Page 8 of A Lady's Lesson in Scandal
He doesn’t have to like me to ruin me. St George certainly didn’t care a whit about me, but that didn’t stop him from throwing up my skirts.
But that is where she and Philippa mis-stepped. While the idea of seducing Major General Drake seemed easy to achieve, the reality was quite different. Looking into Major General Drake’s glacial gaze created a most unwelcome heat in embarrassing places. The back of her neck. The hollow of her knee. The apex of her thighs. Her whole body was enflamed, her skin stretching too tightly. She was unaccountably sensitive to the brush of satin against her legs.
Bloody hell!
Millie was no innocent, but she had never reacted so strongly to a man as she did to the major general’s frigid stare. Highly annoying and very inappropriate. She certainly never felt such ardent heat with her one-time lover, Franklin St George, and at the time, his gaze had held nothing but impassioned affection, not the cold disdain sharpening Major General Drake’s glacial glare.
What if Patricia is right? What if I’m a wanton?
This was nothing like the mild tingles she’d felt with Franklin. He had been her childhood obsession. Their country estates abutted one another, and they grew up playing together on the grounds of their neighbouring properties. Millie’s ability to run faster, punch harder, ride better, and shoot more accurately than St George created some friction, but generally, they got along famously. Both families assumed Millie and Franklin would marry one day, joining the two ancient titles in property and bloodlines. It wasn’t surprising when Franklin St George asked to court Millie during her first season out.
Itwassurprising how easily she succumbed to seduction. Some might say Millie leapt forward when others would have hastened a retreat.
While she never thought herself a lustful woman, Franklin’s clumsy attempts at kissing quickly evolved into much more. Millie found she ached for an elusivesomethingshimmering on the horizon as his hands became bolder and her skirts were shoved around her ears in a frenzy during one sunny afternoon picnic. Unfortunately, the entire event was rather disappointing for Millie and far messier than she guessed. In a sticky, painful, frantic moment, her virtue was gone, and soon after that, so was her betrothal to Franklin St George.
Foolish Millie, believing the pretty lies St George fed her during their doomed romance. After their disappointing picnic, Franklin met with her father and confessed their crimes, thoughshe was the only one thought to be guilty. In the meeting, he insinuated Millie’s virginal state to be in question prior to their dalliance. While he had been swept away by affection for Millie and succumbed to her seductive skills, once certain truths came to light – namely, her lack of virtue – St George no longer wished to pursue a spoiled maid.
Which was ridiculous. Given the facthespoiled her, and his only argument proving she wasn’t a virgin involved compromising her himself as evidence of her wanton nature.
Men are such illogical creatures!
It was embarrassingly obvious Millie’s virtue had been intact prior to their fateful picnic. However, no one asked her to confirm or refute St George’s accusations. Her guilt was established the moment St George spread her thighs. Her father’s heart was broken by his sinful daughter. And Millie’s shame was complete.
St George agreed to quietly end the betrothal and never reveal her sexual immorality in exchange for a tidy sum bestowed upon him by Millie’s father. Which was Franklin’s purpose from the beginning.
Mortifying to know his sole interest in Millie centred on the money he gained bynotmarrying her. Especially considering the tendre she had long carried for the bastard.
She pulled herself back to the present.
No more of that nonsense!
It was insufferable. A man could swive about London carousing with prostitutes, mistresses, and merry widows to his heart’s content. Reformed rakes were in high demand on the husband market. But women received no such chances for redemption. A lady caught with her skirts above her knees was immediately and irrevocably invalid. The unfairness of it lit a fire in Millie.
So, she would use this inequity to bring her carefully laid plan to fruition.
Major General Drake would compromise her tonight, even if Millie had to force the man with brute strength. But this time, her ruination wouldn’t be swept under the rug like unwanted dirt. The entire beau monde would be privy to Millie’s indiscretion, and her chances of ever marrying would be destroyed.
Thank God!
Millie took a deep breath and threw back her shoulders. Even though it felt manipulative and wrong, even though an oily coating of shame made her stomach twist uncomfortably, she had committed to this course. There were no other options. Major General Drake could bugger off if he didn’t like it. She didn’t much like it either, but it was her only hope for freedom. And besides, her reputation would suffer far more greatly than his.
She reached out to grasp the major general’s gloved hand and, in lieu of a smile, ducked her head in an abbreviated curtsey.
In a few moments, my entire life will be changed.
Major General Drake had very shiny boots. Millie wanted to scuff them. Instead, she let him tuck her hand in the crook of his arm and lead her smoothly to the dance floor. A hint of leather and spice tickled her nose. Cloves, if she wasn’t mistaken. The man smelled of saddles and sweet buns.
I do love sweet buns. And saddles, for that matter.
Still, the combination shouldn’t cause her tummy to erupt into a million bubbles. Millie’s mouth watered as her nipples constricted. Odd, considering the ballroom was insufferably warm. And why couldn’t she breathe? Franklin St George had certainly never caused her lungs to seize.
A murmur rippled throughout the assembly as a hundred gazes burned into her back. Fresh fodder for the gossips tonight.
You haven’t seen anything yet, ladies. Prepare yourselves for a truly scandalous evening!
If she was going to be painted as a wicked wanton, she might as well enjoy herself. Not only had she avoided dancing with her intended for the expected display of affection required at such events, but she had also managed to convince one of the most reclusive and intimidating bachelors of the season to squire her onto the dance floor.
Nothing to it, ladies. Just employ the Duchess of Dorsett as matchmaker, and almost any ungainly spinster can bag an earl.
