Page 3 of A Touch Wicked
What began as a position of lady’s maid for his sister had become an unconventional arrangement. It started with Alexandra asking Emma’s opinion on her first publication, an essay on the restrictions etiquette imposed disproportionately on women. Those questions turned into reading the lady’s later work, offering criticism, and eventually, adding sections of her own. After the last, Alexandra showed her the front page of her next essay: byLady Alexandra Charlotte Grey and Emma Dumont.
Emma had protested, until finally she relented and said, “Please credit Marie Christine.”
It only seemed right to give Emma’s mother recognition for the philosophies instilled in her daughter, carefully cultivated from a lifetime as one of Paris’s foremost beauties. Few people knew how clever Marie Dumont was, how wildly brilliant. She had taught Emma everything she knew, and hired tutors for what she didn't.
The result? A daughter with more education than most noblewomen, and no use for it except to charm titled gentlemen into keeping her as a mistress.
Like her mother.
Emma had seen what the whims of a man had done to her mother. So she became a servant, a lady’s maid, desired for the novelty of her upper class accent.
And, now, an authoress.
Not even Lord Kent knew who his sister’s mysterious co-writer was; it didn’t seem to matter to him. Other members of thetonregarded Alexandra Grey as a radical, an eccentric, which was no doubt the reason she remained unmarried. Beauty only accounted for so much. Peers did not like marrying women with minds of their own.
Yet Lord Kent encouraged Alexandra's independence, only saying, “I’m going to have to pay your bail out of gaol one day, aren’t I? Keep an eye on her, Miss Dumont. Don’t let her drag you into trouble.”
That was the day Emma Dumont had decided she wanted him.
Of course, it didn’t help that he was handsome and athletic, broad and more muscled than any lord had business being. But it was the way he supported his siblings’ choices that had clinched it in the end. In that, society had deemed him lax in his duties as the family patriarch.
Emma thought it was lovely.
She thoughthewas lovely.
Hence: her foolish decision to eavesdrop once she heard the wordmasquerade.
Emma jumped as the brothers’ footsteps sounded inside — coming right to the door. She moved to the shadowed alcove beneath the stairs, pressing her body against the wall. Not a second later, the men exited the drawing room, the heels of their boots thudding on the hallway carpet.
“You’re making the right decision, Kent,” Mr. Grey said. “I hope she’s sensational, whoever she is.”
“I suppose you’ll want an update tomorrow morning,” Lord Kent said.
“That depends. Would you tell me?”
“No.” Emma heard Lord Kent open the front door. “And if you consider breathing a word of this to our sister, recall that I have a mental list of all your married lovers, and happen to play cards with at least five of their husbands.”
“Duly noted. Have a nice tup.”
The front door closed and Lord Kent’s footsteps disappeared down the hall to his study. Emma waited a moment longer and eased out of the alcove. She considered returning to her room, but curiosity — a common trait among the Dumonts, to rather disastrous results — got the better of her.
Emma went into the drawing room, picked up the stationary on the table, and read the flawless script. The invitation was concise, short. A cordial note about membership to the Masquerade, held at an undisclosed building in Mayfair, where gentlemen and gentlewomen met for clandestine erotic nights.
They spoke five words to gain entry:Tu peux garder un secret?
Can you keep a secret?
Holding her breath, Emma set down the invitation and lifted the lid on the creamy, matte box. Nestled on white silk was a black leather mask, perfectly contoured to fit the face. Emma drew her fingers across the bottoms of the eye cutouts, picturing the earl wearing the mask, his beautiful blue eyes staring back at her. Meeting her own.Finally. Choosing her as his lover.Finally.
Complete anonymity.
No attachments.
The Dumont curiosity always won.
* * *
Emma could barely concentrateduring her and Alexandra’s walk through Hyde Park. She made all the requisite noises that indicated,Why yes, of course I’m listening. Do keep chatting so I can continue to imagine myself making love to your brother.
