Mistletoe and Mischief by Patricia Wynn Page A

mind?”
    “She's not here,” Ned said. “And not due back for three days, at least.”
    Charles still looked doubtful, so Ned added, “I'll explain it to her myself when she gets here.”
    “Without embellishment, I hope. And you might leave my name out of it.”
    “Of course, dear boy.  Soul of discretion. You can count on me. Meanwhile, I need a description of the young lady, please. From what you said about her hair, I deduce it is red.”
    “Quite. But what has that got to do with her size?”
    “We're getting there. Be patient. But you wouldn't want the colour of her gowns to clash, would you? What about eye colour?”
    “Blue.” Charles could not believe that Louisa would be too particular about the colour of her clothes under these circumstances. But Ned knew women better than he did.
    Ned smiled appreciatively. “I'm getting a picture. Now about the figure. Slender or plump?”
    Charles began to squirm. “Slender, I should say. Medium stature.”
    “Good. That sounds a bit like my sister. Unless the bosom--what would you say about her dairy?”
    Charles exploded. “Really, Ned! This is a lady we're discussing!”
    Ned raised both hands in defense. “Remember the clothes, dear boy. You want them to fit.” He lowered them then and said in a reasonable tone, “But I can understand your reluctance to be specific ... especially if the young lady's form is better left undescribed. You always were the gentleman. I'll simply take it, then, that she's rather unwieldy, shall we say--”
    “Damn it, Ned! There is nothing about Miss Davenport's figure that is in the least unwieldy! In fact, I would put her up against any of those ladybirds you're so fond of talking about!”
    A satisfied smile broke over Ned's countenance. When he saw it, Charles gave a groan.
    “Miss Davenport,” said Ned, rolling the name on his tongue. “Miss Louisa Davenport, I believe you said.”
    Charles buried his face in his hands. “So help me, Ned –’’
    “Can't say that I know her. But that's neither here nor there, I suppose.”
    Charles took a deep breath. Then he managed to continue, “So help me, Ned, if I hear one word of rumour in connection with her name, I shall come after you. Career or not, I'll run you through before I'll let you start the slightest scandal about her.”
    “Very proper, Charles. I should feel the same way in your shoes.” Ned's tone sobered slightly. “But I'm only a bit of a rake, you know. Not a blackguard. The lady's name is safe with me.
    “But--” the teasing note was back  “--I'm glad you've noticed all you have noticed, though.  It tells me you're not quite the dry stick I thought you'd become. My advice is, take advantage of the situation. Nothing illegal, mind, but do enjoy yourself. “Now--“ Ned sprang to his feet before Charles could lodge another protest. “I’ll go tell my sister's maid to pack those clothes.”
    He left Charles alone in the library feeling wrung out by the shifts his emotions had undergone during the past half hour. More than a moment passed before Charles could decide whether he had been wise to come. But after he reflected, he determined that Ned's intentions were basically good. It would have been remarkable indeed if he had not taken the chance to avenge himself for Charles's past snubs, and the small bit of teasing to which Charles had been subjected was as nothing compared to the assistance Ned was giving him.
    He would have to remember Ned, Charles decided. Rake or not, Ned had proved to be a true friend when he needed one.
    When Ned came back, he was accompanied by a maid carrying two portmanteaus. The contents would be far more than Miss Davenport could possibly need, Charles reflected. At least, he thought so. But Ned seemed to take particular joy in supplying him with the clothes. And there was little Charles could say about them in front of the maid.
    “Now,” Ned said, putting his arm about her. “You've heard what I said, Mary. Not a