Four
To Mirabelle’s mind, it was just a touch unsettling to traipse about Benton carrying a box that held an unconventional undergarment. As such, she thought it might be best if she dropped her purchase off at the carriage while the others went ahead to the bookseller’s.
But if she had known she would run into Whit on the sidewalk, she would have carried the box from one end of town to the other without complaint. There w ere, after all, varying degrees of unsettling.
“Whit. Hello. It’s a very nice day, isn’t it? The others have gone to the bookseller’s. Where’s Alex?”
She was chattering. She knew she was chattering, she just couldn’t seem to stop herself. It was amazing she was able to get out anything at all, considering she had an entirely different—and entirely involuntary—sort of conversation running through her head.
Whit. Hello. I’m carrying a blue chemise in this box. I think it might be some sort of satin. Isn’t that lovely?
She peeked over his shoulder at the carriage and wondered if she could sneak by him without being too obvious about it. She rather thought not. Certainly not with him suddenly looking at her so intently.
She felt the heat creep up from her chest to spread across her neck and face. She was blushing. Five-and-twenty years of age and she was blushing. It was ridiculous. And dangerous. Whit was watching her with amused curiosity, his blue eyes narrowing with an interest that alarmed her.
“Alex is at Maver’s Tavern. What are you hiding, imp?”
“What?” The word came out too loud, but good Lord, how could he possibly know? Had he seen her? Mirabelle glanced back at the modiste’s shop. No, the windows reflected the afternoon sunlight, no one could see inside without standing mere inches away, and she was fairly certain someone would have mentioned if the Earl of Thurston were pressing his nose against the glass.
She cleared her throat nervously. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about, Whit.”
Her voice came out too soft this time. Damn it, she was only making things harder for herself.
“You’re only making things harder for yourself,” he said, and smiled at her scowl. “You’re so nervous, I half expect you to bolt.”
The idea had merit. Her whole body was tensed for flight. She forced her muscles to relax. But not too much. She liked to keep all her options open.
“I’m hot,” she offered lamely. It didn’t come within a mile of explaining her tension, but it was the best she could manage under the circumstances.
Apparently, her best was none too good for Whit because he ignored her last statement entirely. “Are you making excuses for the rest of the ladies?”
She blinked at the non sequitur. “Er…no,” she stuttered, honestly confused. “I told you, they’re at the bookseller’s. Kate wished to see if a particular Wollenscroft book was available.”
Whit groaned and leaned around her to peer down the street. She heard him mumble something about “trash” and “putting my foot down,” and she jumped at the chance to change the subject.
“They’re quite horrid, it’s true, but I can’t see any harm in her reading them.”
“They’ll rot her brain.”
“Oh, I doubt that. Even if it were a possibility, which I don’t believe for a minute, we would have seen the effects by now. She’s been reading books like those for years.”
“Maybe we just haven’t recognized the damage they’ve done.”
“Such as…”
Whit shrugged. “She’s one-and-twenty,” he replied distractedly. “She should have been married by now.” He moved to step around her.
Well, that, she decided, was a bit much. She stepped in his path.
“You can’t really be so obtuse as to hold those books responsible for your sister’s unmarried state.”
He stared at her for a moment, his eyes boring into her own. “Actually, I have an entirely different theory on what, or who, is responsible.”
That rather hurt. It shouldn’t after so many years of traded insults, but it did. Briefly, she was taken aback by the force of her feelings, by the realization that all of his unkind comments over the course of the day had affected her more strongly than ever before. She felt a lump form in her throat, but then, to her vast relief, the thought that this coldhearted man had so completely upset her composure spurred her to anger. That he should suspect her of standing in the way of his sister’s happiness was unimaginable, insupportable, and just…very, very stupid.
“If you honestly believe that I ever have anything but the greatest of care for your sister’s happiness, then you are a greater fool than even I imagined. Furthermore, if you honestly believe that your sister hasn’t the backbone to tell me and my great care to go straight to the devil, should it please her, then you’re a disloyal brother and a fool. Furthermore…”