“And if I refuse?”
Keeping his eyes pinned on hers, Whit reached over and untied the knot at the top of the box.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Mirabelle gasped.
“Of course I would. You know I don’t bluff.”
“I know nothing of the sort. And it doesn’t signify. Even an earl can’t pull out a lady’s unmentionables in the middle of the street and get away with it.”
“You’d be surprised what an earl can get away with.”
“Probably,” she grumbled.
“Besides, I’ve no intention of just pulling out your undergarments in the middle of a sidewalk.” He gave her a wicked smile. “I plan on tripping over that curb and spilling the contents in the street. We Coles are notoriously clumsy, you know.”
“No one who knows you would believe such a pathetic excuse—”
“I’m an earl,” he reminded her with a shrug. “My excuses don’t have to be believable, just available.”
“You’d do this?” she asked quietly. “You’d humiliate me like this?”
Whit looked at her hard. “My sister is very important to me.”
And you are not. It was amazing how loud unspoken words could sound. And infuriating. The man was an arrogant, selfish, spoiled ass, and it was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to go to hell and take the box with him, and she would have, if the box had contained just the usual sturdy, practical variety of undergarments. But that damn blue satin chemise was inside. Unmarried, gently reared young women were not supposed to have unusual undergarments. At best she’d be a laughingstock, at worse she’d be utterly ruined.
Seething with resentment, she clenched her fists, ground her teeth, and glared at the man in front of her. “Fine, you coldhearted ass. I’ll do it.”
An emotion passed over Whit’s face, but it was gone before she could interpret it. She decided she was too angry to care.
“On your honor, imp.”
She snorted. “Would that be the honor in succumbing to blackmail, the honor in betraying a friend’s confidence, or the honor you accused me of not having?”
“I want your word you’ll do as I’ve asked.”
“Demanded.”
“Your word.”
“My word, then. Are you quite satisfied?”
She knew he would be. In Whit’s world, there was no conceivable excuse for breaking one’s word of honor—everyone could afford rigid principles. Whit never, ever broke his word. He was famous for it, and if she were a little less angry with him, she would admit that she respected him for that. But Mirabelle’s experiences had taught her a somewhat different lesson. Sometimes, those principles were a luxury only the rich and powerful could afford. The richer and more powerful, the more honorable they could afford to be. The rest of the world did the best they could with what fate handed them.
In Mirabelle’s case, self-preservation demanded that her sense of morality be occasionally flexible. She didn’t condone lying. In fact, she was fundamentally opposed to dishonesty, but like Whit’s willingness to use blackmail, some evils were unavoidable.
She wasn’t about to betray Kate’s trust, but she wasn’t going to have her undergarments tossed into the street either.
Whit, clearly sensing something amiss, stared at her a moment longer, but apparently deciding he wasn’t about to receive further reassurances, nodded once and handed her the box.
Looking back, Mirabelle would be forced to admit that what happened next was not Whit’s fault. Not directly anyway.
She was in full possession of the box, but her hands had grown clammy and the sweat had seeped through the cheap material of her gloves. She’d been too eager to get the knot retied, and it was so awkward trying to hold the box and manipulate the string at the same time. In retrospect, she should have set the box down first, because the next thing she knew, it was making a slow descent to the ground.
And it truly was slow. Mirabelle knew it took forever because she had time to mentally recite every invective she had ever heard, some she didn’t even remember hearing until just that moment. Strangely, while her mind rushed, her body seemed frozen in place. She managed only one feeble grasp with her fingers and a soft cry before the bottom of the box hit the pavement with a soft thud. The lid lifted up briefly from the force of the impact, betraying a flash of bright blue, before settling neatly back in place.
Sweet merciful heaven. Thank you.
Her heart beating loudly in her ears, she shot a panicked look toward Whit. He was looking at something across the street. He hadn’t seen.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.