“Superb. Now that leaves us two whole months to figure out a way to avoid another scandal.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, concern suddenly clouding her thoughts.
“You don’t expect me to survive that long without kissing you, do you? Did I mention you might be the death of me?”
Clara laughed again and tapped his chest with the tip of her closed fan. “What are we going to do about that?”
He touched her arm where it was bare, just above the top of her glove and below her short, lacy sleeve. She felt instantly aroused and glanced at the others to make sure they weren’t watching.
Seger whispered in her ear. “I still know how to give pleasure without destruction, and I believe you know how to enjoy it. All we require is a location.”
She gazed up at him in disbelief. “You’re not trying to lure me out to your coach in the middle of the night again, are you?”
“Actually, I had somewhere else in mind. Somewhere much more comfortable, but a good deal riskier. How about tomorrow night?”
Could she even pretend not to be interested in hearing his shocking and appalling plan? Not a chance.
Her mouth curled up in a smirk as she flicked open her fan and waved it in front of her face. “All right. I’ll bite. What, pray tell, are the scandalous particulars?”
Seger woke the next morning feeling famished. His future wife was turning out to be a bold and adventurous woman, unlike any of the proper young debutantes he’d met in the past.
He was not sorry, he decided as he sat down in the breakfast room and picked up his newspaper. He needed a woman like her as a wife, someone who would enjoy a little spice in their marriage. Or presently, in their engagement. He could never have married a tame and spiritless young woman. He needed excitement, and Clara, innocent as she was, was proving to him again and again that she suited him absolutely. She had agreed to his shocking proposition—evenhethought it was shocking—and he would see her tonight. In private.
Maybe with a few well-timed trysts like these, he would survive until September after all. Though it would be a challenge not to deflower her completely. Could he survive that? He had already plucked a good number of petals.
He looked up from the paper when Gillian walked into the breakfast room. “Good morning,” he said.
Under her arm, she carried a large, heavy package wrapped in brown paper, and set it down on a chair at the table. She served herself breakfast from the sideboard and took a seat. “It was a nice dinner last night,” she said. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
He glanced up from his paper again. His cousin did not usually initiate conversations at breakfast. She was painfully shy, and this attempt to converse surprised him.
Seger casually folded his paper and set it aside. “I did enjoy myself. And you?”
Rarely did Gillian meet his gaze when she spoke to him—or anyone else for that matter—but this morning she made the effort. A few times, at any rate.
It was a shame that she was not more confident, Seger thought. She was not an unattractive young woman, if only she would smile and speak up more often.
“It was delightful,” she replied. “I must say, I like Clara very much. She’s lovely.”
“I’m pleased to hear it.”
The conversation stalled for a moment while Gillian ate her breakfast. Seger considered picking up the paper again but did not wish to be rude. He sipped his coffee instead and stared out the window.
“September is a wonderful time for a wedding,” Gillian said, surprising him again by resuming the conversation. “Will Clara’s family come from America? I understand she has another sister.”
“Yes, her name is Adele and she’s eighteen. I’m sure she will look forward to meeting you, Gillian. She is out this year for her first Season, just like you.”
“I wonder what it would be like to have a Season in New York,” Gillian replied. “America sounds like an exciting place. I would like to visit it sometime.”
“Perhaps you will.”
She smiled at him, though he saw very little joy in her eyes. He had never seen Gillian sparkle the way Clara did, and he’d known her since she was an infant, when she came with her mother from Scotland to attend Quintina’s marriage to Seger’s father. Seger had been seven at the time.
Seger also recalled the day they buried Gillian’s mother, two years ago. Gillian had wept silently through the entire service. Seger had sat in a pew across from her and watched her wipe her cheeks incessantly under the black netting of her hat, but she never uttered a sound.
She, like him, was an only child—except that she had been extremely close to her mother. Quintina had explained the uncommon bond between them when she received the telegram about her sister’s death. Seger had marveled at the bond, realizing he was not able to understand what it could have been like growing up in a house where one did not feel completely alone. Seger had grieved deeply for the young woman’s loss.
She must feel very alone now, he thought with more than a little sympathy, though Quintina did her best to be a mother figure.
