Lady Be Bad

by Megan Frampton

  “No, it sounds . . .” and she paused, and he held his breath. Sounds horrible? Sounds ridiculous? Sounds like I might both scream and faint at the prospect? “Intriguing,” she finished at last, and he exhaled.

  “Intriguing is one word for it,” he said with a return to his old self. At least, the old self that existed before a few days ago. Now it seemed he was someone who would do the right thing to aid his brother, had a heart that wanted to do good, and was considerate of a young lady’s feelings.

  Things he didn’t think he had ever been before.

  “How shall we do this? It is not as though you can arrive on my doorstep with that book and sit down in the library with it.”

  “Mmm. I hadn’t thought of that.” He had never had to be discreet before. So now he was experiencing some new things as well.

  “If I say I am going to the bookshop—the one where we met—my family will not think anything of it.”

  “You spend a lot of time there, then?” Why hadn’t he seen her before?

  Most likely because Mr. Woodson had a special room for his special books—and that is where Alex spent his time when there.

  She nodded. “Yes, but it is not just that. Since my sister—since my sister left rather suddenly, my parents have been otherwise preoccupied in shoring up the family’s reputation. That means paying more social calls than usual, showing up at the House of Lords, and ensuring that newspaper columnists say the right things at the right time. That doesn’t leave a lot of time for their daughters who haven’t eloped.”

  His heart pulled a little at how lost she sounded. He hadn’t considered that there was something she would gain if she married. Her freedom, at least more than it was as an unmarried young lady. The ability to do and say what she wanted, within reason. Bennett wouldn’t try to curb her interests; he’d probably encourage her to form an Italian speaking club or purchase books of mythology for her.

  “I didn’t realize your sister had eloped,” he replied.

  “You might be the only one who didn’t,” she retorted. “Why else are my parents so desperate for your brother to marry me?”

  “And my father is desperate for your dowry.”

  “Ah, I didn’t know that. That is, I suspected, since why else would your brother have asked? It is not as though he knows me.” She raised her gaze to his face. “Perhaps if ladies were kept less in the dark about what kind of world they were entering, they wouldn’t do foolish things like run away with the dancing master.” Her lips were pressed together, and her whole self radiated a self-righteous anger that was oddly appealing. “Or have a need to know things about the world and themselves. They would just . . . know it.”

  “It isn’t fair,” Alex said, surprising himself with how quickly he agreed with her.

  “So that is why your father is so set on your brother marrying me. For my dowry. I knew it wasn’t because Lord Carson chose me on his own.” She spoke in such a matter-of-fact tone, one that belittled herself, that he just wanted to gather her up in his arms and kiss her.

  Or, to be perfectly honest, he just wanted to kiss her anyway.

  “My father has made many poor investments over the years,” he explained. “Your dowry will infuse some much-needed funds into the family’s holdings, and Bennett has gotten my father’s promise that he will be the one to manage the money from now on.” Something his father had readily agreed to, particularly since it meant he could spend more time with Mrs. Cheslam.

  “Oh. Your brother must be a good man,” she said in a slow, considering tone.

  “The best.”

  She raised her chin and met his gaze. “So why does his brother seem so much more appealing?”

  He didn’t have an answer for that question.

  Lady Eleanor’s Good List for Being Bad:

  Translate Italian medieval erotic poetry.

  (An entirely surprising entry, but it needs to be on the list for specific reasons.)

  Chapter 11

  “This is not at all proper, my lady,” Cotswold said as they walked to the bookshop.

  “It will be far less proper if you refuse to accompany me,” Eleanor retorted. “Because I will do this, whether or not you approve.”

  “I didn’t say I don’t approve,” Cotswold replied. “I just don’t want you to be gossiped about.” Any more than the Howlett sisters were already, Eleanor understood her maid to be saying.

  Eleanor smiled and patted Cotswold on the arm. “I will be discretion itself.”

  If by being “discretion itself” one referred to translating shocking material in the presence of an even more shocking man.

  “If only your sister hadn’t run off,” Cotswold began. Eleanor felt her chest tighten, as it always did when Della was mentioned. Why hadn’t her sister shared what was going on? Why had she run off so suddenly, and with a man they all knew was a reprobate? Was her sister so unhappy that she would prefer marriage to a man of unstable reputation and means to staying at home?

  Or was she so desirous of change that she couldn’t resist?

  And was Eleanor just following her sister down that very same path? Was Della happy now?

  “We’re here,” Cotswold announced, just as Eleanor was beginning to consider the wisdom of the plan. Which wasn’t much of a plan, to be honest; she would spend a few hours a day at the bookshop, translating Lord Alexander’s book. Then he would have the pictures reprinted along with her translation and sell it—discreetly—to gentlemen who wished to have the book in their private collection.

  Lord Alexander had explained it all, Eleanor blushing furiously throughout the explanation, on one of their trips to the cricket field.

  The only thing keeping Eleanor from bursting into flames of embarrassment was the possibility of seeing Lord Alexander in all of his athletic exuberance again.

  He had persuaded the bookshop owner to allow them the use of an even more private back room for the translation work, and had refused to allow Eleanor to do the work on her own.

  Eleanor wasn’t sure if that was to ensure she did the work, or so he would be able to watch her reactions to the pictures, but she knew if they were discovered, the resulting scandal would mean none of her sisters had a hope of finding their own happiness.

  The bell on the door tinkled as Cotswold swung the door open, holding it so Eleanor could enter.

  “Good afternoon, ladies,” the shopkeeper said. “What may I—oh,” he continued as Alex stepped up to greet them.

  From the little she could see of his expression, what with it being so dark in the shop, plus his height, plus her eyesight, he looked—nervous.

  It made her feel a little fluttery that he might’ve worried she wasn’t going to come.

  Or perhaps he was concerned he’d have to find another person to do the translation of obscene Italian into equally obscene English.

  “Good afternoon, my lady.” She saw his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed. He was nervous.

  “Good afternoon, my lord,” Eleanor said, nodding the precisely polite amount required of someone like her to someone like him.

  Even though there was nothing at all polite about the situation.

  “Mr. Woodson has allowed us to use his office for our—” And then he stopped speaking abruptly, no doubt at a loss for words as to what to call what they were about to do. She didn’t think she could supply the word either, and she was fluent in more than just one language.

  “Thank you, Mr. Woodson,” Eleanor said. She turned to Cotswold. “You can return in an hour,” she said to her maid, whose expression revealed just what she thought of that plan. “It is the most sensible way to avoid gossip,” she explained. “If anyone sees you here, they will know I am here, and if they don’t see me, they will presume I have gone off and done something shocking.” She paused to let Cotswold think about it. “But if you are not here, nobody will know I am, and so there will be no scandal.”

  Her maid’s eyes narrowed as they darted between Eleanor and Lord Ale
xander, but eventually she sighed and nodded. “Fine. But I will return in one hour, and you will be ready to depart at that time.”

  “Two hours,” Lord Alexander parried, an amused tone in his voice.

  “An hour and a half,” Cotswold conceded.

  Eleanor glanced at the two of them, amazed that Cotswold had capitulated and that Lord Alexander had made it seem so—effortless.

  Small wonder he was tasked with the job of persuading her to marry his brother. If he could get her fiercely determined maid to agree to something, he was quite talented.

  “An hour and a half,” Cotswold repeated to Eleanor. “And you be careful,” she said in a lower tone of voice.

  Careful of what? Eleanor wanted to ask. That I might fling myself in Lord Alexander’s general mouth direction? Or that I might ask him to overwhelm me right in Mr. Woodson’s back office?

  Or that I might accidentally fall in love with the wrong brother?

  She shouldn’t even ask herself that question, since she was afraid she might already know the answer.

  He hadn’t been certain she’d come, so when he saw her, dressed in the white that it seemed she disliked, he’d heard himself exhale in relief.

  And he had to acknowledge he did wish to spend time with her, beyond doing good and benefiting people who were constrained by things like lack of money, or proper housing, or ill health.

  Not ridiculous constraints like being of no use to one’s family, or being forced to be a pawn manipulated into a marriage.

  “This way,” Alex said, sweeping his arm out to point toward a small door on the far back right of the shop. The bookshelves were tall, but his height made it easy for him to see over them, but of course she didn’t have that advantage. Even if she could see well, the top of her head came up to the top of his arm, even with her hat on.

  “You’re going to have to lead me,” she said in an irritated tone, taking his arm.

  It felt right to have her there. He walked through the narrow aisles, with her just slightly behind, her hand on his sleeve.

  “You must be a good customer,” she said as they made their way to the back of the shop.

  “You could say that,” Alex replied. Mr. Woodson had been delighted that Alex had found a translator for the book. Less delighted when Alex had told him who it was, but by that time, Mr. Woodson had taken several orders for the book, which made it impossible to back out of the agreement.

  They reached the door, and he swung it open, allowing her to step inside first. He’d arrived over an hour ago to ensure the room was tidy, and would meet the requirements any young lady would have when asked to translate a large amount of obscene material written in a foreign language.

  And then had to stifle his inappropriate laughter at just what an odd situation he had gotten himself into. This was possibly the oddest, even including the time he’d managed to wheedle two ladies, married to brothers, into his bed. At the same time.

  “The book is on the table,” he said, pointing to where it lay. He hadn’t opened it, so for the moment it looked as though it could be any kind of book, even a tedious, perfectly respectable one that detailed economies of agriculture, or uplifting essays written by people who’d long ago turned into dust.

  Not scandalous poems illustrated by even more shocking pictures.

  “Oh,” she said, hesitating for a moment as though concerned the book might spring open and reveal its contents to her virginal eyes.

  Which it would, of course, if she did what they’d agreed to.

  “I suppose I will have to open it,” she continued, sounding as though she were committing herself to battle.

  He laughed at the thought. “You don’t have to, you know,” he replied, touching her on the arm. Keeping his hand curled around her elbow. “You can just turn around and walk out of here, and you will marry my brother and forget you wanted anything like to be overwhelmed or to make a difference or such like that.”

  She yanked her arm from his hold and turned to face him. Her eyes were narrowed, and he didn’t think it was simply because she couldn’t see clearly.

  She looked furious. Nearly spitting mad, and it made the color in her cheeks deepen and her chest move up and down in a most delightful way as she breathed, and her mouth was pressed into a thin line, and all he wanted to do was gather her up into his arms and draw her toward him and lower his head down—and down some more—and kiss her thoroughly.

  “Is that a challenge, my lord?” she asked, raising her eyebrow, just the one, as she spoke. “Because I am not going to withdraw from our bargain, no matter that looking at that book again”—and she punctuated her words by pointing an accusatory finger to the book in question—“is the most scandalous thing I have ever done.” She stepped toward him so now if he wanted to—which he did—he could easily draw her into his arms and kiss her.

  But he did not.

  He held himself still, his fists clenched at his sides, willing himself not to act on his own instincts, which were to take this woman and brand her as his own. He’d never had to not do what he wanted to, and it was only the image of his father’s tenants starving and regarding him with accusatory eyes, as well as how Bennett would look, that made him freeze in place, every muscle rigid with the need to move. To sweep her into his arms and kiss her and touch her soft curves.

  “You’d best get working then,” he said, the words emerging from his clamped jaw.

  An hour into the work and Eleanor was regretting agreeing to Lord Alexander’s bargain.

  Not because she was shocked, though she certainly was—she didn’t know human beings were quite so creative as well as flexible—but because translating medieval Italian was nearly as boring as listening to Ida discuss ancient druidic rituals.

  Which is to say, very boring indeed.

  She dropped her pen on the table, removed her spectacles—they’d long since passed the time when it mattered, given what they’d seen and done together—and rubbed at the spot between her eyes. Lord Alexander was seated opposite, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his feet nearly touching hers.

  She knew that because she’d stretched her toes out at one point and come into distinct and unsettling contact with him.

  It hadn’t helped that he’d raised a brow and given her a sly look when she yelped in surprise.

  “How is it going?” he asked.

  She shook her head and put her spectacles back on.

  His lips drew together into a thin line as his gaze traveled over her face. “If this is too much, if the work is too difficult . . .” he began.

  “No, it’s not,” Eleanor said, her words clipped. She dropped her hand onto the table. “It’s just that I never thought such scandalous material would prove to be so onerous.”

  His mouth curled up into a smile, and she was transfixed at the sight. That mouth, those lips, had been on hers. And she couldn’t stop thinking about it, not even when she was wrestling with the proper translation for a body part she shouldn’t even know about, much less in a second language.

  That was probably why the work felt dull. She would much prefer to be walking somewhere with Lord Alexander, having his looming presence near her, finding out more about him. And his brother, of course, she added hastily.

  She sighed at that thought, picking up her pen again. She was here to do something good, even though this was an oddly circuitous way to go about it.

  “You really don’t have to do this,” he continued in a soft voice. He moved his hand, which lay on the table, forward as though to take hers, but stopped a few inches shy of where her hand lay. “It was a whim. I am not one who plans ahead very often. That is, ever,” he said, punctuating his words with a self-deprecating chuckle.

  “Whereas I don’t even know how to plan. I would never be allowed to, you see,” Eleanor replied, putting her pen down again. It seemed she was going to continue to be distracted by Lord Alexander—she should just succumb to it, since her brain was so determined.


  “I’ve never thought of how hard it must be to be female,” Lord Alexander said in a musing tone. “To be squired about constantly, to have one’s movements always monitored.” A pause. “To have to wear a certain color because of one’s status in society,” he added, gesturing to her gown. He tipped back in his chair, leaning on just the two back legs in the most cavalier display she’d ever seen.

  And wasn’t that depressing. That a gentleman balanced on a chair was untoward. It just proved how boring her own life was. Perhaps she should take up some of those druidic ceremonies.

  Or the activities depicted on the pages of the book, a sly and incredibly brazen voice whispered inside her head.

  “That is why ladies get married, isn’t it?” Eleanor said, keeping her voice as light as possible. Not as though she was entertaining images of him and her doing some of that. Another thing that married ladies could do, not always necessarily with their husbands in Lady Vale’s case. “So we can be freer than we were before? There is certainly no other advantage,” she continued, only to stop short as she realized that her jest rang true for her.

  There was no advantage beyond helping her family out of a scandal. Ensuring that her younger sisters could also settle into marriage so they could wear non-white colors. Though if just one of her sisters fell desperately in love, and was able to marry the gentleman of her dreams because of Eleanor’s own sacrifice, it’d be worth it—wouldn’t it?

  It would, a voice that was far less compelling than that earlier one said inside her head. It would have to be, the voice continued, more firmly than before.

  “I should finish up here and then be on my way. My maid is likely fretting,” Eleanor said, dropping her gaze back to the page she’d been working on. Knowing that no matter what was on the pages, however shocking it was, it was less shocking than what was happening in her own thoughts.

  Keenly aware of him still watching her across the table.