Page 28 of Almost A Scoundrel

Portia gasped. “How ghastly.”

Phaedra agreed.

But so much made sense now.

“Well, I for one am glad you don’t have to play hostess to those gentlemen anymore,” Portia said.

Phaedra offered her aunt a small smile.

The countess snorted. “Who has been acting hostess in recent days? Surely not that girl. But you are right. At least now her mother can go shopping for a change.”

Portia grinned. “Do not try to hide it, Eleanor. We both know teasing Phaedra’s callers constitutes your daily noon entertainment.”

Phaedra laughed, recalling her mother in a red gown entertaining a roomful of young men. “I do believe you are right, aunt.”

The countess harumphed. “Keep in mind, daughter, that not all men are the same. I wouldn’t want you to cast a perfectly noble earl under the same parasol as the common fortune hunter.”

Noble?

Phaedra nearly laughed. She supposed the earl could be considered noble insomuch as he’d been born into rank.

“Or whoever is responsible for those wagers,” Portia added.

“Well, I do appreciate your advice, mother, aunt. As for the earl, we shall see. At least the man has his own fortune.” And he protected women, but Phaedra kept that for herself.

“We will see you later, dear.” Her mother waved her off. “Do give the earl our best.”

Phaedra nodded.

“And do behave, Phaedra,” the countess sang over her shoulder. “Don’t think I don’t know about your theatrics when it comes to your callers.”

Phaedra laughed and headed for the empty drawing room and stepped inside, pausing to breathe in the silence.

Peace and quiet.

Finally.

She wandered to the center, her gaze raking over every inch. Her gaze stopped on the sofa, and after a moment of hesitation, she lowered down into the cushions, then jumped up and shut her eyes as she spun in a circle, arms stretched wide.

Liberation.

With every step, victory and delight swelled in her breast, her muslin dress billowing out at the hem.

Phaedra laughed.

It was the sort of unrestrained laugh that came from her belly rather than her lungs. She thought of all the times she’d had to entertain dubious gentlemen with slick smiles, inhale their lavishly applied perfume, and laugh at dreary recitations of what she only presumed to be jests.

She spun about until she became dizzy and tendrils of hair sprang from their pins. With a low chuckle, she slowed to a stop, breathless. If every day could start like this, life would be heaven.

A prickling made its way up the back of her neck.

Her gaze lifted, and Phaedra’s breath caught as she locked gazes with the deep stare of a man. Deerhurst stood watching her through the large windows of the drawing room.

How positively bizarre!

He’d told her of this phenomenon of his—always passing the drawing room window at interesting times—yet to be caught so thoroughly in the act of a private moment truly shifted her perspective on the matter.

She could not quite interpret the expression on his face either. He looked at her as one might believe a predator surveyed his prey. Phaedra immediately thought of Puck, the moment he prepared to pounce on a little bird. But not quite. Because predators devoured their prey. Deerhurst couldn’t very well eat her.