She snorted. “All… carnal things. Things a bit naughty. Sarah says you’ve quite quit thetonto be your brother’s steward.”
“I shall bemanagingone of the family properties.” Finally. What he’d always wanted. He’d been destined for the church from birth but had refused to make a testimonial to the bishop. At which point, his father had wanted to purchase him a commission. Only a strategic conversation with his dear papa, about all the reasons he should be allowed another year or two or three to cut a roguish swath of pleasure through the London ladies, had forestalled that violent direction of his life. His father celebrated allgentlemanlypursuits, including bedroom ones, and the old man had chuckled, slapped Josiah on the back, and agreed to a delay. And Josiah had enjoyed himself until Xavier had saved him, supporting his management of the estates so strongly, so their father had been forced to back down and drop the prospect of a military career for Josiah.
Older brothers were good for something, it seemed.
“Well?” She stabbed her fork toward him. “What have you to say for yourself?”
“Only that one day I plan to manage all my brother’s estates. Better than anyone else could, mind you. He lifted his brows and squared his shoulders, waiting for the disapproving lecture sure to come.
But it never did. She gave a slight nod, a soft display of approval instead. “Fascinating. How, though, if you live in the country all your days, do you—ahem—make merry, as I’ve heard you’re wont to do?”
Damn, but she was brazen. To speak of such things in a room inhabited by so many people. And her a virgin. Presumably. Perhaps she’d had too much to drink. Not that he disapproved. Her conversation bubbled through his veins like the champagne that likely loosened her tongue and conversational judgment.
He sighed, a dramatic heft of a sound. “It is difficult. Every day of denial is a blow to my immense control.”
She narrowed her eyes. “But you do not seem as if you are struggling with the desire to toss me on the nearest settee and have your wicked way with me in front of all the wedding guests.”
“I prefer to have my wicked way in private.” Not a wink this time. A smolder.
Her lips parted slightly, as if his words had surprised her. “If you were not a man, I’d make a friend of you. Do you know how difficult it is to get plain speaking from men? From women, too, really. In truth, it does not seem to be a trait many possess. You do. I like that.”
He leaned close, lowered his voice. “You mean men do not discuss erotic delights with you at Almack’s?”
“I’m lucky if they discuss the weather. Men are fools.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“The Dowager Countess of Linborough, my aunt. She often says it. Always has. And I’ve learned it well through my own experiences.”
“Yes, well, how can I argue with two such experts on the topic? Menarefools. And you do not tolerate those. Yes, I remember. Hm. A man-hater, are you?”
“Most decidedly.”
“Then we cannot be friends. I’m sure it’s for the best.”
“Assuredly.”
But they grinned at each other. Fools, indeed.
* * *
March 1821
Christening of Viscount and Viscountess Flint’s daughter, London
Josiah held the soft, newly christened bundle of baby to his shoulder and watched Lady Georgiana dart about the room. A mouse cornered by a tomcat. The cat? Josiah didn’t know his name, but he knew what the man was. A fortune hunter. A foolish one at that, one who did not know the mouse he cornered was actually one of those big cats, sleek and dangerous, that lived in jungles. No tame British puss, Lady Georgiana Hunt.
Lady Georgiana whirled around with narrowed eyes and hands fisting her skirts. Nowhere else to go, trapped between a precariously thin table with a large urn atop it, the wall, and an ever-approaching scoundrel.
Josiah growled. He hated seeing any woman trapped. Boiled his insides. But more, if Lady Georgiana let her lethal claws slash out, little Bea’s christening party might be ruined. Xavier, the proud papa, would be enraged. Sarah, the doting mama, would be saddened, and Lady Georgiana would feel guilty for mauling a guest on such an occasion. None of it good. He could save them all from that future. So he rubbed little Bea’s backside, nuzzled the thatch of wispy red hair protruding from the front of the lacy cap covering her head, and strode across the room. Perhaps he should hand her off to someone not stalking prey, but he'd only just gotten hold of her, and she’d only just fallen asleep. He’d not let a scoundrel ruin her nap. Or Josiah’s cuddles.
Lady Georgiana saw them coming, and her shoulders relaxed. Her hands fell out of their fists.
Josiah tapped the other man on the shoulder. “Who are you?”
The man swung around and tilted his head back. “I am Mr. Hobbes, your brother Crawford’s chum.”
Ah. No wonder. Crawfordwouldinvite a scoundrel.
