire-breather who could—”

“Hold on.” Georgette shooed her hands away. “I saw something about a princess. Hold your thought.”

The panic became a very real itch under her flesh, clawing at her like a dozen spider bites all in the same region of skin.

“But it's quite an important tale!”

However, Georgette was no longer listening. She peeled Miranda's fingers away. “Look here. A Russian princess? Oh!” She pointed at the evil text. “Did you see her?”

Her friend didn't wait for the answer. “Dressed in
the finest silk. Oh, the description is divine. A masked princess. How wonderful. They go on and on about her for an entire two paragraphs.” She tapped the page, lifting it slightly. Miranda had never wanted to read a paragraph more, nor less. “I do so hope I will catch a glimpse of her.”

“Oh,” Miranda said faintly. “I'm sure you will.”

“Really? Why?” But before Miranda could respond, Georgette's finger stopped. “Sitting with Lord D.?” She blinked. “Engaging with him in the
bushes, legs in the air
?”

“Really?” Miranda said, even more faintly. “Not very princesslike. And all of these Lord D.'s lately in the papers.”

Georgette slowly looked up at her. “All three of them that would qualify for such a thing.”

“Three? Surely there are more than three who would qualify.”

“There are three. I looked it up last week, remember?” She kept her eyes pinned to Miranda. “It says briefly too that Lord Dillingham was seen with the marchioness. And I know Lord Dustin is in Yorkshire at the moment.”

“Oh?”

Georgette drummed her fingers against the page, then calmly folded her hands together.

“Georgette?” Miranda asked tentatively.

“Shh, don't interrupt my thought process. I am contemplating precisely how I'm going to murder you for your silence.”

Miranda sighed.

Her friend stuck one forefinger out and touched her other to it in a ticking fashion. “Firstly, I want to see the dress.”

“Dress?” Miranda asked in some last feeble attempt at ignorance.

Georgette gave her a look that would freeze the Thames, her second finger already out to tap whatever was next on her list.

Miranda sighed again, her shoulders drooping. “It's upstairs.”

The frozen look turned to unmitigated excitement. Georgette tried to temper the excitement but was doing a poor job. She folded her hands once more, ticking fingers forgotten. “Very well.” Her fingers threading together. “Very well.”

“Georgette?”

“Oh, Miranda!” she very nearly squealed, her hands parting and pressing against her chest. “I will kill you
later
for not telling me.
In the bushes, legs in the air?
”

“Shhh!” Miranda leaned back frantically to gaze around the corner. “It wasn't like that.” Her legs hadn't been
in
the air.

But Georgette was hardly listening. “Learn
everything
you can from him. Take notes if you must. And make sure you share it all with me.” She propped her chin on her hand, avidly watching her as if she would start spilling secrets right then.

Miranda stared at her, nearly speechless. “Learn from him? Take notes?”

“Yes. Everything you can. Then use those tactics on the man you mean to marry.”

Miranda just stared at her. She felt like her uncle for a second—not comprehending anything outside the sphere he had set for himself. “Use them on…Georgette, have you gone mad?”

“I admit to a
slight
madness of envy.” Georgette pinched her fingers together to demonstrate, seemed to reconsider, then expanded the space between her thumb and forefinger.

“Use them on the man I mean to marry?”

“You will own that man, if you do.” Georgette twirled a lock of hair dreamily. “Oh, I do intend to pry all of the details out of you, I hope you know.”

“I have no details to give.” Nothing willingly, at least. “It was a misunderstanding. I shan't repeat it.” Not if the strange atmosphere of the carriage was anything to go by. The sudden separation between them.

“Of
course
you must repeat it!”

“I'm in the
paper.
”

“I know, I'm absolutely
green.
As green as a dress of
Mrs. Q.
”

Miranda sat in stunned silence for a second, then folded her arms and dropped her head on top. “Oh, Lord. I can't return to the house.”

“Not return? I thought we had already discussed this before. I won the argument, I do recall.”

“They will all know.”

“Who?”

“The servants! They dressed me last night!”

“Oh! They did?” Georgette gave a dreamy sigh. “I bet you were lovely. What coiffure did they use? I
must
see the dress.”

Miranda put a hand out to stop Georgette's rise. “I'm in the paper. Surely they read the paper. They'll know.” She laughed a little hysterically. “What am I worried about, I have a room! They made me a room!”

“Dear,” Georgette said soothingly, as if petting a crazed beast. “You are talking like a madwoman.”

“I
am
a madwoman.”

“Really, Miranda,” Georgette chastised. “I am the one who reserves the right to be dramatic.”

Miranda put a hand to her head. “Everyone will think I'm doing something else with him besides organizing his library. Even the papers.” And really, they wouldn't be wrong based on the previous night's events.

Miranda opened her mouth to verbally kick herself some more, and Georgette held up a hand. “Wait.
Who
is going to think a thing?”

Miranda pushed her hair, which had fallen in a nicely dramatic manner into her face, behind her free ear. “His servants. And anyone who found out that he'd escorted me there.”

“You mean the aristocrats that pass you and greet you on the street? All of the society matrons who might bar you from your grand debut at Almack's?” Georgette said, an overly serious expression upon her face.

Miranda flushed beneath the overt sarcasm. “Well, no, of course not.”

“Oh, you mean all of the people who know you are a Russian princess?”

“Um…”

“That bit of news—a scandalous foreign princess in our midst—eclipsed even the scuttlebutt of Lady Werston and her erstwhile suitors. The promised duel.” She pointed at the page. “There is a tiny footnote about someone hitting someone else. Barely a word. All of it is taken up by you. Believe me, if they knew who you were, it would be here on the page.”

“Well, that…” Her voice trailed off. That was…interesting information.

A curl of unease threaded through her.

She grabbed for the paper. “Let me see that.”

“Miranda!” Georgette huffed.

But Miranda was too busy scouring the section.