Page 23 of The Theory of Earls (The Beautiful Barringtons 1)

Warm honey wrapped around Margaret’s spine.

“Finally, someone sees my vision.” Romy bestowed a smile on her brother, pins sticking from her mouth, before she bent again to the hem.

Welles was so close to Margaret she caught a whiff of the soap he’d used to shave, along with tobacco and leather. The combination of the three created a wholly masculine scent which was all Welles. It filled her nostrils, calling to Margaret on some primal level, making her knees weak. She wobbled on the small box she stood on, nearly falling off.

Romy gave a puff of exasperation and tugged back on the hem. “One more moment. I beg you. Don’t move.”

“If you should fall, Miss Lainscott, I’ll catch you.” Welles circled her like a big cat, purring and begging to be stroked, eyes sparkling like the rarest of sapphires. “I do apologize.” His voice lowered. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Do be still.” The words were completely innocent, but to Margaret’s ears, they were imbued with the slightest hint of wickedness.

Good Lord, he’s right. I assume everything he says to me is improper.

His face was very near hers. Gold flecks floated in the depths of his eyes like tiny bits of the sun or the stars. Dark lashes brushed against his cheeks as his eyes fell first to her mouth, then the tops of her breasts. One elegant fingertip skimmed lightly over the silk of her skirts.

Margaret inhaled sharply as heat curled between her thighs.

“There.” Romy came to her feet. “I’ll finish the hem and the work on the bodice in plenty of time before Lady Masterson’s.” She waved Welles in the direction of the door. “Tony, Miss Lainscott needs to change. Shut the door behind you.”

Welles held Margaret’s eyes a moment longer before he bowed and moved in the direction of the door. Mortified at her body’s response when all Welles had done was come near her, Margaret looked away from him. He hadn’t even touched her. Not really.

Phaedra popped up in the chair, apple core in hand, to tug at his coat sleeve. “Tony, come up to the conservatory. I’ve been practicing a new piece I would love for you to hear. Olivia is out with Mama so you can’t hear the flute, but even so, I think you’ll like it. Miss Lainscott says I’m quite good.”

“I should like nothing better, demon,” he replied with affection.

Phaedra fairly skipped out of the parlor. “I’ll have Pith bring us refreshments.”

Margaret avoided looking at him until the humming in her skin halted and the door clicked shut. Hopping off the ottoman, she lifted her skirts, careful not to dislodge any of Romy’s carefully placed pins, and tiptoed to the decorated screen in the corner to change.

Romy was talking to herself as she picked up some discarded pins and bits of thread from the floor. She never once glanced toward the screen; she was too busy debating with herself on whether to add lace to the edge of the gown’s bodice.

Margaret breathed a small sigh of relief. Romy hadn’t picked up on the tension floating in the air between Margaret and her brother. Phaedra had been too absorbed in her apple. Satisfied no one had noticed, she dipped behind the screen only to catch sight of Theo.

Welles’s mysterious middle sister had lowered her paintbrush and was watching Margaret, a smile tugging at her lips.

---