Lord Will & Her Grace (7 page)

She puffed up in indignation. "I could say
the same to you, sir."

Ah, she was falling right into his plan.
"Perhaps. Yet, perhaps not. Care to wager on it?"

"What? On your ability to be attracted to a
proper lady and actually wed her versus my ability to attract and
wed a lord?" She began to laugh in earnest.

Well. It was insulting. Did she really think
he wouldn't have his pick of a thousand ladies? It was a first.

"Yes, that is precisely what I had in mind,
Miss Somerset. In shall we say, three months' time? And by the by,
I accept your challenge."

"Accept my challenge? I did not—" she said
before he interrupted.

"Oh, yes, you did. But I've forgotten. You
are Welsh and the Welsh are known for reneging on challenges."

She was well and truly hooked if the look on
her face was any indication. She was a gambler at heart.

"Well, I shall prove you wrong, sir."

"Now we must discuss the terms,
chérie
."

"The terms?"

She seemed to have forgotten her prior
dislike of the endearment. "Yes, what each of us would gain from
this understanding. I daresay I shouldn't have to give you a
farthing if you're successful before me, given the promise of
fifteen thousand a year."

She had a disturbing gleam in her eye. "Oh,
you would get off too easily, my lord. Let us say that you would
have to walk clear around Hyde Park during the social hour dressed
in an ensemble I should pick out for you."

William threw back his head and laughed. "No
doubt it involves some hideous Welsh fisherman's rags? Oh, you are
very good, mademoiselle. Very good indeed," he said, smiling. "But
now it is my turn. I fear I must be equally devious. If I'm able to
find a
female
I would be willing to actually marry"—and here
he shuddered theatrically— "thereby giving up my current lifestyle,
and if she should accept my proposal, you would be required to—to
burn all those disgusting peasant rags you own, and wear only
proper, pretty gowns to Farquhar's specifications. And no
pantaloons, ever."

"What?" She looked distressed.

"Well, we must make it worth the effort. And
furthermore, each much approve the other's choice of spouse,"
William said. "As I am a gentleman," he said, taking her arm and
wrapping it within his own before continuing toward the villa, "I
feel it only sporting if we agree to assist or teach each other in
the provocative arts of securing a partner."

"I'm not at all sure I will approve of your
ways."

"Yes, but you must try to be unprejudiced. As
you said, I'm familiar with what gentlemen are looking for."

She gurgled with laughter. "Oh, all right.
But what if we both fail in this ridiculous endeavor? I for one
find it a distinct possibility." She was looking him over from the
tip of Farquhar's ridiculous new hat to the overly tight breeches
in crimson.

"I never fail, mademoiselle."

"I see," she said, suppressing a smile.

"It is agreed then. Now regarding the
lessons. I propose the first shall begin tomorrow, in secret. It
seems you favor taking the air along the seashore. I shall
inadvertently be strolling along the same path as you tomorrow,
precisely at the ungodly early hour of ten o'clock."

"And what will the lesson entail?" "Let's
start alphabetically,
chérie
, shall we? Let's see.… A for
Attitude, B for Behavior and let us say also"—he eyed her primly
restrained breasts— "Bosoms and how they should be displayed to
their best advantage." He fully expected her to strike him for that
indiscretion but it seemed he couldn't shock her. She might have
turned an alarming beet red in embarrassment, but she apparently
viewed him as an intimate friend—
like a sister
.

"All right, my lord. And I shall teach you
about C, D, and E—Character, Distaste for dandies, and the Error of
your ways—all of which my father taught me well."

At least she recovered from embarrassment
rapidly. She now wore the gleefully happy expression he enjoyed
teasing to full blossom.

"Ah, I see. You hope to truly reform me then,
Chérie
."

"Indeed, my upbringing demands it. Shall we
begin? Or do you need time to contemplate the course of our mutual
education?"

“WHY would I need to know where you're going
so early in the morning?" Farquhar brushed the shoulders and back
of the light gray coat adorning William. The valet peered around to
look at Will's reflection in the cheval glass. "It's not my place
to be wondering that sort of thing, is it now? Not even when you
wouldn't rise this early for a meeting with royalty." Farquhar
sniffed.

"Oh, I don't know." William held back a grin.
"Perhaps you are right about the Prince Regent. The man is a dead
bore. But, I suppose I would rise to see the queen at this unholy
hour—but so far, I've been fortunate. She rises later than I."

"Well, I for one am glad those escapades"—
Farquhar lifted his eyebrows as high as possible— "are long over. I
am still having nightmares over those trysts. I was sure we'd be
tossed out of the country—made to swim the Channel, despite
everything we did for the Crown."

"As I remember, you have nothing to complain
about. You won more bets below stairs than any gentleman at
White's."

"And how else was I to eat?" Farquhar took a
deep breath to launch into his favorite topic. "What with the many
long years of sorry pay from British intelligence for risking our
bloody necks, and the
inconsistent
manner I am currently
compensated…" "Martyrdom never suited you."

"Well." Farquhar's face puckered. "I see we
are evading questions this morning."

"Do you have a fan, dear boy?" William asked,
turning from the glass. At least he had found a coat of Farquhar's
that was a touch more conservative. The white pantaloons were
another story. They were so tight they bordered on the obscene.

"A fan? Certainly." Farquhar looked delighted
by the proposition of William stretching his personal wardrobe to
the limits. On the way to retrieve the article, Farquhar stopped in
midstride. "What, pray tell, are you going to do with a fan at nine
o'clock in the morning?"

Knowledge dawned.

"Ah. So we have a little assignation planned?
A lady, I presume, with the care you have taken this morning. And
is my fan to be a gift? I'm not at all sure I can part with it. It
was painted by a celebrated artist and is worth—"

"Give over. I shall return it to you before
noon," William interrupted the endless stream of his valet's
words.

"Touchy, aren't we?"

Farquhar disappeared for a moment and
returned carrying two fans of differing sizes. "Now you must take
great care when—"

"Thank you," William said, taking both fans
from Farquhar in midsentence.

"You promised there would be no more running
and hiding." Farquhar attached a tiny white rosebud to William's
lapel and looked him square in the face. "Just tell me you are not
planning on seducing one of those silly Mornington chits. Even
though I can't abide their brother, I've no desire to go
willy-nilly about the country again so soon. And Lord knows I'd
have to ask for references and my last pay if I had to face the
sight of one of those females in your bed for the rest of my
life."

"Your observations never fail to amuse. And
you know I haven't a farthing to pay you for the last quarter. So I
daresay I'll have to allow other, more"—he scratched his
chin—"charitable gentlemen the honor of courting the Misses
Mornington."

"Then—"

"Then, nothing,
mon vieux
. I am out to
take the air."

"The air? You? Take the air at ten o'clock in
the morning?"

William murmured his assent.

"Ah, then it must be the Welsh female. At
least she has tolerable teeth and knows when to stop clacking
them."

William laughed. "So she does."

"Well, don't forget Mr. Derby will be coming
to see you this afternoon along with the architect. They cannot be
put off much longer."

"That is why I look the veritable bridegroom,
dear boy," William said.

Jack Farquhar stopped brushing the lint from
the back of William's coat. "Far be it for me to give you my
opinion," he huffed. "Besides, feelings of guilt have never been
your forte."

Sophie knew she was being foolish. She had
taken extraordinary care in her dress on this glorious blue-sky
morning. It was something she had not cared to do since leaving
London's elegant townhouses.

She bounded down the steep descent of the
footpath to the narrow strip of sand below. Her white silk gown
with gold braiding billowed out behind her as a gust of wind played
havoc with her carefully coiffed curls.

She had even allowed Karine to squeeze her
into the horrid contraption meant to flatten and minimize her
top-heavy physique. Her maid seemed to take delight in torturing
her. It wasn't as tight as it had been during the last, almost
fatal, interview with Lord Coddington, but still it made breathing
difficult. She endured it because Lord William had said they would
discuss her bosom—of all the audacious topics. Why, in all her
years she had never heard a gentleman utter that word. Sophie
pulled up the edge of the gown's low band of silk to conceal
herself more.

"Miss Somerset, delighted to see you." Lord
William pushed away from a tall rock and handed her down from the
small berm of sand above the beach. "I wondered if you would renege
on our agreement."

"Of course not. I'm curious to hear your
advice, my lord," Sophie said. "It is certain to be less tedious
than Aunt Rutledge's lessons on becoming a lady."

He bowed his head slightly and winked at her.
"If I cannot entertain you, how can I hope to educate?"

She placed her hand on his broad forearm and
for the first time in her life Sophie felt petite and almost
feminine. He was so very tall and large in the shoulders. His gray
coat seemed ready to burst at the seams. And his pantaloons. How
ever did he get them on? What sort of gentleman wore such
tight-fitting white pantaloons, which outlined… She averted her
gaze.

This sort of gentleman
.

"So you plan to teach me about 'attitude'
while we walk?"

"I believe we can canvas all of the topics by
the time we reach the Berrow, which if I remember correctly, is not
more than two miles from here. And then you shall have the return
to teach me your tricks." He smiled with just a twinge of
wickedness.

The sun shone brightly, its rays bounced off
the wavelets. A dozen small seagulls screeched, dipping and soaring
in the stiff breeze above the shallow hollows of the tufts of sea
grasses.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sophie saw Lord
Will pull two fans out of his coat. The first, made of painted
ivory and black lace, he handed to her. With a refined, practiced
gesture, he opened the other, a mask fan on a delicate bone
monture. He peered through the eyeholes and winked at her.

Sophie smiled. "What is this?"

"Attitude,
ma chérie
. Nothing conveys
self-assuredness and sly innuendo as well as a fan used properly."
He wafted the air with a haughty feminine elegance.

Sophie stopped and laughed until tears
coursed down her face.

"I do beg your pardon," William said dryly.
"To begin, holding a fan in your left hand, like this, indicates
that you would like to make the other party's acquaintance. This is
especially useful when you want to bypass about twenty fusty
relatives in the courtship process."

"Of course, how dandy." She began to laugh
again.

"Do be serious," he said, closing the fan
with a snap and poking Sophie in the ribs.

"Ouch!"

"That's not at all the response you would
want from a gentleman."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Poking means, 'I like you. Pay attention to
me.' "

"Oh, I see."

"Now you try," Will said.

Sophie held the fan in her right hand and
half opened it in front of her face.

"No, no, no. Half opened with the right hand
in front of the face indicates 'I don't like you, I love another.'
"

Sophie shook her head and grinned. "No wonder
I scared them all away in droves."

Will used his closed fan to gently brush a
strand of curls that had fallen from her coiffure.

"And I suppose that meant something?"

Will smiled and Sophie was dazzled anew by
his handsome features.

"You learn quickly,
chérie
. It means
'Do not forget me.' " She looked up into his laughing eyes. "Don't
worry. I shan't."

Oh dear, God, what was she saying to him? It
was those warm brown eyes of his that always made it hard to think
properly. She swallowed and tried to regain her composure.