Page 19 of Mr. Notorious and the Nefarious November

“That was a long time ago. I admit, I didn’t realize how serious you were then. I am sorry for misjudging you.”

“You needn’t apologize now. You might simply stop misjudging me.”

“Because you want me to believe you wish to marry me.”

“Yes.”

“And you plan to be faithful.”

“As I have proven thus far.”

“Tell me truthfully then.”

Munro leaned closer.

“Have you booked return passage to the Continent already?”

Munro opened his mouth and thought of the ticket he possessed for a voyage to Italy just a day after Lavinia’s wedding.

“That’s what I thought,” she said, seeing the answer on his face. “You shall return to your life of debauchery.”

“I can tear up that ticket,” he said. “If I have a reason.”

“Don’t—” But she cut off her next words when Lavinia moved toward them.

“Uncle Munro, Aunt Bea, what are you two whispering about?”

“We’re discussing your wedding gift,” Beatrice said smiling. “Your uncle needed some suggestions. Excuse me, dear.” Beatrice rose, and Munro watched as she slipped out the rear door. Where the devil was she off to?

“You needn’t give me a gift,” Lavinia said. “Just having you here is gift enough for me, Uncle Munro. Tell me truthfully, what do you think of John—the duke, I mean?”

Munro returned his attention to Lavinia, then took her hands. “I’ll admit I was skeptical of the union at first. He’s quite a bit older than you.”

Lavinia nodded, surely having heard this criticism before.

“But I’m warming to him. He seems to care about you a great deal. Quoting Shakespeare is a sure sign he’s besotted.”

Lavinia grinned. “Wasn’t it romantic? He has entire sonnets memorized.”

“Lavinia,” her mother called. “Come here a moment. I just had an idea for the wedding breakfast, and your Aunt Susan agrees.”

“Duty calls,” Lavinia said and rose. Munro watched her approach her mother then took the opportunity to follow Beatrice. The door she’d passed through led to a small parlor such as a lady might use for correspondence, as it possessed a desk near the window. The chamber was dark, but Munro ascertained quickly it was empty. Another door at the other end was ajar, and he moved through it, emerging into a large room this time. The scents of ink and old paper immediately told him this was the library.

“Beatrice?” he said, looking about the room. “Are you here?”

The door he’d come through closed, and he turned to see a maid standing before it. “Might I help you, sir?” she asked.

“Have you seen Mrs. Barnet?”

“No.” She moved toward him, her hips swaying in a motion he wasn’t used to seeing in a maid. “But we don’t need her, do we?”

The maid began to pluck at the pins holding her bodice, and before Munro could think to object, the material fell open. She wore nothing underneath.

He considered himself a reformed rake, but he still had a pulse and eyes. He was far from immune to the charms of a lovely woman. And she had quite a pair of charms. She moved toward him, reached for his hands, and began to draw them to her chest. Munro shook his head and pulled back. This woman was another of Beatrice’s temptations. Beatrice had apparently decided he no longer deserved any quarter or semblance of mercy. He was alone with a half-naked, willing woman. “Touch me,” she said.

“I think I’d better return to the drawing room.” Even to his own ears, he didn’t sound convincing. He didn’t move either.

“Don’t you want to see what I’m wearing under my skirts. Or rather—not wearing. Let me show you.” She reached for the ties of her skirt, and Munro shut his eyes. He took several deep breaths and thought of anything and everything he hated—rats swimming in the canals in Venice, the lice he’d acquired from a poorly chosen inn in Albania, the smell of the Paris sewers, and the way his testicles contracted when he jumped into a cold lake in Switzerland.

---