Page 52 of Tempting the Earl

“As you may recall,” Emma whispered softly beside her, “my great-aunt is quite unconventional.”

There was no regret or censure in the woman’s voice and Ainsworth smiled as the lady under discussion caught sight of their approach. Angelique immediately reached both of her bejeweled hands toward Emma and widened her lips into a radiant smile.

“My dahling,” the lady exclaimed in an undeniably French accent. “I was wondering if you’d snuck off to zee garden again with your handsome young man,” she noted with a sly sparkle in her eyes.

Emma ignored the comment, though Ainsworth noted a slight blush on her cheeks as she took her great-aunt’s hands and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “I only just left you a few minutes ago.”

“Ah, but a skilled lover can accomplish a great deal in a few minutes, no?”

A snorting laugh came from someone standing just behind the Frenchwoman. Ainsworth tilted her head to see a slim young woman with hair nearly as black as Angelique’s. The lady was turned toward the man beside her as though trying to stifle her laughter in his cravat.

“Angelique,” Emma interjected, “I’d like to introduce you to a new friend of the family, Miss Morgan of Dumfriesshire. Miss Morgan, my great-aunt the Dowager Countess of Chelmsworth, but do call her Angelique. She insists upon it,” she added with a smile.

“Lovely to meet you, my lady,” Ainsworth replied as she gave a curtsey.

As she straightened, Angelique took her hand in hers and patted her knuckles. “I’ve very fond memories of Dumfries.” Then she leaned forward with a mischievous smile to whisper dramatically, “My late husband and I once spent a wild weekend making love all over zat little town. C’était très excité,” she finished on a breathless note.

Ainsworth arched her brows in delighted shock at the intimate confession.

Emma cleared her throat. “I’d also like you to meet my youngest sister and her husband, Mr. Turner.”

The woman who’d been giggling into her husband’s cravat stepped forward with an unabashed grin. “Lovely to meet you, Miss Morgan. I hope my sister properly prepared you for our company. Most people find us a bit much, I’m afraid.”

The youngest of the Chadwick sisters was quite simply gorgeous, with black hair, silvery eyes, fine, elegant features, and a sort of impish manner that instantly charmed Ainsworth.

“Not at all, Mrs. Turner,” Ainsworth replied with an easy grin. “In fact, I was worried London drawing rooms would be stuffy, lifeless places. I dinnae usually like to admit being wrong, but in this instance, I’m pleased to do so.”

Mrs. Turner flashed another bright smile. “Well, the night is still young, Miss Morgan. We might shock you yet.”

“Portia,” Emma warned in a tone Ainsworth suspected she’d used a lot over the years in regard to this particular sister.

“Oh, don’t worry, Emma. I’m only teasing,” Portia responded while sending a quick wink toward Ainsworth.

Seeing the wink, Emma turned a stern eye to her brother-in-law. “You’ll ensure she does nothing too reckless?”

Turner stepped up to his wife’s side to place a hand gently at her waist. “Always,” he replied simply.

Mr. Turner was a passably handsome fellow. Relatively tall with a nicely proportioned build, medium-brown hair, somewhat common features. There was nothing in particular that made him stand out. Except perhaps for his eyes—a fascinating shade of gold and brown.

Portia gave a snort at his reply. “Just for that, I’m going to make you dance with me.”

Ainsworth hadn’t even realized musicians had started up in the room next door, but she suddenly heard the beginning strains of a waltz drifting through the open doors.

Mr. Turner gave an audible groan but offered his arm anyway. “If you insist.”

Judging by the sudden light of anticipation in his eyes, Ainsworth suspected the man only pretended reluctance. She also got the sense his wife knew it well enough but played upon his resistance anyway.

As the young couple walked away, Angelique gestured with elegant sweeps of her hands. “Emma, dahling, you must lead your man to zee dance floor, as well. Do not waste such a lovely song.” Lifting her gaze, she gave a beckoning gesture to someone behind them. Then she turned to pat Ainsworth’s hand. “We shall find a proper partner for you, as well, ma chérie.”

“Nay, really, that’s not necessary,” Ainsworth assured, but the older woman waved away her protest.

A moment later, Mr. Bentley appeared at his wife’s side but reached for Angelique’s hand to bow low over her jeweled fingers. “Madame, I am at your service.”

The old lady gave a flirtatious flutter of her sooty lashes. “Of course you are,” she replied in a tone that was downright sultry.

From the corner of her eye, Ainsworth noted Emma rolling her lips in between her teeth to keep from either smiling or grimacing—she couldn’t quite tell which.

“I insist you steal my dear niece away for a waltz. She does not dance nearly enough.”

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