Page 11 of In a Rake’s Embrace (Sins & Sensibilities #3)

CHAPTER 11

A gatha delicately waved her hand before the mirror in her chamber, practicing the graceful motion she had admired each time the earl had made it look effortless. She had been struck by how a simple movement could appear so refined. For the past two days, she diligently practiced walking more elegantly, speaking with a crisper accent, and refining her posture. Every detail mattered.

She had made full use of the earl’s carriage, taking trips to Hyde Park, where she observed the ladies of society as they strolled with poise. Agatha had studied their walk—the subtle lift of their skirts, the delicate way they tilted their heads when listening, the demure smiles they offered, never too wide. She even noted the soft, measured way they spoke, each word chosen with care, as though they were as much a part of their appearance as their gowns and parasols.

Earlier, while speaking with Bea, Agatha had noticed the spark of admiration in her friend’s eyes. And when Madam Rebecca heard her adopting the proper accent and tone, she gasped in surprise. Agatha couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride as she moved to the bed and lay down, glancing at the notes she had made from the etiquette books delivered to her that evening after their shopping trip. The earl had left a note, urging her to read them.

Each of the three books discussed the essential points of conduct expected of a lady in society. As she scanned her notes, Agatha smiled wryly at how much there was to remember. Some of the key points she had written down included:

-It was improper to express opinions on people and characters upon a recent acquaintance, even with a gentleman who might have won you at an auction. A lady should listen politely and never ramble.

-A lady must always walk with her back straight, her steps light and controlled, never in haste. Walking too quickly was seen as unladylike and lacking refinement.

-A lady should never laugh loudly in public. Like everything else, laughter should be restrained, more of a polite chuckle than an outburst.

Agatha snorted. It must be tedious to be a lady of the ton .

-A lady must never be alone with a gentleman in a private space, as it invites scandal or assumptions of impropriety.

-While in conversation, a lady should maintain eye contact without staring too intently. A gaze too direct could be interpreted as improper or overly forward.

-When a gentleman bows, a lady should respond with a gentle curtsy, keeping her head slightly lowered to show modesty. The depth of the curtsy depends on the status of the person she is greeting.

Agatha pushed aside the sheaf of paper. Everything seemed calculated and controlled—every gesture, every word. The rigid structure felt stifling, as if being a lady of the ton was not about expressing oneself but molding oneself into a precise, narrow image of perfection. She liked the mannerisms and enjoyed the new way of walking and the elegant gestures she had been practicing. Still, she was relieved that she did not belong to that world. Adhering to such strictures would surely stifle the joy in her life.

Agatha rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling, her mind turning over the delicate balance she needed to master—the blend of demure grace and sensuality. For the past few days, she had spent hours with Bea, practicing her walk, perfecting the art of the subtle sway. They often ended up in fits of laughter, Bea teasing her about her overly serious expression as she tried to mimic the seductive glide. Agatha had grown fond of her, and despite their circumstances, she thought they might remain friends once she left Aphrodite .

She ran a hand through her hair, now softer and shinier than ever. It would never have occurred to her to waste eggs as part of her hair care routine, yet that was precisely what they had done yesterday. Bea had also trimmed her nails, shaping them carefully until Agatha had been astonished by the realization that hands could be considered pretty. She had even soaked in a long bath earlier, the heated, rose-scented water soothing her aching muscles. Afterward, Molly massaged lavender oil into her skin. Smiling, Agatha clambered from the bed and went to the small writing desk to retrieve a sheaf of paper. She took a few minutes to prepare the ink and quill, then sat and started to write.

Dearest Gloria, Maggie, Sarah, Carson and Henry,

I miss you all so dreadfully. It sometimes feels silly because I only left home two weeks ago, but it’s true. London is a sight to behold. Its streets are bustling with carriages, fashionable people in the latest styles filling the pavements, and lads calling out the news of the day so everyone can hear it. The city feels both immense and tightly packed, with people from every imaginable walk of life. The skies are often overcast here, and the starsare dimmer than at home. I long for the open skies and bright stars of Devonshire. Yesterday, I had a charming conversation with an orange seller whose family is also from Devonshire, and the memory of home warmed me. And the food! It may be wretched of me to mention, but I have dined on prawns in crème sauce and quail with cranberry glaze. However, I promise I shall bring you all to London soon and treat you to the many wonderful foods here. There’s so much variety. Each meal brings new flavors that I never knew existed. It’s a true delight, and I think of all of you with each dish I savor.

I am very close to earning a handsome sum that could see me returning home sooner than I had ever hoped. I pray all is well with each of you. Should you wish to reply, direct your letter to Aphrodite on St. James Street.

With love,

Aga

A knock sounded at the door, breaking her reverie. A maid entered, curtsying politely. “Lord Radbourne is here, miss. He summons you to his private quarters.”

A spurt of good humor washed over Agatha. Summons me? She lowered the quill and folded her letter. “Inform the earl I shall be there in thirty minutes. Please see that this letter is delivered to my home. Afterward, please return and help me brush my hair and get dressed.”

The maid bobbed her head and hurried out.

She felt an unexpected rush of anticipation surging through her. As promised, the maid returned, and Agatha settled on the chair before the vanity, allowing the young girl to begin the slow, rhythmic process of brushing her hair. Each stroke sent her thick, dark tresses cascading down her back, crackling softly with a delicate swish as it reached her lower spine. The maid was meticulous, brushing it with dozens of strokes until it gleamed and felt like silk beneath Agatha’s fingers.

She closed her eyes, savoring the simple luxury. She had never thought of her hair as particularly special, but in moments like these, she understood the power of presentation—how every detail, from her nails to the subtle shine of her hair, played a part in crafting an image.

Once her hair was brushed to perfection, Agatha stood, allowing the maid to help her into a simple yet elegant gown. The fabric clung lightly to her figure, teasing the line between modesty and allure. Her reflection was a far cry from the woman who had first entered the doors of Aphrodite .

Agatha walked to Thomas’s private quarters, her steps steady though her pulse raced with anticipation. She pressed her hands to her stomach, hoping to stop the twisting nerves writhing inside.

“There is nothing to be nervous about,” she whispered, lifting her chin.

Agatha knocked gently, then entered, closing the door behind her. He stood by the mantel, staring into the fire. His jacket had been discarded, his cravat unknotted, and his hair tousled as though he had repeatedly raked his fingers through it.

He straightened and turned to face her. Her breathing quickened, and that provoking heat darted low in her stomach.

“My coachman told me you only asked to visit the park twice. There are many other sights to see.”

“Time and circumstances seldom permit the pleasure of reading for long hours. I spent most of the days reading. He might have also forgotten to mention that I walked about for hours, stretching my legs far beyond the parks. Thank you for allowing me to use your carriage. It was a great indulgence.”

Oh, stop , she silently wailed at her rambling.

A faint smile curved the earl’s lips as he nodded toward a package on the table. “That is for you.”

Curious, she stepped closer, eyeing the parcel.

“It will not bite,” he said dryly.

A light laugh escaped her. “What is it?”

“Books.”

She snapped her gaze to his. “For me?”

“Madam Rebecca has limited titles. I thought you might enjoy these.”

Agatha picked up the package wrapped in plain brown paper, its weight revealing several books inside. “These are precious,” she said softly.

Memories flooded back—her mother reading with her in the meadows or by the seaside, teaching her from their single cherished book, Robinson Crusoe . They had read it repeatedly during the summer when she was eight. “I will take good care of these and return them as soon as I am done.”

“You may keep them.”

Agatha’s heart lurched and her eyes widened. “Keep them? But books are expensive.”

“I have hundreds in my library.”

She was astonished. “You have a personal library? And it has hundreds of titles?”

“Yes.”

Agatha could barely imagine a shelf lined with hundreds of books, all owned by one person. She bit her lip, wondering if the earl would allow her to see it. “Thank you, your ki—”

“I am not being kind,” he cut in, his tone clipped. “I have already read them.”

A smile tugged at her lips, but she kept her amusement to herself.

“Are you ready for the next lesson?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“First, show me what you have learned. Rebecca mentioned how hard you have been practicing and how impressed she was with your progress. It seemed several of the ladies here pitched in to offer lessons.”

“Yes. However, most of the time was spent with Bea and Ellen.”

“What have they been teaching?”

Agatha wrinkled her nose, hating the sudden nerves attacking her. “It is possible to entice a man from how you walk and peek at him. And the first touch against his body can communicate your intent.”

“Show me.”

His voice was calm but laced with something darker, more intense. Was he anticipating her touch? The thought startled her, but in a way, it felt ... right.

She squared her shoulders and moved toward him. Agatha wanted to scowl. Her heart was beating too fast. She reached his side, brushing her fingers across the cravat at his throat. Agatha became aware of the closeness and heat between their bodies, the firm grip of his hand on hers, his rousing masculine scent. She trailed her fingers down to his shoulder and arm. A quick peek from beneath her lashes, as Bea showed her, revealed a faintly sardonic expression.

She frowned, sensing she was failing.

The earl moved, and his gloveless fingers at her inner elbow felt like they opened pathways of sensations within Agatha’s body. She swallowed, suppressing the feeling. This is how she was to make people feel, but from the icy, detached look in his eyes, Lord Radbourne was immune to her at this moment. A blush crept up her neck to set her cheeks aflame.

“I failed,” she said softly. “You are unmoved.”

“Again,” he said, tone clipped. “Take a deep breath. You are beautiful. You are confident ... and when you let him catch your gaze—if he cannot look away—you have captured something within him, and it is that thread you follow. Confidence has its own allure.”

Agatha took a deep breath and stepped back, creating a respectable distance between them.

Confidence is alluring?

She analyzed the sensations prickling over her skin, all ignited by his presence. Even at this distance, she was acutely aware of Thomas. Try as she might, she couldn’t ignore her body’s reaction to him. Did he feel nothing of the sort? Was this attraction one-sided? That, she supposed, was a lesson in itself—the man who won her might not stir any feelings of want within her at all. The notion startled her, but it was entirely possible, for no one else had ever affected her as the earl did.

Agatha narrowed her gaze, studying him. What drew her so much? A humorless smile played on his lips as he looked back, and she took in his aquiline nose, fierce cheekbones, and hair dark as a raven’s wing. He was uncommonly handsome, and though a ruthless strength emanated from him, she knew of his quiet patienceand kindness.

Perhaps this ruthless assurance was his unshakable confidence, a quality that made him even more fascinating.

“Oh, I see,” she murmured.

His gaze sharpened with interest, and a smile tugged at Agatha’s lips.