Today's Reading

Nothing so dull for the earl, oh, no. He wore pantaloons—no, the English called those "trousers"—of an almond color. They were tight enough to show every line of his muscular thighs and calves. His tailcoat was of so deep a shade of green forest that it would surely match his dark green eyes.

His beautiful, teasing eyes. The man did have the loveliest eyes.

She shook off the thought, reminding herself she was only one of many women who had admired those eyes. And Lord Heathbrook had probably pursued half of them, too.

From what she could see of the back of him, she could almost guess the rest of what he wore. A spotless and starched white shirt. A waistcoat of patterned white on white silk or some other popular design. A snowy cravat tied in an elaborate knot about his neck. And all that white accentuating the midnight-black of his straight, thick hair. Indeed, even seen from the back, his whole ensemble was very stylish, very fashionable, as always.

Very delicious.

Her cheeks heated. No, she must not indulge her ridiculous attraction to the sinfully handsome earl or she would never last through this visit without making a fool of herself. He had once, years ago, stolen a kiss from her, the most perfect kiss of her life. The earl did have a way of setting the very bones of a woman aflame with just a look or a touch. It was most thrilling.

Until he had refrained from kissing her again. Rumor had it he had kissed plenty of other unattached women in the camp, but apparently she had not warranted a second kiss.

She sighed. Obviously, she had not attracted him in the least.

Fortunately, it had taught her not to allow any man such freedoms. A dangerous enough game in France, it was positively disastrous in England, where men of rank used women, then tossed them aside.

Besides, she had seen Lord Heathbrook engage in flirtations with many a woman at Verdun in their early days there. He had even had affairs with a widow and two married women, and those were only the ones she knew about. For all she knew, he had ruined a dozen others. She did not wish to find herself discarded by him here.

Nonetheless, she must convince him to help her and Maman. To that end, she had worn her best gown of violet taffeta, the one that showed her slender figure at its best. She wished she had more ample breasts, since men seemed to prefer them, but such was life. And since his lordship had kissed her once, he must have found something in her figure to attract him, even if it had not gone anywhere. She only hoped she could be forgiven for using any small attraction he had to her to get what 'she' needed without becoming too enamored of the fellow.

If he still had such an attraction after all these years. And if she could keep her wits about her.

She scowled. She must. There was Maman and their future to think about.

Calling herself an imbecile for her unwise response to the earl, she strained to hear what the men were saying. Fortunately, their voices had risen just enough for her to do so.

"It's been months, Pitney," Lord Heathbrook was saying. "How much longer must I wait? You're already my third attorney in this matter."

"I'm aware of that. But sometimes it takes years for the Court of Chancery to act," Mr. Pitney said. "I did warn you when I took on your case."

"Yes, but Evan won't be twenty-one for more than two years. By then, Yates could loot his property entirely." Lord Heathbrook let out a surprisingly rough oath. "Why Father chose that man to be their guardian, I'll never understand. If Mother had lived—"

"But she didn't."

Behind Giselle, her own mother had risen and ventured close enough to pull at Giselle's arm and hiss, "Come back, you foolish girl, before they see you!"

Giselle shrugged off her mother's hand and made a motion for her to return to the settee. Maman did so, muttering about "girls who don't listen to their mothers," then sat turning her cane round and round in her hands as Giselle leaned closer to hear.

"My point is," Lord Heathbrook said to his lawyer, "Father should have listed 'me' as guardian when he wrote his will."

Mr. Pitney released a heavy sigh. "We went over this, my lord. You were sixteen at the time."

"Then he should have done it once I turned twenty-one," the earl said irritably.

Mr. Pitney shook his head. "You were being detained in Verdun."

"So was my father," Lord Heathbrook bit out. "God knows he had plenty of leisure to change his will. There was nothing else to do in that godforsaken place. And by the time he died, I was twenty-six, more than old enough to be their guardian."

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