The Trouble With Honor (The Cabot Sisters #1)

Unabashed, George cocked a brow. His response was as natural as breathing, and if she had not seen a man’s desire, more was the pity. “Well, then?” he asked her.

“I think,” she said, nervously touching the strand of pearls at her throat, “I think that will do.” She continued to stare at him, her eyes locked on his mouth, and it stirred dangerously deep and devilish in him. He needed to leave. Now. Before he did something that he regretted. “Then we are agreed, Miss Cabot. Now then. When is this assembly?”

“Friday,” she said. “Half past eight.”

He nodded, picked up his hat and fit it on his head. “Then I shall make a point of attending.”

“Thank you again, Mr. Easton. You can’t know how much I appreciate your help.” Her smile was tremulous, but there was no mistaking the glow in her cheeks.

That was it, then. George had made his deal with the devil, all for the sake of a bloody smile. He’d come very near to undoing her gown, too, and lest there be any more thoughts along those lines, he would remove himself from Beckington House. God help him, but this irresponsible and devious woman captivated him in a way he did not care to be captivated. “Good day, Miss Cabot.”

“Good day, Mr. Easton,” she said, still absently fingering the strand of pearls as she eyed him curiously as he strode through the door.





CHAPTER SEVEN

HONOR AND GRACE Cabot entered the Garfield Assembly like a pair of princesses, but tonight, Honor outshone her younger sister in a gown of pale blue silk with pearl trim. She was so stunning, Monica turned away, holding out her cup to the footman to refill with punch.

The many gowns and shoes and accoutrements Honor and Grace possessed amazed Monica. She had once teasingly inquired of Augustine if the family coffers had been robbed to support his stepsisters’ wardrobes, but Augustine had earnestly assured her that the funds had come from their late father.

Of course Augustine had believed it, the poor man—he hadn’t the slightest notion how much a wardrobe such as the one Honor possessed might cost. Monica was not even slightly convinced that the late Richard Cabot, who had risen as high as bishop in the Church of England, had left enough of his family’s money to outfit his daughters in such an extravagant manner. Monica imagined that Honor had somehow managed to take terrible advantage of her ailing stepfather. She had no evidence to support that, naturally, but it seemed quite impossible that one woman, as yet unmarried, could be so fashionable.

Honor annoyed Monica. Honor had once been Monica’s closest friend, but Monica disliked that Honor had everything. Everything! She had fine looks with her dark hair and astoundingly blue eyes and smooth skin. Monica had auburn hair and brown eyes, and when she stood next to Honor, she could almost feel herself seeping into the wallpaper.

Honor also had the unflappable, unfailingly cheerful disposition, whereas Monica was, at times, prone to dark moods that she could not, no matter how hard she might try, seem to keep from her expression.

Honor also had the privilege of making her life at the palatial Beckington House in London, or at the earl’s majestic country seat of Longmeadow. It was as if when her father died, Honor had fallen into the lap of luxury. And now that she was grown and out in society, men adored Honor—one need only look about this room and see how many of them glanced at her admiringly to see it was so. Honor squandered that attention. So many young women would appreciate the options of suitors, but Honor never seemed to move beyond only a cursory courtship.

And what did Monica have? Two older brothers, that was what, with not a single thought of society or fashion between them. Her family lived in a respectable house just outside Mayfair, and her father was an esteemed scholar of law. Not an earl. Not even a baron. A scholar.

Monica considered herself fortunate to have been accepted into such august society as the one that surrounded her this evening. She herself had never wanted for admirers, but she wasn’t the type to flirt and invite the attentions of several gentlemen at once. In truth, Monica felt intimidated by many men and considered herself fortunate to have caught the eye of Augustine, Viscount Sommerfield.