“Poppycock,” Harriet said, having found her voice again. “You are as marriageable as the rest of us.”
“I am five and twenty, at least three years older than either of you,” Iris said. “And I do not need to marry for money.”
…
“You mentioned you are leaving the office early today,” Rand said, interrupting Merritt’s thoughts. “Considering you are normally the first person to arrive and the last to leave, I am curious. Is this about that chit?”
Merritt refused to take Rand’s bait. This thing between him and Lady Iris was a business agreement and nothing more. “As a matter of fact, it is. While meeting and conversing with her, and subsequently seeing her in action at a ball, I realized that Lady Iris could be precisely the person to help introduce Lucy into Society.” He set aside the segment he’d been editing. “You could knock on the damned door every now and again instead of simply barging into my office.”
Rand rolled his eyes heavenward then fell into the chair across from Merritt. “You’ve asked her to help you with Lucy?”
“I have.”
“I know you feel as if Lucy needs this. Though, if you ask me, there is nothing wrong with your sister.”
That sentiment was not surprising, considering Merritt had suspected Rand fancied her and had for the better part of two years. But Lucy was an earl’s sister now, and she wanted the life that went along with it.
“She is going to do this out of the goodness of her heart, and all the while she believes you’re single-handedly leading her brother astray?” Rand asked. “Are you not concerned that she will sabotage this to prove her point? This woman can’t possibly be the only option.”
“I found one woman, but she backed out, remember? The others…” Merritt shook his head. “I know too much about them. I don’t trust them. Lady Iris has an excellent reputation, and she’s not that much older than Lucy so it is more likely that Lucy will be receptive to her instruction.” He leaned back in his chair and considered his friend’s concerns. “Because she is so worried about her brother, she will understand the protection of a younger sibling and be careful with Lucy.”
“Your sister’s reputation is a lot to put on this one woman that you don’t know very well,” Rand said.
“In any case,” Merritt waved his hand as if to clear the air. “I made her a proposition. A wager. I agreed to pass off anyone of her choosing as a gentleman some place in London of my choosing, and she will, in turn, instruct Lucy.”
“That sounds more of a bargain than a wager,” Rand said.
“Yes, well, there is more. If I fail, she wants me to retract the articles.” He looked pointedly at Rand. “Though, I have not yet agreed to that. We are meeting this afternoon. She is bringing her man by my home, and I shall begin my task. I suggested her brother, but she insisted she already had someone in mind.”
Rand chuckled.
“What?”
“Sounds as if you’ve gotten yourself into quite a wager. You should agree to the girl’s terms. You’ll be able to pass off anyone as a gent, as you said. You’ve studied these people for years, so if anyone can do that, ’tis you.”
Chapter Four
Two hours later, Merritt stood as Lady Iris was introduced into his study. He was surprised when she came in alone.
“Please, sit.” He stepped around his desk and waited until she had lowered herself onto one of the leather chairs before he did the same. “Did you change your mind?” he asked once his butler had left the room.”
“No, I did not.”
“Where is your man, then? Did you give him my address?”
“There is no man.” She clutched her reticule to her. “I had a better idea. You said you could pass off anyone as a gentleman, correct?”
“Yes,” he said, though he felt slightly uncertain as he eyed the pretty Lady Iris.
“Very well, then. My proposal is that you pass me off as a gentleman.” She tilted her delicate chin up ever so slightly.
That, he hadn’t been expecting. “You can’t be serious.”
“I can and I am.”
“Have you completely taken leave of your senses?” he asked.
“No.” She frowned. “And why does everyone keep asking me that?”
He considered her carefully. She did not look as though she were deranged. And yet, she’d lost her wits. She wanted him to pass her off as a gentleman? The idea was absurd. He shook his head. “The wager is off.”
“Then, you admit that you cannot do it?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “That sounds like a forfeit to me.”
“It is most definitely not a forfeit. You know as well as I that when I made such a claim I meant I could pass off any man as a gentleman. I suggested your brother. I expected you to find some street urchin for me to transform. But you…” He motioned to her and took in the sight of her sitting so poised and elegant with her soft features, wild curls, and graceful shoulders. “You are very much a lady.”
“Then you admit defeat. That you cannot accomplish what you boasted? To me that means you must comply with my wishes and cease publishing those articles.” She nodded once as if her logic made complete sense.
He eyed her carefully.
“You’re one of those women,” he said.
She bristled visibly. “What does that mean?”
“That you must be in control of every situation.”
She frowned, opening her mouth to speak, but he continued with his explanation before she could deny it.
“You are unhappy with your brother’s behavior, therefore you are going out of your way to fix his problem. I suppose it wouldn’t do me any good to tell you that your brother is going to do what he wants to do, regardless of what you have to say about it. ’Tis his age. Men learn from doing. He’s testing the waters of being an adult man in London. He’ll likely calm down eventually.”
“Likely calm down? But you can’t guarantee that, can you, Lord Ashby?”
“Of course not. There are no such guarantees, especially when it comes to other people.”
“Precisely why I must do this myself.”
“So, you wish to continue? You want me to help you masquerade as a gentleman?”
“Yes, I do.”
For the briefest of moments, he considered giving in to her request. Perhaps not printing an apology for the “damages” the articles had caused, but he could end the series. They had essentially run their course. However, he realized with alarming clarity, he’d never allow an aristocrat to best him in such a manner. So, he wouldn’t treat her any differently than he would a man. After all, she was the one requesting he turn her into a gentleman, if only for one evening.
She did not seem to be bluffing in any form or fashion. She sincerely thought she could best him. Well, he could certainly play that game, too, and he could play it better, which meant that she’d be the one retreating, not he.
“Lady Iris, I do require your assistance with my sister. And I did make a fair wager. So here are the terms: I shall instruct you in the ways of a gentleman and pass you off at a yet to be determined location. In exchange, you tutor my sister in how to be a genteel lady.” She opened her mouth to speak, but he held a hand up to silence her. “I agree to pull the articles if I fail. But keep in mind that you mustn’t foil yourself. If you intentionally ruin the experiment, you forfeit and I win. Do we have an agreement?”
She looked up at him and bit her lip. Hesitation poured off her in silent waves. She was going to back out of the agreement, then he could simply pay her to tutor Lucy, as had been his initial plan for his sister. He needed only to push her a little further.
Then she set her features and nodded once. “I agree.” She held her hand out to him to shake.
He took her hand, but instead of shaking it, he brought it to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the smooth silk of her glove. “Today you are still a lady.”
“What is next?” she asked.
Indeed. What was next? His tailo
r was waiting in one of the parlors to measure the “man” for clothes for this experiment. Merritt remembered the last time he’d been measured, all the intimate places that were required for the tailor to craft trousers and a coat that fit perfectly to a man’s frame. This might be the thing that sends her running back home, but he couldn’t very well allow a strange man to stretch a paper ribbon over Iris’s most intimate parts. Merritt would have to do it himself. Hopefully she’d back out of the agreement before Merritt had to touch her too inappropriately. Not that he’d mind—Iris Bennington was a most fetching woman, and he found he was far too interested in precisely how long her legs were.
“Now then, if you’ll excuse me for one moment, I must send the tailor back to his shop.” He left her sitting alone in his study.
…
Iris exhaled loudly as soon as Lord Ashby left the room. Good heavens, what had she gotten herself into? This was quite likely the most foolish idea she’d ever had, but she’d do anything for Jasper. She’d been the only mother he’d had since Jasper was nine. After their father’s death, their mother had lasted another year, but barely. She’d been so consumed by her grief that she hadn’t been available for any of Iris’s anger at having her debut cancelled nor any of Jasper’s scraped knees that had needed kissed.
It mattered not how nervous she was about this wager she’d placed with Lord Ashby. Iris was the only one who could help Jasper see the error of his ways and alter his behavior. She would not allow him to ruin his life completely. Besides, there was no need to be unsettled. She’d worn disguises before. It was part of her tasks and training with the Ladies of Virtue. They were all taught effective ways to hide themselves or pretend to be someone else. This was merely like that, an assignment, but instead of assisting a woman who was being mistreated, or returning stolen goods to a person, she would be helping her brother.
Whatever Lord Ashby asked her to do for this gentleman wager, she’d do because ultimately Jasper mattered more than her nerves. She’d spent too much of her life protecting him, raising him, to give up on him now.
…
“Now then.” He withdrew a tape measure from his coat pocket. “Shall we begin?”
Her head tilted and her eyes narrowed. “Precisely what do you intend to do with that?”
“Measure you, of course.”
She blinked several times.
This was going to work. She was going to toss her hands up in defeat at any moment. “I couldn’t have my tailor do it else it would reveal our scheme before we even begin. But you must be properly measured to be fitted with the appropriate clothes.”
She opened her mouth, then promptly closed it.
It would not do to show his satisfaction, so he schooled his features to keep from grinning.
“Can I not simply bring you measurements from my modiste?”
He shook his head. This should frighten her away from this silly quest. “I’m afraid not. Men and women have different measurements for their clothing. You will be wearing trousers, and I suspect those measurements differ considerably from what you need to buy a new gown.”
She bit her bottom lip.
He’d bested her. There was no way she was going to allow him anywhere near her body with this measuring ribbon.
“You’re right.”
It was on his tongue to accept her concession, but then he realized she hadn’t conceded at all. Instead she’d agreed to his request.
She stood and opened up her arms. “Let us begin, then.”
Damnation.
She was plucky, he’d give her that, and obviously committed to whatever she expected this experiment to do for her brother. But he doubted she’d endure this entire process. He had the piece of parchment his tailor had given him with the required measurements and how to take them. More than likely once he got to the more intimate places on her body, she’d balk and run out, finally having come to her senses.
Merritt set down the paper and pencil on the table, then held open the tape and began. He started at her neck, wrapping the tape gently around her throat. She tilted her head up to give him better access. The milky complexion of her skin beckoned him, but he ignored it. This was no time for admiration of the female form. She had effectively turned this into a competition, and Merritt never lost once he decided to play.
He continued measuring her—the length of her arms, the apex of her arm down to her waist, the breadth of her shoulders—and she had remained perfectly still, barely breathing as best he could tell, through the entire ordeal. He hadn’t thought it would go this far, but he’d be damned if he’d concede the wager. He knelt in front of her, grabbed her ankle, and pressed the tape there, then began the long journey up her leg. His mouth went dry and the familiar ache of desire thrummed through his veins. He’d always been attracted to women with long legs, and it seemed Iris’s might go on forever.
When his palm slid past her knee, she clamped a hand onto his.
“I beg your pardon.”
He looked up at her and into her wide green eyes. “Lady Iris, I can assure you that this is the proper way to measure for trousers. I am not trying to take advantage of you in any capacity. But if you are uncomfortable, we can stop, and perhaps you have another candidate in mind for my tutelage?”
Her mouth set and she shook her head. “Continue.”
“I’ll do this as quickly as possible, and then it shall be over.”
She took a shaky breath then nodded tightly.
He slid his hand all the way up to her inner thigh. Despite her pantaloons, he could perfectly make out the curve of her legs. Desire, hot and thick, surged through him. Her warmth radiated around his hand. And her breathing had become shallow, tighter. His touch, his presence was affecting her. But not in the way he’d expected. He stopped short of reaching her center, knowing it would frighten her, but more than that, it would quite obviously tempt him. And perhaps her, too.
Ridiculous. Iris Bennington was nothing like any of the women he’d ever been attracted to before. Yes, he admired the length of her legs, but she was too talkative and bossy. Not to mention she was a lady in every sense of the word. Which meant that any dallying with her would come with significant expectations on her part. He had no desire to marry a woman who’d been born into the aristocracy. He didn’t want to be that deep into their world. He intended to find a sweet country girl when the time came, so wanting Iris for anything other than her assistance with his sister was absurd.
Yet, there was undeniable desire weighing heavy in his own trousers. He shifted his weight and withdrew his hand from beneath her skirts. He’d merely add half an inch to compensate for not going all the way up her inseam. He stood directly in front of her then.
“Lady Iris,” he said when he noted her eyes were squeezed shut.
She peeked one open. “Are you finished?”
“Not quite, I still have a few more, but I am done with your legs.” Long, curvaceous legs that would wrap oh so nicely around him. Damnation.
“Very well, let us continue, then.”
“Your hair—”
“Yes, I know. My hair is the color of boiled carrots.”
He chuckled. “Actually, I was going to say that it is like the fiery copper you only find in warm summer sunsets.”
Her mouth formed an O. “I see.”
He took both of her arms and held them out at her sides. “Lady Iris,” he said gently.
Her green eyes met his. “Yes.”
“Breathe.”
She puffed out a breath. “Right. Sorry.”
He measured her waist. God, she smelled good. Like lemons and cake, sweet and a little tart. He gently wrapped the tape around her neck. Her hair was impossibly soft as his hand brushed several curls, and then he moved his hands down to her hips.
Standing this close to her, he could clearly count every freckle gracing her nose and cheeks. She was not beautiful by Society standards, but there was something compelling about her face, comforting even.
It was the type of face he could look at for long moments.
He moved the tape up to measure across her chest.
Her breath caught and her mouth opened, highlighting her remarkably perfect lips. How had he not noticed them before? And just like that, he bent and kissed her. One hand tilted up her chin, and his lips took hers in a soft embrace. She did not slap him, nor shove him away. Instead she merely sighed into his mouth. It was a most dangerous reaction.
He broke off the kiss before he completely lost his mind. He stepped away from her.
“I beg your pardon, my lady.”
Her eyes fluttered open. “Oh my.”
…
For the third time in the scant quarter hour it took to travel from Lord Ashby’s townhome to her own, she started humming.
As soon as the rig arrived at her door, she withdrew and made her way inside. “Oh for heaven’s sake!” she blurted out.
“Iris, you’re finally home,” Harriet said as she entered the foyer.
“Harriet.” Iris had forgotten that she’d asked her friend to wait at her townhome until she returned from her meeting at Lord Ashby’s.
“For heaven’s sake, what?” Harriet asked. “What happened?” She grabbed Iris’s arm and pulled her into the parlor. “You must tell me everything. Did he agree to pull the articles once he realized your proposal?”
Her body still hummed with awareness from the kiss.
“No, he did not.” They fell together onto the settee. No man had ever even tried to kiss her, yet Lord Ashby had done so. Gently and sweetly. And she’d felt that simple kiss all over her body. Granted, because of his thorough measuring, she’d already been grossly aware of parts of her body she rarely considered. “He kissed me.”
Harriet’s eyes rounded. “He did what?”
“Yes, he kissed me. And instead of having the appropriate reaction and chastising him for taking such liberties, I merely said, ‘oh my.’” She leaned her head back onto the rounded ridge of the settee. “He must believe me the silliest of ninnies.”
The Scoundrel and the Lady (Lords of Vice) Page 5