“Then what was it?”
“I don’t know.” Unhelpful. “But I enjoyed it.” So had she, but that wasn’t the point. “Done,” he suddenly said stepping back. “Or at least I think it is. Test your feathers, wife.”
Off-kilter, Portia lifted her head to stare at his handiwork in the mirror and was relieved to see that her dead ostrich once again pointed north. “Thank y—” She screeched as she spotted a worrying plume of gray smoke puffing out of the top of the tallest feather, then automatically tried to wrench the headdress from the six million hairpins that secured it to her scalp again. “I’m on fire!”
Something Leo had apparently already noticed too because with widened eyes and a yelp of his own, he immediately grabbed the vase of flowers, yanked the blooms out, and threw all the water at her.
Chapter
THIRTY
With hindsight, as Portia spluttered in shock, Leo realized he probably could have clapped the paltry flames out rather than douse Portia in a giant vase full of water. But he had panicked and acted on instinct.
Now she was a sodden mess standing in a puddle as she blinked at him open-mouthed. Her sooty eyelashes were spiked with moisture and the ridiculously tall fan of ostrich feathers were now a limp and dripping arc of broken spines.
“Thanks a lot, Leo!” That came out of severely gritted teeth. “As I do not think that there is a bit of me left that isn’t now thoroughly drenched!”
Still holding the vase, he scanned the length of her and smiled sheepishly because she was right. The already tight bodice of her gown now molded to her like a second skin and the enormous water stain on the heavy silk brocade of her skirt rendered the fabric several shades darker than the rest of the dress. It had also done something bizarre to the once artful drape that had made it collapse on one side. “But on the bright side, at least your head isn’t on fire.”
“It wouldn’t have been on fire in the first place if you hadn’t bent me into the candelabra!”
“Also true.” He wanted to laugh because she did look funny, but bit it back because she was clearly distressed about it. “My apologies.”
“Now I am going to a be a laughingstock on top of an unwelcome spectacle, aren’t I? All the newspapers tomorrow are going to be calling me the Drenched Duchess rather than the Delinquent Duchess. The stupid, clumsy, and common upstart who had no place being in a palace and certainly has no clue how to behave like a real lady while they tolerated her presence.”
He wished he could deny that, but knew that was exactly what would happen if anyone here caught a glimpse of her. “Not if we sneak out without anyone seeing us, they won’t.”
“How do you suppose we manage that with half of Mayfair in attendance, genius?”
“Well…” He scratched his head as he surveyed the room. “There is a window over there that we can climb out of, and I am sure we’ll find a suitable route to freedom once we’re outside.”
She grabbed the edge of her sodden train and shook it in her fist. “You want me to climb out of that skinny window in this cumbersome gown?”
“It’s either that, or we take our chances back out in that corridor.”
“Marvelous.” She stomped over to it, her lovely eyes shooting him daggers as he wrestled with the ancient latch and flung it open. “Please tell me there isn’t a hideous drop right onto the street.”
Leo leaned out to do some reconnaissance. “Thankfully, this leads to an empty courtyard.” He held out his hand. “But there is a bit of a drop so I’ll have to lower you down.”
“This just gets better and better.” She took his hand and allowed him to lift her onto the sill, then they both had to fight with her skirts so that she could fling her legs over it. A sight he couldn’t help enjoying. Almost as much as he had enjoyed hearing how flummoxed his impromptu kiss of a few hours ago still made her. She stared down at the drop dubiously. “Now what?”
“Twist slightly and hold my hands tight, then gently ease yourself over and I’ll hang on for grim death until your feet touch the ground.”
“Or you drop me.”
“I won’t drop you, Portia, I promise. I would allow my arms to dislocate from my shoulders before I let you fall.”
“Huh!” was her response to that, but she did as he suggested.
With much grunting and groaning on both of their parts, she successfully made it to the ground without injury and immediately started grumbling about the indignity, as well as her heavy wet dress and stupid, ruined feathers that were all thanks to him. She glared up at him as he flung his first leg over the sill and wagged her finger at him like a stern schoolmistress. “If I catch pneumonia after you soaked me and I die, do not be in doubt that I shall find a way to come back and haunt you, Leopold Sloane!”
That was when he heard approaching voices.
Lots of approaching voices his angry, ranting wife was unaware of.
“First you get me charged for a crime I didn’t commit and then you try to drown me!”
“Shhhh.” He gave her a warning look as he jerked his head behind to try to convey that they were about to have company, but she took umbrage at his tone.
