Page 17 of The Scoundrel and the Lady

“It is most definitely not a forfeit. You know as well as I that when I made such a claim I meant I could pass off any man as a gentleman. I suggested your brother. I expected you to find some street urchin for me to transform. But you…” He motioned to her and took in the sight of her sitting so poised and elegant with her soft features, wild curls, and graceful shoulders. “You are very much a lady.”

“Then you admit defeat. That you cannot accomplish what you boasted? To me that means you must comply with my wishes and cease publishing those articles.” She nodded once as if her logic made complete sense.

He eyed her carefully.

“You’re one of those women,” he said.

She bristled visibly. “What does that mean?”

“That you must be in control of every situation.”

She frowned, opening her mouth to speak, but he continued with his explanation before she could deny it.

“You are unhappy with your brother’s behavior, therefore you are going out of your way to fix his problem. I suppose it wouldn’t do me any good to tell you that your brother is going to do what he wants to do, regardless of what you have to say about it. ’Tis his age. Men learn from doing. He’s testing the waters of being an adult man in London. He’ll likely calm down eventually.”

“Likely calm down? But you can’t guarantee that, can you, Lord Ashby?”

“Of course not. There are no such guarantees, especially when it comes to other people.”

“Precisely why I must do this myself.”

“So, you wish to continue? You want me to help you masquerade as a gentleman?”

“Yes, I do.”

For the briefest of moments, he considered giving in to her request. Perhaps not printing an apology for the “damages” the articles had caused, but he could end the series. They had essentially run their course. However, he realized with alarming clarity, he’d never allow an aristocrat to best him in such a manner. So, he wouldn’t treat her any differently than he would a man. After all, she was the one requesting he turn her into a gentleman, if only for one evening.

She did not seem to be bluffing in any form or fashion. She sincerely thought she could best him. Well, he could certainly play that game, too, and he could play it better, which meant that she’d be the one retreating, not he.

“Lady Iris, I do require your assistance with my sister. And I did make a fair wager. So here are the terms: I shall instruct you in the ways of a gentleman and pass you off at a yet to be determined location. In exchange, you tutor my sister in how to be a genteel lady.” She opened her mouth to speak, but he held a hand up to silence her. “I agree to pull the articles if I fail. But keep in mind that you mustn’t foil yourself. If you intentionally ruin the experiment, you forfeit and I win. Do we have an agreement?”

She looked up at him and bit her lip. Hesitation poured off her in silent waves. She was going to back out of the agreement, then he could simply pay her to tutor Lucy, as had been his initial plan for his sister. He needed only to push her a little further.

Then she set her features and nodded once. “I agree.” She held her hand out to him to shake.

He took her hand, but instead of shaking it, he brought it to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the smooth silk of her glove. “Today you are still a lady.”

“What is next?” she asked.

Indeed. What was next? His tailor was waiting in one of the parlors to measure the “man” for clothes for this experiment. Merritt remembered the last time he’d been measured, all the intimate places that were required for the tailor to craft trousers and a coat that fit perfectly to a man’s frame. This might be the thing that sends her running back home, but he couldn’t very well allow a strange man to stretch a paper ribbon over Iris’s most intimate parts. Merritt would have to do it himself. Hopefully she’d back out of the agreement before Merritt had to touch her too inappropriately. Not that he’d mind—Iris Bennington was a most fetching woman, and he found he was far too interested in precisely how long her legs were.

“Now then, if you’ll excuse me for one moment, I must send the tailor back to his shop.” He left her sitting alone in his study.

…

Iris exhaled loudly as soon as Lord Ashby left the room. Good heavens, what had she gotten herself into? This was quite likely the most foolish idea she’d ever had, but she’d do anything for Jasper. She’d been the only mother he’d had since Jasper was nine. After their father’s death, their mother had lasted another year, but barely. She’d been so consumed by her grief that she hadn’t been available for any of Iris’s anger at having her debut cancelled nor any of Jasper’s scraped knees that had needed kissed.

It mattered not how nervous she was about this wager she’d placed with Lord Ashby. Iris was the only one who could help Jasper see the error of his ways and alter his behavior. She would not allow him to ruin his life completely. Besides, there was no need to be unsettled. She’d worn disguises before. It was part of her tasks and training with the Ladies of Virtue. They were all taught effective ways to hide themselves or pretend to be someone else. This was merely like that, an assignment, but instead of assisting a woman who was being mistreated, or returning stolen goods to a person, she would be helping her brother.

Whatever Lord Ashby asked her to do for this gentleman wager, she’d do because ultimately Jasper mattered more than her nerves. She’d spent too much of her life protecting him, raising him, to give up on him now.

…

“Now then.” He withdrew a tape measure from his coat pocket. “Shall we begin?”

Her head tilted and her eyes narrowed. “Precisely what do you intend to do with that?”

“Measure you, of course.”

---