playing hard to get. She’ll come ’round, you’ll see. In the meantime, I’ve no intention of letting a bounder like Patrick O’Rourke have the first slice of a yet-to-be-cut cheese—
my
cheese.”
Wesley’s eyes bulged. “You’re likening Lady Katherine to cheese?”
Dutton felt his mouth forming a grin. “Soft, ripened cheese, for she’ll melt in my arms—and my mouth—just as soon as I come in hers.”
It seemed Kate was not the only one having a bad time of it at the ball. She stood within the enclosed lavatory stall, blotting her eyes, while outside in the main powder room the row between four women spiraled to climax. Grateful to have gotten inside the stall before they’d started up, she was nonetheless trapped into waiting out their leaving.
Peeking out the crack of the mahogany door, she confirmed that two of the four combatants were the Duncan sisters, Isabel and Penelope. A pair of nastier bitches one would be hard-pressed to find. The smirking blonde in the pale pink that matched the faded fabric covering the settee, Kate recognized by her sallow face only. The statuesque brunette was Caledonia Rivers, of course, president of the London Women’s Suffrage Society and one of Kate’s personal heroines. She’d spotted her earlier in the evening making the rounds with Hadrian St. Claire, her escort for the evening and, judging from the intimate gestures and warm looks passed between them, perhaps quite a bit more.
Sounds coming through the stall door were muffled, but Kate heard sufficient to gather that Isabel had made some snide remarks about Miss Rivers’s form and apparel, both of which Kate found to be exceptional. The sleek black gown with its jeweled evening straps was clearly inspired by Sargent’s portrait of Madame X. Its classical simplicity made a stunning statement, of which Kate heartily approved. For herself, she’d always avoided frills and bows and flounces, feeling as if such fussiness made her look not only childish, but frumpy and, above all, short. As for the suffragette’s full figure, Kate would do all but murder for such lovely height and curves. Clearly jealousy was the driving force for the Duncan sisters’ attack. They were not the most attractive of girls. Still, three against one was hardly fair odds. Were Kate’s eyes not still damp and her face flushed, she wouldn’t have thought twice about bursting out from her hiding place to provide the suffragette with backup. Fortunately, it seemed the otherwise soft-spoken lady could more than fend for herself.
Miss Rivers swung about to the viperous trio like an avenging Valkyrie. Kate missed the start to what the suffragette said, but as her throaty voice rose to crescendo, she caught the splendid finale. “And so I am allowing myself the liberty, the
pleasure,
of telling you all to go to the devil.”
Isabel—or was it Penelope?—sniffed. “Well, I never …”
Several pairs of feet padded across the tile work toward the exit door. Kate waited for the lounge door to bang closed. It did. She pulled down on the brass chain to announce her presence to the room’s remaining occupant and stepped out.
“Brava!”
Miss Rivers swung around from the mirrored counter where she was dabbing at slightly watery eyes with a bunched handkerchief. “Excuse me?”
Wondering how her own face fared, Kate walked over to the marble-topped sink to wash her hands. “What a pack of bitches. Were I you, I shouldn’t mind a single word any of them said.”
She glanced into the gilded mirror, checking her reflection. Her eyes weren’t as swollen as she’d feared, nor her cheeks especially spotty. Until the flames faded, she suspected most people would assume she’d simply been overgenerous with the rouge.
Feeling more confident, she accepted a linen hand towel from the attendant. She blotted her hands dry, tossed the used towel into the receptacle, and turned to Miss Rivers.
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.
my
cheese.”
Wesley’s eyes bulged. “You’re likening Lady Katherine to cheese?”
Dutton felt his mouth forming a grin. “Soft, ripened cheese, for she’ll melt in my arms—and my mouth—just as soon as I come in hers.”
It seemed Kate was not the only one having a bad time of it at the ball. She stood within the enclosed lavatory stall, blotting her eyes, while outside in the main powder room the row between four women spiraled to climax. Grateful to have gotten inside the stall before they’d started up, she was nonetheless trapped into waiting out their leaving.
Peeking out the crack of the mahogany door, she confirmed that two of the four combatants were the Duncan sisters, Isabel and Penelope. A pair of nastier bitches one would be hard-pressed to find. The smirking blonde in the pale pink that matched the faded fabric covering the settee, Kate recognized by her sallow face only. The statuesque brunette was Caledonia Rivers, of course, president of the London Women’s Suffrage Society and one of Kate’s personal heroines. She’d spotted her earlier in the evening making the rounds with Hadrian St. Claire, her escort for the evening and, judging from the intimate gestures and warm looks passed between them, perhaps quite a bit more.
Sounds coming through the stall door were muffled, but Kate heard sufficient to gather that Isabel had made some snide remarks about Miss Rivers’s form and apparel, both of which Kate found to be exceptional. The sleek black gown with its jeweled evening straps was clearly inspired by Sargent’s portrait of Madame X. Its classical simplicity made a stunning statement, of which Kate heartily approved. For herself, she’d always avoided frills and bows and flounces, feeling as if such fussiness made her look not only childish, but frumpy and, above all, short. As for the suffragette’s full figure, Kate would do all but murder for such lovely height and curves. Clearly jealousy was the driving force for the Duncan sisters’ attack. They were not the most attractive of girls. Still, three against one was hardly fair odds. Were Kate’s eyes not still damp and her face flushed, she wouldn’t have thought twice about bursting out from her hiding place to provide the suffragette with backup. Fortunately, it seemed the otherwise soft-spoken lady could more than fend for herself.
Miss Rivers swung about to the viperous trio like an avenging Valkyrie. Kate missed the start to what the suffragette said, but as her throaty voice rose to crescendo, she caught the splendid finale. “And so I am allowing myself the liberty, the
pleasure,
of telling you all to go to the devil.”
Isabel—or was it Penelope?—sniffed. “Well, I never …”
Several pairs of feet padded across the tile work toward the exit door. Kate waited for the lounge door to bang closed. It did. She pulled down on the brass chain to announce her presence to the room’s remaining occupant and stepped out.
“Brava!”
Miss Rivers swung around from the mirrored counter where she was dabbing at slightly watery eyes with a bunched handkerchief. “Excuse me?”
Wondering how her own face fared, Kate walked over to the marble-topped sink to wash her hands. “What a pack of bitches. Were I you, I shouldn’t mind a single word any of them said.”
She glanced into the gilded mirror, checking her reflection. Her eyes weren’t as swollen as she’d feared, nor her cheeks especially spotty. Until the flames faded, she suspected most people would assume she’d simply been overgenerous with the rouge.
Feeling more confident, she accepted a linen hand towel from the attendant. She blotted her hands dry, tossed the used towel into the receptacle, and turned to Miss Rivers.
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.
Similar Books
