Page 32 of My Best Friend’s Earl (Bluestocking Booksellers #2)

Change the goal entirely

I ’m glad I searched our emergency location.

I believe this is yours.” Althea handed Constance her red cloak, which she took gratefully.

The army had missed a phenomenal logistical mind in Althea.

She’d made backup plans upon contingencies when they laid out their goals for last night’s ball.

“How did you get home without freezing to death?” Althea asked the question around a mouthful of rye bread.

The Thompsons’ cook offered them the loaf with fresh butter and thinly sliced ham when Constance arrived as scheduled in Althea’s kitchen the day after meeting with Franklin Wellsley.

Cook plunked a pair of ciders next to them, then returned to the wall of ovens.

Constance smiled her thanks before gulping a mouthful.

Retelling the events of the night before would be difficult.

Withholding the details of her interaction with Oliver was never under consideration.

Some said confession was good for the soul.

After a lifetime of making impulsive decisions and living to regret them, Constance was all too familiar with accepting the inevitable consequences of her choices.

Even when that meant telling Althea about the scorching kiss she’d shared with her friend’s fiancé.

Recalling the sounds he’d made, the desperate way he’d promised anything she wanted, and the way she’d begged for more sent shame and desire battling in her mind.

If the heat from her cheeks was any indication, her face must be alarmingly crimson.

“That map you sketched saved the day. Thank goodness you know the house so well. Choosing the storeroom to meet Mr. Wellsley was a stroke of genius.”

“Over the years, I’ve had to entertain myself in Lady Bellingham’s home for hours at a time, while she and my mother visited in her drawing room. I wasn’t permitted to join them—probably because they drink a concerning amount of cordial while gossiping about their friends.”

“In this instance, your penchant for snooping worked in our favor.”

“What I want to know is how you sneaked out of the house, unnoticed, with your gown and hair in such a state. At least your hair should have been in more disarray than usual if Oliver kissed you properly.” Althea offered a wicked smile, and Constance thanked the stars for the ten thousandth time during this conversation that her friend didn’t feel territorial about her fiancé.

“He insisted I wear his coat to cover my gown. As to the hair, Southwyn helped pin it into some semblance of order. Enough to not draw attention, anyway. Although wearing his coat would certainly warrant a second look.” While the memory of how he’d lost control at the first touch of lips had kept her awake long into the night, it was the moments afterward that made her heart twist.

Without prompting, Lord Southwyn had expertly coiled her curls back into place, securing the mass with pins they’d found scattered on the floor.

“My mother had curls like this,” he’d explained in that deep, quiet voice.

“Her hair was dark, so it didn’t create the nimbus effect yours does.

But I spent many afternoons helping shape her curls into individual spirals like these. ”

“The rainwater makes the curls particularly soft,” she’d said, and he grunted an agreement.

After such fervent kisses, the gentle way he’d taken care of her had been a surprise.

Especially when she checked in her mirror at home and spied the purplish marks on her neck and shoulder.

That he could be nearly violently passionate one minute, then patiently taming her hair the next, was another facet of a man who became a greater enigma the longer she knew him.

A man she had no business kissing or wanting.

“I suppose you used the servant’s entrance to the garden, then hailed a hack near the mews.” Althea drained cider in her mug. “That’s what I’d have done.”

Nodding an affirmative, Constance took another drink to wet her parched mouth.

Her lips were tender against the rim of the glass, and she nearly whimpered.

Hours later, her body still bore signs of his conquering in the most delicious, welcome way.

God, he’d been nearly feral, and she craved more.

Beyond her lust, there remained one important piece of information to share.

“I discovered something else. He didn’t know about your parents’ restrictions.

That he hadn’t noticed doesn’t speak well of him.

But he did not realize your father is keeping such a close eye on you for nefarious purposes.

” She’d completely forgotten about his role in Althea’s life the second he touched her, which was something Connie needed to mull over.

What if he’d been the villain actually? How had she not thought of her friend after that first kiss?

Studying Constance with a speculative look, Althea finally nodded. “I believe that. After all, I keep saying he doesn’t care enough to pay attention. He likely believes whatever Father told him. All that might not matter in the end, though, because Oliver likes you.”

Constance shrugged. “We get along fine, I suppose.” She bit into a slice of rye, slathered with thick butter. It was a truth universally acknowledged that swallowing emotions was easier when accompanied by baked goods.

“No, he likes you. He wants you. Do you know what this means, Connie?” Althea grinned as she leaned close.

The bread turned to a brick in Connie’s throat. Wordlessly, Althea nudged Constance’s mug toward her with a finger. A moment later, Constance’s wheezed “What?” sounded feeble and a tad desperate.

“This can be our secondary plan, if Franklin takes his affection elsewhere.” A shadow crossed her features.

It hadn’t been easy to tell Althea’s beau about the lack of a dowry.

Connie had encouraged him to carefully consider the situation before leaving word of his decision at Martin House.

Franklin claimed he didn’t need time to answer, but before he’d given a concrete reply, disaster struck.

One of his expansive gestures while ranting about Sir William’s beastliness resulted in the lace debacle and Oliver barging in.

“As soon as I receive his answer, I’ll come to your kitchen as we discussed. If you could have seen how concerned he is for you, you wouldn’t feel the need for another plan. That man loves you, dowry or no dowry.”

Althea sighed. “I hope love is enough. Just in case, let’s focus on you. You enjoyed kissing Oliver last night, correct?”

Constance’s face flamed again. And it had just begun to cool, she thought ruefully. “Lord Southwyn is an attractive man. I’ve always said so. And amusing when he’s not striving to be proper.”

Althea wrinkled her nose. “Oliver’s quite accomplished at playing proper, isn’t he?

It makes me want to shake him. Which makes his behavior with you all the more intriguing.

From what you said, it took one kiss to wake him from that stodgy personality.

Like a fairy tale, but in reverse. It was the prince who woke up. Or rather, the earl. We can use this.”

Constance sobered. “I know I’ve called him Lord Stuffy Pants, but he’s a good man, Althea. I won’t lead him on or play with his heart. Not even for you.”

Her friend squeezed her hand. “I would never ask that. And should it come up, feel free to tell him I’m mad for Mr. Wellsley.

He’s probably pieced together the truth, anyway.

Even if Franklin retreats, I want Oliver to know my heart belongs to another.

Maybe the knowledge will give him permission to search elsewhere.

“Because I see how we’ve been going about this all wrong. We don’t need to give Oliver a disgust of me. We need to make him fall in love with you. ”

“You don’t understand. I was barely more than an animal.” Oliver wasn’t sure how clear his words were, given the way he covered his face with his palms.

Dorian must have caught the general idea. “Hardly. I’m not sure many members of the animal kingdom experience lust.”

Oliver’s mother would have known the answer. That was something she would’ve found fascinating. Although thinking of his mother at a time like this struck him as odd. Oliver sighed and slumped in the chair he usually claimed in front of the fireplace. “Lust is not part of my usual repertoire.”

“I know you’ve always preferred to keep your private matters, well, private. But surely Connie’s not the first woman to get under your skin. Sometimes there’s an unexplainable connection.” A smile quirked Dorian’s mouth as he stared at a set of bookshelves.

Oliver followed his gaze, then thought better of it.

Right. The duke and duchess had probably passed an enthusiastically pleasurable time against that bookshelf.

If he recalled correctly, the books at hip level on that shelf consisted of mostly poetry.

Not his usual fare, so he needn’t worry about borrowing a book on which his friend previously shagged his wife.

As had been happening since he’d covered Constance in his coat, then shuffled her into his coach last night, images from their time together assailed him.

The memories had literally kept him warm as he’d walked home in the rain, staying in the shadows as his shirt turned transparent. It hadn’t been a long walk. Or at least, that’s the argument he used when Constance asked if he’d join her in the coach.

Truth was, he knew that way lay madness, and he couldn’t fool himself otherwise.

After experiencing exactly how quickly things could escalate, Oliver knew his good intentions would dissolve if he climbed into the privacy of a dark, enclosed carriage with her.

Especially with her taste lingering on his tongue, while his coat covered her perfect, nearly exposed breasts.