“I might even share. Half a spoonful.”
“Wicked woman.”
Pippa sat forward. “Oh, Finn, talking of wicked, you’ll never believe what happened. Your chemistry gift arrived. Georgiana thought it was a necklace from her mystery man so took it away to unwrap, then when she saw it was a book, returned it to the mail tray.”
He sucked in a breath. “Do you have it?”
“Right here in my reticule,” she replied, patting it fondly. “Fortunately, we were waiting for the carriage when she told me. I may have scorched the floor I ran so fast to the tray. When I think of someone else picking it up and flicking through…argh. Grandmother would have dispatched Father for a special license from the archbishop, and I would have been married off to Devonshire before the clock chimed noon.”
Finn whistled. “Now that is fortunate. But I’m worried about Little G. Why is she keeping this gentleman such a secret? It doesn’t feel right.”
Pippa’s fists clenched. “I might say he’s a skunk of the highest order, but that would be unfair slander to skunks. Once I discover who he is, he’ll rue the day he was born. And that is all I will say, lest I get myself into strife. Honestly, Finn, if it weren’t for men like you or Gabriel, I would counsel everyone not to bother. Actual heroes are scarce in this city.”
“Lovely,” he said, trying not to blush and failing utterly. “A rousing cheer for romance novels to keep standards high. And here come our ices.”
The deferential waiter handed Pippa her glass dish of lemon ice, then Finn his brown bread, before returning to the shop to wait for his next customer.
Finn stared at the pale brown scoops flecked with darker brown, then dug his spoon in for an experimental taste.
Oh.
How could such a delicious concoction have such a ludicrous, uncomplimentary name? It tasted of caramelized sugar and maple with a hint of malt! What kind of bacon brain called something like this brown bread ice when it could be called ambrosia?
“Finn. You whimpered. Is it that bad? Let me have a taste!”
He held up the dish for Pippa to dip her spoon into. “Here.”
“Good lord,” she breathed reverently, returning for a second spoonful. Then a third.
For the next several minutes they ate Finn’s ice, then finished the lemon, only pausing briefly to wince as the cold made their temples throb.
“So,” said Finn, when not a drop of ice remained and he’d set both dishes down by the railing to be collected by the waiter later. “Down to business. This soiree of Lady Kingsford’s. What are your thoughts?”
“I know one thing for certain. It will be the perfect occasion to ruin Grandmother’s plotting. All the most important people in society have accepted; I think the only ones not coming are Gabriel and Lilian. Grandmother is furious with Lilian, she thought to be undisputed hostess of the Season in announcing one granddaughter birthing a duke’s heir, then another granddaughter scooping Devonshire from the marriage mart.”
Finn snorted. “How did the dowager get so awful?”
“No idea,” said Pippa, shrugging. “But I do know Father marrying Mother for love was his one rebellion against her, and she’s made him pay ever since. Well, made us pay, for we have half Mother’s so-called common blood. Grandmother has tried various tactics over the years, beating it out of us, shaming and belittling it out of us, but now we are of age, she is taking the forced marriages for all approach.”
“Did she succeed or fail with Lilian?”
“Both. Grandmother arranged the marriage; however, she certainly wasn’t expecting them to fall in love, or for Lilian to find her inner lioness. But Devonshire is a much better bet, for she knows him. He grew up in society. The duke is not going to fall in love with me any more than I’m going to fall in love with him. We are far, far too different. So, it fits her idea of the perfect ton union: two ancient bloodlines, duty above all, cool civility at the breakfast table, et cetera, et cetera.”
Finn shivered as a brisk wind whipped around Berkeley Square. Fortunately, Pippa’s carriage blocked the worst of it. “Father is cut of the same cloth. I can almost imagine him and the dowager in a chemist’s laboratory together, adding a pinch of bloodline, a cup of duty, and two sprigs of cool civility to a cauldron while cackling manically.”
Pippa laughed then bit her lip. “Lord Pinehurst accepted his invitation, but will he be there if he is so unwell?”
“Oh yes. Only death would halt him. I do wonder though…perhaps if we announced earlier on in the evening? So he could leave?”
“Definitely. The earlier the better. I don’t want to give Grandmother any opportunity to say something first. But on the other hand, we need as many witnesses as possible. Preferably the gossipiest gossips in London to ensure the news spreads swiftly.”
Finn considered. “Then after the receiving line and all guests are in the drawing room with a drink, but before the entertainment begins in earnest? Don’t want to compete with the string quartet or the dancing.”
“Exactly. How do you want to announce?”
“No theatrics, I promise.”
Pippa peered at him over her spectacles. “Are you sure? Some gunpowder, some flames…perhaps a flock of doves…you could enter the drawing room performing a one-armed handstand on the back of a magnificent stallion.”
“Only if you swing from the chandelier by your ankles before somersaulting into my arms.”
“I can barely see your arms standing in front of you. More likely I would somersault into a potted plant.”
Was it so wrong that he adored their banter? Even after sixteen years it felt like he would never tire of talking to Pippa. He loved every eccentric inch of her. The way she was so damned practical, but also allowed herself brief forays into the absurd. Yes, this was a pretend engagement, but oh, if it were for real…
Finn straightened his shoulders. “To prevent any injuries, preserve our dignity, and save the soiree guests from any rogue doves or explosions, I’ll walk to the center of the drawing room, call for quiet, then ask you to join me. One announcement later, I’ll…”
Kiss you until you swoon against my chest. Then I’ll carry you away to a private spot and pleasure you until you beg for more and we try some of those scenes from The Highland Marauder. Or A Wicked Comte. The filthier the better.
He almost moaned as a barrage of erotic thoughts flooded his mind. That was the trouble with reading so many romance novels; he might not have done these things, but he could imagine them easily and they made his cock so damned hard. It was just as well he wore a greatcoat right now, otherwise Pippa would know his thoughts had wandered far, far away from the realm of friendship. “I’ll…tuck your arm in mine and we’ll accept the well wishes. And fainting. And dawn appointments.”
“I honestly don’t know who Grandmother would shoot first, me or you,” said Pippa. “Probably me, if only out of respect for your father, who she actually likes.”
“As your loyal second, I would distract her. Perhaps I could juggle some Florentine leather dildos or twirl some cock rings on a stick. This would double as an advertisement for Bliss, I must think of my glorious investor.”
She didn’t laugh. “You really would. Can I just say…there is no one I’d rather be pretend betrothed to than you?”
Finn closed his eyes briefly. Had she inched forward toward love? Or would pretend be as far as he progressed? “That is very kind. Now, I hate to be the wet blanket, but I can no longer feel my toes.”
“Go!” she replied. “Get warm. I shall see you at the soiree for The Great Betrothal Quest. I cannot wait.”
“Me either,” he said, bowing, then closing her carriage door.
God help him.
Chapter 5
“Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for the soiree?”
At Xavier’s words, Pippa’s head jerked up from where she had been engrossed in a scene from A Wicked Comte: the evil king handing over his plump, plain sister as a sacrificial g
ift to the handsome raiding conqueror, and the sister protesting in a manner that could only be described as token.
“Er…some might say,” she replied, silently blessing Finn once again for the false cover as she wriggled on the well-cushioned window seat to free the trapped hem of her quilted dressing gown. Truthfully, with a tea tray on the table, good romance novel, and an existence free of stays, life felt rather excellent.
Her twin studied the cover, his lips twitching. “Modern Principles of Chemistry, eh? Never knew that could be so enthralling. You know, I’ve been wanting to learn more about the subject. Perhaps I could borrow your book.”
“Perhaps you could go bathe in the Thames. After you explain why you are in my room.”
“Ruby let me in. I did knock, several times. That poor woman has the patience of a saint, looking after you.”
Pippa set her book down and glared at him. “That is long-established fact, Xav. But it does not explain why you are here.”
“For moral support. Also, lavish praise for not committing dowagercide. Or whatever the Latin might be for hurling one’s grandmother into prickly shrubbery,” said Xavier, sprawling onto the window seat beside her in his rare, at-home attire of linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, gold waistcoat, and buckskins. He was so lazily elegant, damn him. If she attempted such a movement, she would end up in a heap on the floor. Although no doubt every act in the world was easier in buckskins.
“I shall have to look that up,” she replied, her tone softening. “What did Grandmother do this time?”
“Selected my ensemble for this evening which is irritating enough, but she also went through my armoire and drawers when I was out and tossed away some treasured items that are unbecoming of a viscount soon to reach his majority. I tell you what, the old duck is much worse than she used to be. The games she plays…ugh. Truly Machiavellian. We all need to get out of this damned house before we go quite mad.”
“You are preaching to the choir, favorite twin.”
“Ah, that’s what I like to hear. I knew you’d come around eventually.”
Pippa rolled her eyes. “Don’t make me regret it. You leave me and Gigi alone with Grandmother far too often for our liking.”
He hesitated, looking surprisingly apologetic. “I do serve a higher purpose, you know. Speaking of getting out of this house…serious question, Pip. Is it wrong that I want to find out who Gigi’s mystery man is? I mean, I know you would tell me if I was being an overbearing arse and to mind my own bloody business…but damn it, each time she talks about him in that strange, vague way, my big brother hackles rise.”
Good lord. If Xavier knew what Georgiana had confessed in the carriage, he would spit nails. “In nearly all circumstances, I would say interference in Gigi’s romantic life was being an overbearing arse and to mind your own bloody business. But…”
His gaze narrowed. “That but holds the weight of a mountain range, so I’ll make some discreet enquiries. Don’t worry, I won’t commit any crimes. I’ll even tell you first if I learn anything.”
“Discreet enquiries? At your club, you mean?”
“Something like that.”
Pippa hugged her book to her chest against a frisson of disquiet. Just occasionally, Xavier displayed a flash of ice-cold purpose that was so different from his roguish and careless charm, it made her wonder exactly what he did when he wasn’t home. She had always assumed his many absences were to drink or wager or bed some beautiful woman. Perhaps that was what he wanted her to believe…
Argh. No. She couldn’t take on any further Nash family secrets.
“I shall be very interested to hear any information you might discover,” said Pippa. “Father has an inkling who the gentleman is, but instead of saying no to Gigi, he merely delays and says I must wed first.”
“That is Grandmother-level diabolical. That you haven’t committed dowagercide, or patricide for that matter, speaks to your mettle, Pip. But now we have this wretched soiree. Do you want me to put something in Devonshire’s brandy? Just belly gripes, I swear.”
Damnation. There Xavier went again, being all tolerable.
“Thank you, but no. I have the situation in hand.”
Xavier nodded as he leaned over to steal a handful of candied fruit from her tea tray. “When you say that, I believe it. By the by…for a book, a false cover alone is risky. As is using the postal service. Far better to have a trusted messenger who for a small fee, will put items directly into your hand then forget anything was delivered. Just a thought, if you are going to be a regular importer of explicit romance novels into the house.”
Pippa hit him with a velvet cushion. Twice. Her twin burst out laughing, so she continued hitting him until he held up his hands in surrender and got to his feet.
Perfect timing, as Ruby suddenly stomped her heel twice on the floor from the other side of the room where she was folding fresh laundry. Gah. Grandmother was on her way.
Xavier left for his own bedchamber at the other end of the hallway and Pippa planted herself in front of the dressing table mirror, as though examining a spot on her chin.
“Pippa. There you are,” said the dowager as she marched into the room without knocking, just as she always did. “Have you selected a gown for the soiree? The only truly appropriate choice is that white velvet with lace overlay I ordered for you. It will be perfect for such a special occasion.”
More like perfect for starting a fire. The gown was itchy, confining, and had a high neckline that seemed to choke her with each intake of breath. She hated it more than any gown ever made, perhaps even more than stays. “I shall keep that in mind.”
Grandmother sent her one of those famous icy glares. “You do understand exactly how special this occasion is, I trust?”
“All your soirees are special, are they not?”
“This one more so. There must be some happy news for Exton and Lilian; poor things are so devastated at having a daughter—”
“No, they aren’t.”
“Of course they are. It stands to reason that as a spinster you fail to understand the importance of the first child being a son. I succeeded with your father. Your mother had Lilian first, which was a dreadful shame, and dear me when you were born…but then came Xavier to secure the title, thankfully.”
Pippa stifled a smirk. That she had been born an entire quarter hour before her twin was a fact she would enjoy forever. Older and wiser, certainly. “Mmmm.”
“I’m not sure why they bothered with Georgiana, but your mother would insist on having her way, and she wished for four children…for heaven’s sake, stop tapping your chin. You’ll give yourself a dimple and Devonshire doesn’t want to see another imperfection alongside your spectacles. Do try and be less bluestocking, Pippa. Tonight shall be your triumph.”
She chewed her lip. Yes, it would be. Earlier, to ensure Lilian and Gabriel weren’t caught by surprise, she’d sent them a note outlining the plan. The only difficulty would be explaining her crying off in a few months’ time when she turned twenty-one, for they both liked Finn. Even pondering that day made her stomach curdle; her pretend betrothed appeared very invested in this deception.
Naturally, he is. You’ve handed over a large sum for his business. You are great friends. And if wrist kissing provokes a full-body jolt, imagine how it might feel to have his mouth somewhere intimate…
Startled at the unruly thought, Pippa almost gasped. But there was no time for that, not when she was about to face down an enemy determined to see her trapped with the Duke of Devonshire in a public courtship of dancing, supper, and familiar touches to the waist. That would be as good as a betrothal for the gossips, who would then expect a large, elaborate wedding at St. George’s in due course.
Really, she needed to stay away from the duke as long as possible. The sooner she and Finn could make their nice, calm, dignified announcement, the better. While she had joked about explosions and doves and a handstand on a horse, they were precisely the last things she want
ed. Grand, theatrical displays made her supremely uncomfortable; thankfully Finn understood that.
“Indeed, a triumph over awful,” said Pippa.
Grandmother smiled, always a rather chilling event. “You know, although both you and Lilian will be duchesses, Devonshire is only the sixth duke of his line, while Exton is the fourteenth. I hope you won’t be too envious of her for that; I should hate to see any ill will between sisters. Do not fret, though, simply bear a son first and all will applaud you.”
She gritted her teeth. They were supposedly living in modern times, and yet…this horseshit, as Finn called it, continued.
“I’d best get ready, Grandmother.”
“Yes. You’ll look lovely in that white gown. Pure as a fresh snowfall. I’ll see you downstairs in the receiving line.”
As soon as the elderly woman departed, Ruby hurried over. “I take it there are no circumstances you would wear the white one?”
“You are correct.”
“Which color, then?” asked Ruby, her eyes twinkling.
Pippa smiled angelically. “Scarlet.”
“For God’s sake, sit still, Knighton. You’re making me seasick.”
Finn’s jaw clenched at his father’s sharp words, but he could hardly open the door of the luxurious town carriage and fling himself into Hanover Square to escape.
Pinehurst had rallied somewhat in the past few days, but even in perfectly tailored black evening wear, he looked pale and sunken eyed. Illness hadn’t stopped him accepting Lady Kingsford’s invitation though, for he greatly admired the dowager and often praised her. His one reluctant concession to frailty had been agreeing to take the carriage rather than walking across the square. Really, the man was exceedingly fortunate his heir did not covet the title. Others would have happily let him wander in the frigid night air. Shirtless.
THE BEST MARQUESS: Wickedly Wed #2 Page 7