Page 27 of My Wicked Earl
“I should probably come back and return at a more convenient time.” He looked toward the house.
“Don’t worry. Mother has taken off to spend the day shopping, probably for a more spectacular gown than my own to wear to Lady Allister’s ball next week.” A rueful smile crossed her lips. “One would think it’s her first Season and not mine.” A note of rancor laced her words.
“Just for a moment, then.” He walked over, folding himself into a sitting position on the blanket across from her. Taking off his hat, he tossed it next to her bonnet. The sun was warm and welcoming on his head.
The tail of the ribbon tied around her braid fluttered briefly in the breeze, bouncing off her bodice. He watched, entranced at the way each breath she took pushed the tops of her breasts up. To distract himself, he pretended to study the title of her book.
“Embalming techniques?”
She shrugged, and he could see she was embarrassed. Hastily, she put the book aside and covered it with her bonnet. “I suppose it’s a bit peculiar.”
He reached over and pushed her bonnet aside. “How often do you have the opportunity to discuss the ancient Egyptians at a ball? Between dances?”
“Stop. Now you’re just making fun of me.” She flushed a delightful pink and pushed her bonnet back on top of the book. “I know I’m odd.”
“No. Not odd.” His voice softened. “Unique. Think how boring the world would be if we were all the same. The only thing I do find odd, Lady Miranda, is that there is no one handy to practice embalming on. I do worry for some of your admirers. And I understand it’s an unpleasant business. Don’t they pull the brain out through the nose with knitting needles? Wouldn’t that create a mess if one is wearing a ball gown?” He could smell the scents of lavender and honey wafting from her hair.
She laughed, low and throaty, and a tremor of longing ran through Colin. Miranda was undoubtedly beautiful, though she had none of the artifice that beautiful women generally had. She seemed not to realize the effect she had on the male species, or at the very least, did not allow it to define her.
“It is incredibly messy. Though,” she continued excitedly, “the Egyptians did not have knitting needles. It was a rather long hook they shoved up the deceased’s nose.” She made an odd motion with her hands and his eyes followed the movement. Then a priest would move the needle about, mushing things up before pulling out the bits.” Her eyes widened to see if he was appropriately shocked. “I woulddefinitelyruin my gown.”
“Do go on.” God, he wanted to touch her.
“I find it all quite fascinating. After they removed the brain, they would then make a small incision on the left side,” her hands brushed the spot just underneath her breasts and Colin’s breath caught, “to remove the other organs like the intestines and liver. They put them out to dry once they removed everything. Rather like making jerky. Do you know about jerky? I read something about the Americas and the natives there, Indians they are called. At any rate the Indians dry their meat in such a way, well really, they hang bits of it on a drying rack, and they call it jerky.” She shook her head, “I must apologize, Mr. Hartley, at times my thoughts wander. Mother says I’m a true featherwit as I cannot seem to hold together a conversation.”
“I disagree, Lady Miranda. Continue.” Lady Cambourne was a bitch who likely had never opened a book.
Miranda bestowed on him a dazzling smile.
“At any rate, I find the Egyptian version of the afterlife to be so colorful, if not a bit barbaric at times. They would sacrifice a person’s household with them, to serve them in the afterlife. I’m certain that Bevins would have an issue with that, his loyalty to my family notwithstanding.”
Colin couldn’t take his eyes off of her. “I’m certain of it.”
“My favorite is Anubis. Egyptian god, that is. Lady Sinclair has a statue of him that her husband purchased from an antiquities dealer. Most everyone finds the statue quite frightening, though I rather like it.”
Miranda’s lips were a delightful shade of red, reminiscent of a late summer raspberry.
“Anubis was the god of the underworld. Didn’t he have the head of a dog?”
“A jackal. Which I suppose is a bit like a dog. At any rate, whenever mother begins to remind me of my unladylike behavior, I slowly work embalming into our conversation. Or tell her about scarab beetles eating the mummies flesh away.” She leaned towards Colin, giving him a breathtaking view of the valley between her breasts. “It’s rather...gruesome.”
“I never realized how bloodthirsty you were, Lady Miranda. Had I known, I would have taken greater care at Gray Covington. I’m not sure I would have allowed you to bait your own fish hook. Although in retrospect, you did seem delighted at the time by the poor worm’s suffering.”
Colin wanted to kiss her. Touch the braid of her hair.
A very bad idea.
“Well.” A pink blush rose over her cheeks and she frowned, a worried look coming over her lovely face. She stopped speaking. Always an unusual occurrence with Miranda and always directly reflective of something troubling her. Idly she toyed with the strings of her bonnet.
“I suppose you should just go ahead and do it.” She nibbled a bit at her lower lip.
“Do…what?” This was torturous and unfair. He wished to be nibbling at her lower lip.
A small non-committal shrug caused her breasts to move deliciously beneath the muslin. “Don’t make me say it. I’m quite embarrassed.” She plucked at her bonnet again. “It’s all rather awkward isn’t it?”
“I’m not sure,” he tore his gaze from her plump lower lip, “exactly what you mean.”
“Oh, very well, Colin.” Miranda dropped all pretense at formality with the use of his Christian name. An anguished look crossed her lovely face and she gave a great dramatic sigh. “You wish to apologize. For your behavior at the Dunbar Ball. For kissing me. There I’ve said it, and I’m horribly embarrassed. It was rather poor of you to make me say such a thing.”
