Page 13 of The Scot’s Seduction (Heirs & Spares #2)
D rusilla was very good at smoothing her expression to hide her true feelings; after all, she’d grown up with the flightiest of flighty parents, and as she’d grown older, she’d had to work not to reveal the horror she felt at whatever they were proposing.
It used to be her sister’s job to take care of regulating their parents, but with Diantha off with her husband in America, Drusilla had assumed the burden. They’d passed only a few years ago, still as chaotic as ever.
She did miss them, though, and even missed some of their more outlandish schemes.
Except the one involving seventy-five geese and a tuba. That was too much even for her generally accommodating brain.
So walking up the stairs, seeing him right after kissing him in her carriage, was simple. Just let a faint smile touch the lips, keep your eyes vaguely focused so it’s not apparent you’re thinking about him naked, and make sure to speak in a measured tone.
Because if she hadn’t done all of that, she might have been tempted to yank him by his still overly long hair and haul him off to her bedroom, where she’d strip him and then make him go to her bed.
Or the other way around: There was a certain appeal to having him fully clothed in her bed as she removed his garments one by one.
Perhaps she would strip first and then assist in his clothing removal.
Damn. She needed to stop thinking about all of that. Because she’d just heard they were all to go out that evening, which meant she would not get to indulge herself as she wished and would instead have to go be polite to random strangers who were likely judging her.
“Lady Dru?”
Miss Emily’s voice intruded, thankfully, on her salacious thoughts.
“Yes, pardon, what?” Drusilla said. Her voice was a little strained. She’d have to work on that.
“I was asking what time we should leave.” The girl was bouncing from one foot to the other, clearly excited to be attending her first official event.
“After supper, I think,” Drusilla replied. “So in two hours?”
Miss Emily’s face fell. “So long?”
Drusilla couldn’t help but dart a quick glance toward the earl, who gave her an understanding look in return.
“The party begins at nine o’clock, you understand, but nobody will arrive until at least ten,” Drusilla said. “Or nobody who is anybody will arrive until at least ten.”
“I suppose,” Miss Emily said, her mouth screwed up into an adorable pout.
“That will give you time to make yourself even more beautiful,” the earl said, his tone a bit hesitant, as though he wasn’t certain how his words would be received.
“Thank you, Uncle,” Miss Emily said, rising up on tiptoes to kiss the earl’s cheek. “And it will give you time to be even more handsome.”
How could that possibly be? Drusilla wanted to ask. He was already appallingly, brutally handsome in an I like to grunt and fuck kind of way.
Even though that thought was shockingly crude, even for her.
But still. It fit.
She was looking forward to seeing him in his evening wear—the thought of all that barely contained masculinity encased within a suit of evening clothes made her positively feral. The juxtaposition between proper elegance and primal power was irresistible.
“Lady Dru,” Miss Emily said, her tone altered, “are you feeling all right? Your face is a bit flushed.”
Drusilla shook herself free of her thoughts, alarmed she was showing her emotions. “Yes, perfectly fine, thank you. I might just be a bit excited for your first party,” she said, tapping Miss Emily’s cheek with her finger.
“You’ll have to dance with me, Uncle,” Miss Emily continued. “And with Lady Dru.”
Drusilla and the earl met each other’s gaze, and she felt as though she could read his thoughts: We’re going to dance in front of all the people just a few hours after kissing in the carriage, and that is far too intimate, I cannot, but Emily will think it odd if I have an extreme reaction to the idea, so I have to pretend it’s totally fine.
“Of course,” the earl replied, and Drusilla bit her lip to keep from laughing.
“Well, I need to go find what I am going to wear myself,” Drusilla said. She needed to be by herself for a moment, just to settle down.
“Let me help!” Miss Emily said, and Drusilla’s heart sank. She couldn’t very well deny the girl the opportunity, especially since Drusilla wanted to demonstrate the joy and splendor of living an autonomous life without a husband. Choosing what one wore all by oneself was one such benefit.
“Of course,” Drusilla said, taking Miss Emily’s arm and looping it through her own. “Bertha always tries to persuade me to wear my brightest-colored gowns, but I think tonight I want to fade into the background a bit more than usual, since this is your time to shine.”
“You could not possibly fade into the background, Lady Dru,” Miss Emily asserted as they made their way to her bedroom.
M urdoch watched the two of them retreat, his mind in a whirl.
Firstly, he had to agree with his niece: there was no way Lady Drusilla wouldn’t be noticed wherever she went.
She was too sparkling, too forceful, too alive to ignore.
She fairly vibrated with energy, and it was natural that most people—not just him, though he felt it too—would want to be near that kind of person.
Next, should he take her up on the offer she’d made in the carriage? His immediate reaction was to deny himself the opportunity, but how could he? If he didn’t, he would forever be wondering just what he’d missed.
He didn’t even know why he was arguing with himself. He knew full well what he would do, and it wasn’t only kiss her once. After all, if she was able to present such a calm mien minutes after their interlude, then it couldn’t have meant anything.
Anything beyond the best experience of his life.
And that included the time he’d imported one of Mr. Halladay’s windmills, saving his workers hours of labor and increasing his farm’s productivity.
“You’re still here?” the Joey person said, sounding even more amused.
He flushed. “It’s just that my niece—”
“Never mind,” she said, waving her hand in dismissal. “You need a drink,” she said, jerking her chin toward his bedroom. “It’s all in there waiting for you.”
“Would you—” Murdoch began, only to shake his head. “Never mind.”
“Would I...?” she said, giving him a bright look.
“Would you want to have one as well?” he said, his words coming out so fast it seemed like he’d said, Wouldyouwanttohaveoneaswell?
Her smile broadened. “Indeed, my lord, I would.”
He nodded, having exhausted his ability to speak for the moment, and gestured for her to go ahead, toward his room. She snorted, taking his arm and leading the way to his bedroom.
If he were able to think at all, he would know that this was not done, for many different reasons.
The first was that they were an unmarried male and presumably unmarried female together unchaperoned.
The second, that she was, he supposed, a servant, and one usually did not fraternize with servants.
Murdoch had to admit he didn’t fraternize with people in general, so he supposed excluding servants was just part of his usual habit of being alone.
But he was here, in Lady Drusilla’s home, and apparently these types of things happened all the time.
He relished the opportunity to get to know the lady and her world better, and he anticipated Miss Joey would be able to help him.
Not to mention Miss Joey herself fascinated him; she was unlike any woman or any servant he’d ever met before.
“They brought you the good stuff,” Miss Joey said, picking up the bottle and holding it at eye level. “That means someone in the kitchen must like you. Otherwise you would’ve gotten the rotgut.” She unstoppered the bottle and poured out two very healthy drafts, then placed the bottle down again.
“To your health,” she said, handing him his glass.
He clinked his glass against hers, then took a swallow. The whisky burned as it went down, and he gasped.
She drank hers without a noticeable reaction, and he gave her a nod of respect. “You’d do well where I come from.”
She grinned at him. “I do well wherever I go, my lord, but I appreciate the kind words.” She took another drink, draining the glass.
“Would you want to...sit down?” he asked, gesturing toward the small conversation area near the fireplace.
The fire wasn’t lit, but it was a comfortable spot nonetheless.
She nodded, then refilled her glass and sauntered over to sit in one of the chairs.
He finished his drink, only sputtering a little this time, refilling his own glass before sitting down in the opposite chair.
“I’m sorry if I manhandled you a bit that first time,” she said.
“Uh...it was fine. I can understand—”
“A lot of people find Dru because they need help, and we just assumed Miss Emily had figured out a way to attract notice.”
“Lady Drusilla helps a lot of people?” Murdoch asked, unable to keep the question to himself.
Joey nodded her head vigorously. “Indeed. She’s always taking in strays. I was one once, though I’ve made myself useful through the years.”
“You?” Murdoch asked. It made sense; he wouldn’t have thought someone who presented herself as Miss Joey did would find employment through conventional means.
Today she was wearing an excellent, if plain, suit of clothes with a white shirt and a brightly colored cravat knotted casually around her neck. Her hair was cropped short, and her figure was difficult to distinguish underneath the suit, which was likely the intention.
“I was the first of Dru’s rescues. She can’t seem to help herself, not since—” And then Miss Joey stopped speaking, instead turning her gaze to glare at the glass in her hand.
“Since—” Murdoch prompted, desperate to know.
“Nothing of import,” Miss Joey said, waving her hand. “She helped me, and I don’t know where I’d be if she hadn’t.”