How to Catch a Sinful Marquess - Amy Rose Bennett Page 0,132

which Charlie had just pulled from the leather satchel.

Sophie put down her cup, picked up one of the books, and then gasped. Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure, volume one.

“Charlie,” she breathed. “Where on earth did you get this? You know it’s banned, don’t you? That the author was arrested?” She once overheard two older women at the circulating library discussing it in excited whispers behind one of the standing shelves when they’d come across another not-quite-so-scandalous book entitled Pamela; or, Virtue Rewarded.

“Of course, I do,” replied Charlie. “And to answer your first question, I found it in my father’s library, along with volume two, and these . . .” She fanned a sheaf of sketches and drawings across the counterpane that put Olivia to the blush and sent Arabella into a paroxysm of laughter.

Sophie leaned closer, and her eyebrows shot up when she saw the erotic nature of each picture. “Oh, my Lord,” she whispered, picking one up with shaking fingers as heat crawled over her face. “What, in heaven’s name, is he doing to her?”

Charlie grinned. “That, my dear Sophie, is one of the many things you’ll become enlightened about.”

Behind her glasses, Arabella’s gaze sharpened with interest as she picked up the ornate silver box, unfastened the clasp, and lifted the lid. “Cheroots, Charlie? Are these for us to try?”

“If you like,” she said, taking one of the slender, quite feminine-looking cigars from the box. “My aunt Tabitha calls them cigarrillos. Her tobacconist makes them especially for her using a tobacco blend from Seville.”

Olivia also picked up one of the cigars and gave it a small sniff. “My g-goodness. Perhaps we should call ourselves the Society for Scandalous Young Women.”

“Well, we will only be deemed scandalous if we are caught,” Charlie remarked as she plucked a taper from the spill vase on the carved wooden mantelpiece. She dipped it in the flame of a candle and touched it to the end of her cigarrillo until the tip caught alight. Then, after inhaling a small breath, she expertly puffed out a delicate cloud of smoke. The earthy yet sweet scent of burning tobacco filled the room.

“Ha, it’s clear you’ve done this before,” declared Arabella. Following Charlie’s example, she used a taper to light her cigarrillo before placing it between her lips. She drew a breath and then promptly burst into a fit of coughing so violent, her glasses were dislodged.

Charlie’s brow dipped into a concerned frown. “Gently, gently. Don’t breathe in too deeply.”

“Oh . . . that’s . . . that’s truly awful,” gasped Arabella. Her face had turned a sickly shade of green. “I’m sure my lungs will never be the same again.” Wrinkling her nose, she held the smoking cigar away from her like one might hold a dead mouse by the tail. “I’m sorry, Charlie. I don’t think I want any more.”

“That’s quite all right.” Charlie took it from her, then glanced between Olivia and Sophie. “Would either of you like to try?”

Olivia shook her head and Sophie crossed to the window, drawing back the dull blue utilitarian curtains. “No thank you, Charlie. And I think we should let some fresh air in. If Mrs. Rathbone notices the smell—”

“Mrs. Rathbone has noticed the smell. And the raucous laughter and chatter.”

Oh no. Oh no, no, no. Her heart vaulting into the vicinity of her throat, Sophie whirled around then nearly fainted. In the open doorway, her plump arms folded over her ample chest, stood a glowering Mrs. Rathbone. Even though she only wore a rumpled night rail, a coarse woolen shawl, and a linen cap that was askew, her informal attire didn’t diminish her gravitas or the seriousness of the moment in the least. From beneath heavy gray brows, her pale blue eyes skewered them all in turn. Arabella’s countenance was green again, Olivia was as white as the bedsheets, and Sophie wondered how she continued to remain upright when her knees felt as though they were made of blancmange.

Charlie, on the other hand, looked remarkably unperturbed. She tossed both of the cigarrillos into the fire and lifted her chin. “Our apologies for disturbing your sleep, Mrs. Rathbone. We shall, of course, retire immediately. If you would just give me a moment to gather my things—”

Charlie had barely taken a step across the rug when Mrs. Rathbone raised a hand. “Stop right there, my gel,” she barked. Her glare swept over Sophie’s bedside table and bed, and then her fleshy face turned an alarming shade of crimson