“It isn’t only the bedsport. It’s the wooing, the seduction. A girl like her has never been admired the way she ought to be. It’s high time she has the chance to have a handsome lad like Lord Grabe—”
“He’s an arse.”
His mother gave him an arch look. She leaned back in her chair, the closest she would ever come to folding her arms at him. “If you are jealous of the time Grabe spends with her, perhaps you ought to do something about it.”
The words conjured up Grabe wrapping his stupidly big arms around the slender Prudence Cabot in a heated embrace. Leo turned on his heel, thundering down the stairs, snatching his hat and coat from the closet, not waiting for any member of his staff to anticipate his need.
“Where are you going?” his mother called after him.
He shoved on his hat, folding the great coat over his arm, not wanting to spend the time to put it on. “Out,” he yelled over his shoulder. He couldn’t think. If he found Prudence in dishabille with that shit, he’d call Eyeball out to pistols at dawn.
*
“ICANNOT TELLyou how much I appreciate this,” Prudence said, giving her most earnest smile to Lord Grabe. “I’m afraid my frontier culture is not one of excess.”
A low chuckle came from the man’s broad chest. He really was impressively broad. She admired him a moment, but it felt like admiring a statue. He was very pretty. Elegant, even. She desperately wanted to be attracted to him. How perfect he was! That chuckle should have tingled in her legs, but yet... it didn’t.
“If there is anyone who can help you find excess, it is me. But alas, I think you are looking more for the kind of excess reserved for the very wealthy in the past centuries.”
Grabe guided her through his townhouse. It was a lovely home, modest by some standards, but every detail precise and clean. His hand at her waist, he ushered her into the library. It wasn’t a large room, smaller than Mrs. Moon’s drawing room, but it had fine wooden bookcases with neatly lined tomes.
“My father was a fan of royal histories. He’d lost a great deal of them during his lifetime, having to sell his books to pay off land debts.”
Prudence murmured her condolences. She’d learned a great deal about the kind of money troubles that came to English landlords in the past centuries, when land became secondary to production. It was a learning opportunity for her own portfolio. She knew that while the bulk of her money was in railroads, andwould be for a long while, diversifying one’s wealth was the key to keeping it intact.
“I’ve made it my mission to buy back my father’s works. Much easier now, since mass printings. His books are nowhere near as expensive as they were fifty years ago.”
“That’s very sweet of you,” Prudence said, hoping that his expression might make her feel a twinge of attraction.
“Thank you. Please, have a seat here. Tea shall arrive shortly, and in the meantime, let me bring you the books that I think will help.” Grabe gallantly ushered her to a comfortable-looking blue-velvet sofa.
Prudence sat and took out her notebook and pencil from her valise. She was very good at research. Party planning was not all that different from researching stocks and company futures. There were still returns on investment, risk assessment, and costs of doing business to consider. Unfortunately, some of those she didn’t know how to calculate. The returns would come from attendance, which would be calculated from tickets purchased. But also from public support, which had no numerical value.
She hoped her friends were having better luck at attracting ticketholders. They needed the ball to be a triumph in order to raise enough money to get to Switzerland, and to stay there long enough to have good weather in climbing the Matterhorn.
In fact, her calves still ached from the stair-climbing exercises Ophelia had put them through that morning. Too bad Leo wasn’t around to massage out any tension. Her cheeks suddenly heated as her mind drifted to last week’s nocturnal activities. Thank goodness Lord Grabe had his back turned. She wouldn’t want him thinking he’d caused her blush.
Prudence cleared her throat. “Have you been to a party like the kind I’m describing?”
Grabe turned and grinned at her, his athletic form once again reminding her of a statue. “Do you think I would admit it if I had?”
Prudence frowned. “Yes?”
Grabe turned fully and leaned against the bookcase. “I think you and I might not have the same ideas of a lavish party.”
“I’ve been given strict instructions. ‘Lavish party like they had in the eighteenth century.’” Prudence read from her notes. “The theme is ice, there will be blue cloth banners embroidered with silver thread to catch the candlelight, and a faux mountain to climb at the far end of the dance floor.”
Lord Grabe leaned against his bookcase. “You know what always brings out the wealthier patrons?”
“Do tell,” Prudence said, her pencil poised.
“Masks.”
“Masks?”
“Yes, a masked ball. A party where naughty behavior can go unaccused. Where mistaken identities are used for titillating purpose.”
Prudence frowned but wrote down his suggestion. And while he chose a stack of books for her, she thought about it. A masquerade wouldn’t be a terrible idea, especially if it attracted sales. There could even be some unmasking moments that could be auctioned off, again, for raising more money. The more she thought about Grabe’s idea, the more she liked it. She would have to tell Ophelia.
