Earls Just Want to Have Fun (10 page)

Marlowe looked down. The gown was not so bad. The neckline was far more modest than any other dress she'd ever had. Still, she felt like one of those ladies on a ship, with her chest pushed out for all to see.

“Now we must do something about your hair,” Susanna said, and before Marlowe knew it, she was pushed into a chair, and her hair was yanked and tugged and brushed within an inch of its life.

“Ow!” she complained. Maggie the Cruel, as Marlowe had begin to think of her, did not blink an eye. She and Jane pulled Marlowe's hair so tightly, Marlowe thought her face must have been contorted into a wide smile. Finally, the torture ended, and Marlowe was released. She rose, held a hand out to keep her tormentors at bay, and hissed, “Stay back! If you touch me again, you'll be sorry. No one is worth this torture. I don't care if it's the bloody king.”

“Now watch your language, miss,” Maggie ordered.

Lady Susanna, eyes wide again, merely took her arm and led her to a long, oval mirror in the corner. Marlowe was about to shake the girl's hand off when she caught a glimpse of the woman in the mirror. The woman's mouth dropped open. “What did you do?” the woman asked. Marlowe touched her face, and the woman in the mirror followed suit. It was really her in the glass. It was really Marlowe.

But she was completely out of twig and didn't look anything like Marlowe now. She looked like she could be a princess. She looked like a bloody gentry mort. If Gideon could see her now, he wouldn't believe his eyes. He'd think she was a bubble, and probably try to steal her reticule. If she'd had a reticule.

“You don't like it?” Lady Susanna asked.

Did she like it? She didn't even recognize herself. Perhaps if she dressed like this all the time, Satin wouldn't recognize her either. Of course, as disguises went, this one was rather painful, what with all the skirts and the piece of wood between her bubbies and the pins stuck in her hair. “It will do,” she said cautiously. But it was strange to look so…pretty and feminine. She was used to making every effort to look like an invisible boy. She would not be ignored dressed like this.

“You will certainly keep me modest,” Susanna said. “Come, let's show Dane.”

Marlowe had been turning away from the mirror, but now she halted. “Your brother?”

Susanna's brow arched. “I believe we had a wager.”

Marlowe looked down at her chest. It was covered, but still quite pronounced. She had no doubt she would win the wager, but she was not so certain she wanted to be seen looking like this. After all, she had ribbons all over. There was even a blue ribbon in her hair. “We could show him later. Surely, he has other business to attend to.”

“Afraid you won't win?”

“No!” Marlowe shot back. “Afraid he'll laugh at all of these silly fripperies I'm covered with,” she muttered. Marlowe tugged at the ribbon on the dress, and Susanna smiled.

“He will be impressed. Come on.” She grabbed Marlowe's arm and pulled her.

***

Dane was in his library, attempting to read correspondence. Last week his land steward had written to him about a drainage issue at one of his properties in Shropshire, and Dane had not yet responded. He began to do so now, quill in hand, but he couldn't seem to concentrate on matters of drainage. Not when that little vixen was closeted with his sister. What was taking them so long? Had the little urchin slit Susanna's throat and escaped out the window?

Forgetting his letter, he rose and paced his library. It was too early for brandy, although if he'd been at his club—as he wanted to be—he would have already had at least two. But his mother would remark on it if he smelled like spirits before four. He didn't generally care much about her rules. After all, he was the earl, but he had taxed her nerves with Marlowe's appearance already, and he did not want to stretch them any thinner. He did not relish a lecture.

Dane lifted a paper concerning one of the bills in Parliament. He really should familiarize himself with it prior to the vote, but he'd read only a line before he thought he'd heard a sound. He went to the door, opened it, and peered out. Crawford blinked back at him from the entrance hall.

“Is my brother home yet?”

“No, my lord.”

“Any word?”

“No, my lord.”

Dane shut the door again and continued pacing. Perhaps just a sip of brandy… A knock sounded on the door, and he called, “Come in! Did a note from Brook come after all, Crawford?”

“It's not Crawford,” Susanna said.

Dane turned. No, it was definitely not Crawford. His gaze swept over the dark-haired beauty who stood just behind Susanna. She was short and shapely with a wide mouth quirked in something of a smirk. His gaze returned to her eyes. There was something about her eyes that was familiar.

“I believe I won,” Susanna said quietly. “He's looking at your eyes.”

“Bloody hell,” she cursed.

“Marlowe?” Dane said, his head snapping back. “How the devil did you do that?”

“She looks every inch the lady, doesn't she?” Susanna said. Dane couldn't argue. She did look every inch the lady, except…

“She's not wearing any shoes.”

Susanna inhaled sharply. “I cannot believe I forgot! I will return in a moment.” And she was gone.

Marlowe shrugged. “She can't even see my feet.” She pushed into the room. “What is this place called?”

“A library,” Dane said, watching her turn in a circle and take in the dark paneling, the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and his massive oak desk. God, she was lovely. Perfectly, completely lovely. His mouth was dry just looking at her.

“It's yours?” she asked, flicking a gaze at him. With her hair away from her face, her eyes looked even larger and bluer. Now that they were alone together, he was even more aware of what an alluring woman she was. He couldn't help admire her neck, bared as it was by the upsweep of her hair. Dane noted it was quite a long, graceful column. Perfect for kissing. A surge of desire swept through him, and he fought to hold it at bay.

“It is for everyone's use, but I generally occupy it during the day. I work here.”

She snorted. “You work?” She tossed him another glance. “That's a sham.”

“It's not a sham. I have estates to manage, both mine and those of my wards, parliamentary affairs to see to.”

She turned to him. “Parliament? Where they make the laws?”

“Yes.” The gown Susanna had given her did not hug her curves like the trousers and shirt she'd been wearing, but it did distracting things to her bosom. A man might wonder what she'd look like in an evening gown, when a bit of décolletage was allowed.

“That explains it,” she said, and then she scowled at him. “
Now
you look at my bubbies. Why couldn't you have done that when your sister was here?”

By sheer force of will, Dane bit back his reply. He'd been caught looking, like a naughty boy, and he jerked his gaze back to her face. “I'm sure I don't know what you mean.” And when had he become such a complete prig? He deserved the eye roll she gave him. “That explains what?” he said, grasping at their earlier conversation, at anything to turn the topic from her “bubbies.” He cleared his throat. “You do not approve of Parliament?”

“What's it ever done for me?”

“Quite a lot, actually—”

“Pish,” she said, waving her hand. “You don't care about the likes of me. You care about them Frenchies or your fancy country houses. What about the orphans? What about the bawds selling their bodies to feed their brats? No one cares about them.”

“That's not true. There are plenty of men acting on behalf of the lower classes and less fortunate.” Not that he was one of them. “Look at William Wilberforce and the Slave Trade Act.”

“Never heard of him.”

Dane was not surprised. “You speak of orphans or fallen women. There are places of refuge—”

“Ha! Workhouses? You think anyone can survive in a place like that? Better to stay on the street, where at least you're free.”

“Then the lower classes deserve their fate. The government cannot help those who don't want it.” There was the prig again.

“True enough. I don't want the kind of help you're offering.” She turned away from him, but Dane caught her elbow and turned her back. He forced himself to restrict his touch to her elbow.

“What kind of help
do
you want, Marlowe?”

She tugged on her arm, but he didn't release it. Susanna hadn't given Marlowe gloves either, and he could feel her silky skin under his fingertips. Amazing that a woman who had lived such a hard life managed to possess such silky skin.

“Let us assume, for the moment, you are not Lady Elizabeth. In which case we—or Brook, at least—owe you something for the inconvenience of abducting you and holding you here.”

“About time you realized that.” She yanked her elbow again, but Dane only yanked back, pulling her closer. That was a mistake. His gaze wanted to drop to her generous breasts again.

“What is it you want? Blunt? How much? Five pounds? Ten? That's a fortune for someone like you.”

She stared at him. He was close enough to see the exact color of her eyes now, so impossibly blue. “Books,” she said simply.

Dane dropped her elbow. He'd been so certain she would want the blunt. “Books? Why? You can't read.”

She scowled and walked away from him. “You wouldn't understand.”

But he did. He might be a bit slow today—dazzled as he was by the transformation in her—but he was not a complete and utter fool. “You want to learn to read?”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Perhaps Susanna might teach you.” He sauntered over to one of the library's bookcases. “Which book to begin with?” he wondered aloud.

“I know the one I want,” she said, surprising him.

“What is it?”

“Your sister has it in her room. It's Shakespeare.”

Dane felt his brows rise higher. “That seems a bit…challenging.”

“That's what I want to read.”

The sound of footsteps outside the door made both of them turn. Susanna pushed it open farther, and said, “Here we are!” She held a pair of leather half boots in her hand. “Try these.”

Marlowe's eyes widened. “Those are too fine.”

“Put them on.” Dane watched as Susanna handed them to her, and Marlowe sat on the chair before his desk, crossed one leg over the other, and pulled on a boot. She was displaying quite a bit of ankle and calf, but he tried not to look. Tried not to imagine tracing the slope of her calf with his tongue. He cleared his throat. “Susanna, Marlowe tells me you have a volume of Shakespeare in your room.”

She blushed. “Oh.” She looked down. “I know Mama doesn't like me to read Shakespeare, but—”

“I don't care what you read. Marlowe was hoping to learn to read it.”

“Really?” Susanna's face brightened, though Dane was not certain if the change was because he approved of the Shakespeare or because he'd given her a task to complete.

“You don't have to teach me,” Marlowe said, switching legs and sliding the other boot on. “I didn't win the bet.”

“What bet?” Dane asked.

“Nothing,” Susanna said quickly. “I would have given you the book anyway. Oh, do stand up, so we can see.” She gestured to Marlowe, who rose and pushed a toe out. Dane had little interest in women's boots, but he would admit Marlowe looked very well in them. A pretty gold necklace, a smart hat, some gloves, and she would look like any other lady of his acquaintance. Astounding. He would never have imagined the dirt-covered urchin he'd hauled into the kitchens last night could look so lovely this morning. Almost like one of them.

The door opened, and Crawford entered.

“Oh, Crawford, I am glad you are here,” Susanna said. “Would you ask one of the chambermaids to bring down the volume of”—she looked about, probably to ensure her mother was not near—“Shakespeare beside my bed?”

“Yes, my lady. My lord, your brother has returned.” He did not add
prodigal
, but Dane did it for him.

“Thank God.” Dane started for the door. “Where is he?”

“He retired directly to his room, my lord. He asked not to be disturbed.”

Dane glowered. “Oh, he did, did he? We'll see about that.” And he stomped out of the library.

“Dane!” Susanna called. “May we use the library?”

“It is at your disposal, dear sister.” Dane took the steps two at a time and did not pause to knock on Brook's door. He pushed it open and walked in on Brook's valet, who was collecting Brook's soiled clothes from the royal-blue-and-gold Aubusson rug. “Where is he, Hunt?”

“In his dressing room, my lord. Shall I fet—”

Dane strode into the room, where Brook stood in a dressing robe. His blondish-brown hair was slicked back from his forehead and dripped onto the robe's collar. “I think the blue coat today, Hunt,” he said, turning toward Dane. “But you're not Hunt.”

Dane glowered further, if that was possible. “No, I am not. Where the bloody, goddamn hell have you been?”

Brook raised a brow. “Rough night?” He moved toward the door and gestured for Dane to follow him. Dane trudged after him.

“Yes, as a matter of fact. You left that little hellion here under my care.”

“Hellion?” For a moment his brother appeared confused. Dane was going to strangle him. “Ah, Lady Elizabeth.” Brook glanced at his valet, who appeared quite absorbed in his task of folding clothes over and over. “Hunt, I think the blue coat today.”

“There's very little of the
lady
about her.”

Brook nodded. “She is a bit rough.”

“
A
bit
rough?
The chit almost killed me last night. She had a dagger in her boot, and I woke with it pressed to my throat.” Very well, that was a bit of an exaggeration, but there had been a dagger, and she might have pressed it to his throat, given a few more minutes.