Page 22 of The Theory of Earls (The Beautiful Barringtons 1)

“I suppose,” Romy said, “because Mother and I were walking through the garden when she told me you would be accompanying us. We stopped right before a patch of miniature irises. Fate, I suppose. I was looking at all those tiny, delicate flowers and thought how you reminded me of one.”

“I hardly consider myself delicate. I did grow up in Yorkshire.”

“Yes, but the iris is alsohardy, Margaret. And blooms wherever it is planted. You must promise to come here the day of the party and we’ll get ready together in case your gown needs a last-minute adjustment. I’m sure your aunt won’t mind.”

Margaret agreed. Her aunt had barely spoken ten words to her since the discussion over how Margaret had come to be acquainted with the Duchess of Averell. She was sure by now Aunt Agnes had confirmed with Lady Patson that the duchesshadn’tbeen in attendance at the party, but she would not be inclined to contradict the duchess. Her aunt would sit on her suspicions until she could spring them on Margaret at an appropriate time.

“I’ll be here right after breakfast; will that suit?”

“Yes. We’ll have tea and get dressed together. And Mother’s lady’s maid is a marvel with hair. I’m thinking fresh cut flowers from our gardens should do the trick.”

“You’ve gone to so much trouble on my account,” Margaret said.

“Nonsense. It’s what I love to do,” she said in a wistful tone. “Just as you love music and composing. Now look, what do you think?”

Margaret turned to face the large oval mirror one of the footmen had brought in. Shedidlook smashing. The cut of the gown highlighted her small waist and made her bosom seem larger. Romy was truly a wizard to accomplish such a thing. She moved back and forth, watching the way the silk moved about her body.

“I like the way the sleeves flutter about. Very pretty.”

Margaret jumped with a squeak at the words and turned to the door.

Welles leaned against the wall, eyes hooded as his gaze ran slowly down the length of her body, as if he were touching each bone beneath her skin.

Her palm fell over her madly fluttering heart, begging it to cease such foolishness at the sight of him.

“Tony, do knock before you enter when I’m …doing things,” Romy chastised him. “What if Miss Lainscott,” her tone became formal in front of her brother, “had been…in a state ofundress?”

Phaedra rolled her eyes and shot Welles a look. “She means Miss Lainscott may have been in her underthings.”

“Thank you for the clarification.” Tony winked at his youngest sister.

Phaedra gave him a roguish wink back.

“Hello, Tony.” Theo looked up with a frown. “Don’t encourage her.” She nodded to Phaedra.

“My apologies to Miss Lainscott.” Welles didn’t sound at all contrite as he strolled further into the parlor. His eyes never left her as Romy continued to fluff the hem.

This would be the moment she should throw a witty quip his way, or better yet, ignore his presence completely. He deserved no less after the scandalous request he’d made of her. But instead, all she could say was, “Good day, Lord Welles.”

He’d been out riding, she surmised, viewing the fawn-colored leather breeches topped by yet another jacket of indigo, cut sharply over his broad shoulders. She was quickly coming to realize he rarely wore anything other than dark colors. Margaret’s eyes fell away from him, afraid her attraction to Welles would not go unnoticed by the others in the room. She took in the black Hessian boots, her gaze moving up to the muscle lining his thighs, so apparent beneath the snug fit of his riding breeches.

Indecently tight.

Heat curled low inside Margaret at his approach, something that happened with increasing regularity whenever he appeared. It made her feel unbalanced. Unsettled.

“Hello, demon.” He walked over and pressed an affectionate kiss to the top of Phaedra’s head. “I’ve been informed that I must serve as escort to Lady Masterson’s garden party.” He was speaking to Romy, but his eyes never strayed from Margaret.

“I wondered if you would attend,” Romy said.

“Your mother is very persistent when she wishes to be.”

Margaret pretended to adjust one of the sleeves, not wishing to dwell on the fact Welles would not only be in attendance, which she’d expected, but he would be escorting them.

“Lady Masterson had pressured me to attend, though I refuse to dress as a twig or a rabbit.” Welles’s eyes pressed into Margaret. “Besides, my friend Carstairs will be there, and I’ve not seen him in some time. He is intent on dressing as a stag, complete with antlers, making it easy for anyhunterto spot him.”

Margaret’s lips tightened, refusing to be drawn into his teasing. “What a clever costume Lord Carstairs has decided on.”

The humming in Margaret’s blood increased to a dull roar as Welles tilted his head, pretending to admire his sister’s handiwork. “Nicely done, Romy. I believe Miss Lainscott makes a lovely iris.”

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