Page 37 of Miss Dramatic
“What on earth was that about?” Amaryllis murmured, rising. “Those are my guests, and they all but accused my brother of thievery. Gavin would no more steal than he’d come to divine services drunk.”
Trevor rose as well and wrapped her in his arms. “Give them a chance to get back to the house. We can ask Gavin what he makes of this.”
“He’ll be insulted. He can’t call Miss Peasegood out, but I certainly want to.”
“Somebody’s bracelet went missing, perhaps, or a few coins were mislaid. Let’s not take on the armada over some unintentional eavesdropping. We’ll keep an eye on those two and consult with Phillip and Hecate.”
Amaryllis stepped back and studied her husband in the moonlight. “You don’t like this any more than I do.”
“I like it less. I heard some of the original exchange between Mrs. Roberts and Miss Peasegood—a trick of the evening breeze, a lull in the general hubbub. Have you ever before known somebody who could quote a supposedly casual conversation word for word without a single mistake?”
“Children quote their parents at the worst possible time. Caro is also something of a mimic… but not word for word, not a whole conversation. I do believe I am unnerved all over again.”
Trevor, devoted husband and nobody’s fool, set about thoroughly calming his marchioness’s nerves, and she generously returned the favor.
“Beloved, I am wrestling with a conundrum.” Phillip had returned from his nightly venture to the river without having bathed. Whatever conundrum vexed him, Hecate concluded that it troubled him still.
She joined him behind the privacy screen and perched on the stool in the corner. “What sort of conundrum?”
He worked up a lather on a square of wet flannel with a dollop of lavender soap. “There I was, in all innocence, making my way to the riverbank, intent on my nightly ablutions, only to find that my gazebo was occupied.”
“You should keep it locked. Some naughty boy will take a notion to dive off the front and come to grief.”
“The Twid is fairly deep there, part of the reason I chose that spot. Besides, we haven’t any naughty boys in Crosspatch Corners, only devoted husbands, handsome swains, and devoted husbands-to-be.”
He’d taken off his shirt, and when Hecate ought to have been attending to his words, she was instead focused on the gorgeous, muscular expanse of his back and shoulders.
“You truly are a work of art, Phillip.”
“Then I’m a work of art not yet fit for his slumbers. Shall I shave?” He caught her eye in the mirror, and naughty did not begin to attempt to approach what Hecate saw there.
“Don’t you dare shave.” She adored the piratical air he acquired with a day’s beard.
“I am your servant in all things. I made it halfway down the riverbank before I realized my gazebo was occupied by the marquess and his lady. I became an unwitting eavesdropper to an exchange of marital confidences.”
“Awkward.” Phillip was nothing if not shy.
“Touching, enlightening, and yes, a bit… Amaryllis and Tavistock sorted matters out nicely, muddling through the situation with Drysdale’s surprise arrival. I was proud of them, but one cannotsaythat. They were making a fine business of a marital reproachment when Miss Peasegood and Lady Iris came along the towpath, deep in conversation.”
“While you lurked in the bushes?”
“Half dressed and beset by the most persistent mosquito in all of Berkshire.”
“You poor darling.”
Another look, this one promising a very different sort of persistence. “Miss Peasegood recited her supper conversation with Mrs. Roberts word for word. I do not mean a close approximation, Wife, I mean better than any actor reciting rehearsed lines. She interrogated Mrs. Roberts about her impressions of our Gavin.”
Phillip scrubbed his face, under his arms, and the back of his neck. Hecate had watched this ritual any number of times, and it still made her heart beat faster. She’d joined Phillip for his nocturnal swims occasionally, and a tin of soap became a vehicle for marital sorcery in his calloused and capable hands.
“Recounting chitchat over supper is idle gossip, Phillip. You missed a spot.”
He sopped the flannel and wrung it out. “Any assistance would be greatly appreciated.” He slapped the cloth gently into her hand.
Hecate rose and began slow passes across his shoulders. “What else did the ladies say?”
“They suspect Gavin DeWitt of being a thief. I was left with the impression Lady Iris has met him before. He did not recognize her. I believe we have a pair of lady thief-takers in our midst. When I scrub off at the end of the day, I am getting clean, a pleasant undertaking. When you do that… I want to be the cleanest fellow ever to crawl between the sheets.”
Hecate reached around him and undid the drawstring of his pajama trousers. “Gavin DeWitt is not a thief.” She wore only a summer nightgown, which meant that little hug she bestowed upon her spouse pressed her breasts intimately close to his freshly washed—and damp—back.
