Lady Be Bad

by Megan Frampton

  So he would have to keep his hands off Lady Eleanor while still spending time with her to convince her to accept his brother’s hand in marriage.

  The next time he saw her, he should ask her about Hercules’s labors, and not the ones involving his wife and his cock.

  Thus settled about what his own labor would be, he returned his attention to the conversation, which appeared—thankfully—to be finishing.

  “Thank you so much for your support, Your Grace, Your Grace,” Bennett was saying, shaking the duke’s and duchess’s hands.

  “You are most welcome. It is the least we can do for your efforts,” the duchess said, while the duke nodded his agreement.

  “It has been a pleasure to meet you,” Bennett said, executing a final bow, Alex following his example, before they left the pair.

  “Thank you for accompanying me. I have to admit to finding the duke rather fearsome, and knowing you were beside me helped.”

  “You’re welcome,” Alex said. “What other help is needed for this bill of yours?”

  Bennett halted in his progress and looked at Alex with a proud smile. “See, you were listening.”

  Not really, Alex wanted to reply. Mostly I was thinking about kissing your Lady Eleanor, who isn’t yours yet, but she most definitely is not mine.

  “We need funds, of course, and people to know about the bill who can speak intelligently about it to people who matter.” Bennett tilted his head as though he’d thought of something. “You would be excellent at that, given your own skills of persuasion.” At which Alex felt guilty all over again. “I could use your help.”

  “Persuading people to support it?” He could do that, he thought to himself. It might make him feel not quite so guilty.

  Bennett nodded, his expression tightening. “There is so much to be done, and as you know, I am stretched to my limits with these familial obligations. We need more money, which I also don’t have.”

  “I’ll think about how I can help,” Alex replied, as sincere as he’d ever been. Perhaps if he were able to do some good to mitigate the wrong he’d done, he wouldn’t feel so terrible about himself. Perhaps he could use his skills of persuasion for more than just coaxing women into his bed.

  Although that held no allure now, not when there was only one woman he wished to persuade into anything.

  Which did not mean, a stern voice said inside his head, that he should allow himself to kiss her again.

  “We waited up for you, even though Mother said we’d be haggard in the morning,” Olivia chirped as soon as Eleanor walked into her bedroom.

  Pearl sat beside her twin, stifling a yawn. They were sitting on Eleanor’s bed in their nightgowns, Cotswold seated in the large armchair at the corner of the room. She rose as Eleanor walked in.

  Eleanor nodded at her maid, who came over and began to undo the buttons at the back of the gown. “You can stay as I get ready for bed, and I will tell you everything about the evening,” she said, even though she knew she wouldn’t tell them everything.

  “Who did you dance with? Were there ices? Is Lady Linden nice? Was the party crowded? How many times did Mother point out where Lord Carson was?”

  “There are far too many questions for me to answer all at once,” Eleanor chided. Thankfully Olivia hadn’t thought to ask, “Did you kiss anyone tonight?”

  “Start at the beginning, then,” Olivia said, her tone exasperated.

  “Let Eleanor get into her night things at least, Olivia, before you start peppering her with questions,” Pearl admonished. “Though we do want to know everything,” she added in Eleanor’s direction.

  Cotswold assisted Eleanor out of her gown, then quickly undid her stays and corset, leaving her in just her shift. Her sisters made an exaggerated motion of looking away so that Eleanor could have a pretense of privacy as Cotswold got her into her nightgown, a cotton garment with a ribbon at the neckline.

  White, predictably, as was the garment itself.

  “That will be all, Cotswold,” Eleanor said, dismissing her maid.

  Cotswold curtseyed and left, closing the door behind her.

  “Now you have to tell us everything,” Olivia demanded.

  “Fine.” Eleanor joined her sisters on the bed, stretching out with her head on her pillow, the girls on either side of her. “Lady Linden is a nice person and an excellent hostess. There were three different types of ices.”

  “Three!” Olivia exclaimed, before Pearl hit her on the arm.

  “And I danced with Lord Carson, his brother, our cousin Lord Reginald, and some other gentlemen I met this evening.”

  “Ohhh,” the girls said in unison.

  “Did Lord Carson ask you to marry him again?” Olivia asked.

  No, but his brother kissed me, Eleanor thought.

  “No, he didn’t. It was only a few days ago that he asked the first time. It would seem odd if he asked so soon.” Please don’t let him ask again, not for a while, Eleanor thought in her head. She knew she would have to agree eventually, but not until she’d been thoroughly overwhelmed.

  And tonight did not count. It was wonderful, it was overwhelming, but it just left her with a desire for more.

  “What else happened?” Pearl asked, her gaze narrowing. “You look as though something else happened.” At which both of her sisters looked at her in surprise, although Eleanor’s surprise was colored by a substantial amount of guilt.

  “Nothing—why do you say that?” she replied, trying to keep her voice as neutral as possible.

  Pearl shrugged, her expression still suspicious. “Because you just look odd, that’s why.”

  “Probably because she knows we’re just dying for her to say yes to Lord Carson,” Olivia responded.

  Right. And there it was, the reason she couldn’t think about kissing Lord Alexander, or even the possibility of kissing him. Because her entire family, most especially her sisters, needed her to get respectably married or they would never have their own chances at happiness in love.

  Instead, when their father died, their cousin Reginald would inherit and dispossess all the female members of the family from the house, leaving them in even further disgrace because they hadn’t managed to get married.

  That was a lot of responsibility resting on her white-clothing-covered shoulders.

  “Enough about my evening, I don’t want to be haggard just in case Lord Carson does come to propose tomorrow.” He wouldn’t, but they didn’t know that. The very mention of Lord Carson sent them scurrying out of her room, which was good, because otherwise she’d likely be up until dawn reliving the entire evening.

  Not that she had any expectation of sleep, since she would be reliving the entire evening, now that she finally had a chance to be alone with her thoughts.

  He’d felt horrible about it, she knew, but it wasn’t his fault, something she would tell him at the next possible opportunity. She had kissed him, so all the responsibility fell on her.

  And what a kiss it was. Not that she had anything with which to compare it; the closest to an actual kiss had been one time under the mistletoe with her cousin Reginald, and that was only a pressing of his moist lips to her cheek. And while she could recognize that a kiss could be better than the one she’d had this evening (though she couldn’t imagine how) there was no denying that it was a fabulous kiss, and that she had enjoyed every minute, right up until he’d had his crisis of conscience and withdrawn.

  If he hadn’t, she wasn’t entirely certain she wouldn’t still be standing on that damp terrace with him. Kissing him as thoroughly as he had kissed her.

  She heard a loud sigh emerge from deep inside herself and rolled onto her side, pillowing her head on her hand. Why did it have to be Lord Carson’s brother? Why did she have to be so intrigued by him?

  Why was she currently recalling the picture she’d seen at the bookshop and wondering how it would look if it were her and him rather than Hercules and Dejanire?

  And why hadn’t someone burst through her
bedroom already to accuse her of thoughts entirely unbecoming to a duke’s dull and dutiful daughter, the one who was tasked with the job of saving her family’s reputation?

  What if she was actually the duke’s dangerous and not-at-all demure daughter?

  And what was she going to do with all these thoughts and emotions? She couldn’t just write everything down on her list and hope that would make the feelings go away.

  Lady Eleanor’s Good List for Being Bad:

  Admit to feeling things a young lady is not supposed to feel.

  Chapter 10

  “It was my fault.”

  Eleanor glanced up at Lord Alexander as she spoke the words, wishing he were slightly less tall so she could see his face more clearly.

  They were walking in the park, his having arrived earlier that day with a bouquet of flowers purportedly from his brother, as well as an invitation to go for a stroll that afternoon. That invitation had come from him, not from his brother.

  It had been nearly a week since the last time they’d seen one another, although Eleanor had seen his brother at a few of the events she’d attended. But no Lord Alexander; she hadn’t wanted to ask Lord Carson where his brother was, since she definitely did not want to indicate to anyone, much less herself, that she actually cared.

  Even though she did.

  “It wasn’t,” he replied in a fierce tone, not even pretending that he didn’t know what she was talking about.

  “I kissed you,” she pointed out. She was holding his arm as they walked, and she felt his arm muscles tighten.

  “And I continued the kissing.” A pause, and he walked more quickly, as though propelled by his own emotion. His own guilt.

  “It can’t happen again.” And then he stopped short and turned to face her. Even with her weak eyes she could recognize the ferocity of his expression, the resolute set hardness to his features. “It won’t happen again, no matter how alluring you might be, or how much I enjoyed it.”

  Alluring? Enjoyed? Eleanor had to repress the immediate desire to just do it all over again, reach her hands up to his shoulders and bring his face down to hers, kissing him, only this time jumping straight to the interesting tongue part.

  Instead she nodded in agreement. “It won’t happen again,” she said in a firm tone of voice.

  “What will it take for you to agree to marry Bennett?” he said, turning back around and tucking her hand back in his arm as though the whole kissing discussion was entirely over.

  She felt befuddled by the quick change in conversation—not just because she wanted to hear more about how alluring she was—but she wasn’t going to keep talking about it, in case she was overwhelmed (so to speak) with wanting to kiss him. Again, and more thoroughly this time, since she knew better what to do, and could jump right into it.

  Not that she was thinking about it, of course.

  “I don’t know anything about him. I know more about you than I do your brother,” she added.

  “What do you know about me?” he said in a disbelieving tone.

  This was a challenge she could take up. “I know that you don’t think you are worth much, I know that you enjoy books of a certain type, I know that you like to compete in athletic pursuits, I know that you enjoy a good—or terrible—pun, and I also know that you are a kind and loving brother.”

  “Oh.” He sounded chastened, and she was pleased she’d been able to be so on the mark about him.

  “The only thing I seem to know for certain about Lord Carson is that he is terribly busy, too busy to find out more about me. That doesn’t augur well for a happy marriage.” She paused as she considered it. “Perhaps it augurs well for one that isn’t troublesome, but that isn’t a goal to which I wish to aspire—to marry so I don’t have to bother too much about my husband.” Her parents did that now, and she didn’t think either one of them could be said to be happy.

  “What do you think makes for a happy marriage?” he asked. Now he sounded genuinely curious, although Eleanor was keenly aware that this was a dangerous topic.

  She considered how to answer as they passed by a family, the youngest of whom was determined to run off to the nearby pond where there were ducks walking about, the father of whom was equally determined not to let him. They both watched, and she felt a smile curl the corners of her mouth.

  “I think a happy marriage is one where the two people know about one another,” she began, conscious that she’d just told him exactly what she knew. “And that there is mutual trust and respect. For my own marriage, I would want to be a partner to my husband, helping him to achieve the goals we’ve decided on together.” She uttered a rueful laugh. “That doesn’t sound as though it is too much to ask, but I doubt there are many such examples of marriage in our world.”

  He didn’t reply, not at first, and she wondered what type of marriage his parents had—she’d met his father, but she didn’t recall ever meeting his mother, though she knew the marchioness lived in the London town house with her family.

  “If you were to marry Bennett—when you marry Bennett—I hope that is the type of marriage you will have.” His tone was fierce, as though he was trying to convince both of them.

  “I know there are reasons why I should accept your brother. And why he is being pushed into marriage with me.” Eleanor spoke in a soft voice. She had never spoken so directly to a gentleman before, especially since she’d fallen out of the habit of confiding to anyone since Della, her best friend and now hopelessly lost sister, had left. “It just doesn’t seem fair to either of us, that we should have to suffer one another for the remainder of our lives because of these external forces.”

  “You wouldn’t suffer. I promise you that.” He spoke as fiercely now as he had a few moments ago.

  “I wish I could believe that,” she replied, squeezing his forearm. “But I suppose, given all those other factors, that I will have to compromise my hopes for my future. I just want to extend this time for a bit longer. I want to know more about the man whom I am to marry”—I want to know more about you—“and I want to know more about myself.”

  “So we’re still set on our bargain? You wish to be overwhelmed?”

  “I want more than that,” she said, surprising herself with her words. “I want to find a way to be happy, no matter what circumstances I find myself in. I want to make some sort of difference. I want to—I want to do more than wear white gowns and curtsey appropriately. I want to find my joy.” She glanced up at him, appreciating how he was looking intently down at her, as though her words were important. “I have no idea why I’ve come to be speaking like this to you. Perhaps it was the kiss,” she said, and she felt guilty for bringing it up, again, but she couldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened. “Or how we came to meet, which was the most shocking thing that has ever happened to me. I think that you might be the person who can help guide me. Not least because I am too poorly sighted to find the way myself,” she added in a rueful tone of voice.

  “Make a difference, hmm?” he said, turning his head to stare off into the distance. “I might know a way.” And then he looked back down at her, a sly grin on his face, and she felt both terrified and excited. Which was more than she had felt in all of her twenty-one years.

  It was terrifying, how similarly they seemed to feel. That they both wanted to make a difference, that neither one of them knew how, that both of them were frustrated by the constraints of their limitations—her of being a duke’s daughter, and female (obviously), him by being the second son from a feckless family whose only attribute appeared to be the persuasion of ladies into doing things.

  And a profound appreciation for certain types of literature.

  “You are proficient in Italian?” he began, hoping she wouldn’t scream or faint when he made his suggestion.

  Her mouth curved into a shy smile. “I am quite fond of the language, yes. I am familiar with French and Spanish as well, but Italian is my favorite.” She raised her eyes up to his face and now her expressio
n was rueful. “It was my fondest wish to go to Italy and study the culture and the people myself, but of course that was not possible.”

  Constraints. Binding them as thoroughly as the strongest of ropes.

  “I have a project I am hopeful of undertaking.” Which sounded vague and indefinite, not something he was used to sounding. “That is, that book—the one we met over, if you recall it?”

  Judging by the way her cheeks had turned chaise-longue red again, she did recall. She neither screamed nor fainted, however, so he took it as a win.

  “My brother is involved in many charitable pursuits,” he began, only to feel his own face flush—and when had that ever happened?—as he realized how she might interpret his unclear words.

  “The thing is, I am thinking that if I can have that book translated into English, I could sell copies of it to people who would be interested, and I—that is, we—would contribute the proceeds to help Bennett’s cause.”

  There. That was suitably direct.

  “Oh,” she said, her eyes wide. He doubted whether anybody had ever suggested she translate erotic poetry written in Italian from a few centuries ago. So at least he was overwhelming her, if not entirely in the right way.

  “The book, the writing—is it as . . .” She hesitated before she spoke, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. “Is it as shocking as that picture?”

  Alex held his hands out, palms up. “I have no idea. I don’t read Italian, you see.” It wasn’t something his father had wanted to waste money on, and he saw anything more than rudimentary education as a waste when it came to Alex. “I do know the poetry was banned by the Catholic Church—the book I purchased is exceedingly rare. I would guess it is, so if you wish to decline, that would be entirely understandable.”