that lust was something either one of them could control. He would regard it as the warning it was and keep his distance.
The countess sighed heavily. “All right, you are welcome to stay. You heartless rogue,” she added with a smile that was both resignation and anticipation.
“Thank you, my lady.” He nodded his appreciation and bowed soberly.
“However did you convince Jane Wilson to allow you to accompany her?” the countess asked.
Jess smiled and the countess held up her hand.
“Say no more. That smile has been the undoing of more women than I can name.”
He took her hand and bowed over it. “I will be on my best behavior. The land is all I wish to claim.”
“Yes, well, tell your valet to unpack and dress you for dinner. Do not be late!”
BEATRICE HURRIED ALONG the passage, trying to puzzle out how she could give the appearance of ignoring Lord Jess while still finding out all she wanted to know about him.
What was the scandal no one would talk about? How much did it have to do with Ell’s behavior while in London? And what exactly did “debauchery” entail? Was it something worse than going to a brothel? For the love of God, that was quite bad enough.
Pausing outside the door to her suite, Beatrice calmed herself. She knew that if Ceci saw her, she would instantly guess that something had roused her twin’s curiosity and would plague her with questions. And it was nothing, really.
When she pushed through the door she found Ceci seated at the dressing table, while Darwell tried several different hairstyles on her.
“Beatrice, you will never guess what the countess has given us.” Cecilia did not move her head so much as an inch, but her excitement was obvious.
“Then you had better tell me.” Beatrice smiled at her sister’s reflection in the mirror and then moved out of sight, settling into a nearby chair. Cecilia could not see her, but Darwell stopped her work for a moment as if she sensed something was afoot.
“When the countess was in London …” Cecilia paused and started again. “She ordered a signature fragrance for each of us. Darwell just gave me mine. It’s perfect. A mix of floral, mostly. Come test it. Darwell has yours in the dressing room and will not let me sample it before you do.”
The countess is a genius, Beatrice thought, as she went toward the dressing room. It was the kind of gift that would give Cecilia a boost of confidence when it was most needed.
“Come smell mine first, Bitsy,” Cecilia insisted.
“I already can. It’s in the air and it is a wonderful scent. It reminds me of you in the garden, moving among the flowers, stirring their scent so it fills the air. I do wish I could paint. It would make an exquisite picture.” It announces there is more to you than beauty, Beatrice thought.
Cecilia read her expression. Thank you, dearest, she answered in the wordless way they had communicated since earliest childhood. Then she laughed with delight.
In the dressing room, on the tall, narrow chest that held their stays and stockings, Beatrice found an amethyst-colored bottle. Her name was written on it with more curves and swoops than she had ever seen.
Doing her best to still her expectations, Beatrice pulled out the delicate glass stopper and sniffed at the fragrance. There was a floral element here, too, but a spicy jasmine and cinnamon scent dominated. It was beautiful but much too sophisticated for her.
She took the bottle into the bedchamber and let Cecilia smell it. “Why, Bitsy, it is exactly right.”
“Really? Do you think so? You know I count on you to always be honest with me.”
“It’s perfect. Truly.”
“Ladies.” Darwell interrupted them with the one word. “We are to keep country hours, so you will not have much time to rest. Come here, Miss Beatrice. Let me undo your buttons and stays so you can put on a dressing gown.”
Darwell put down the pins and comb, spun Beatrice around, and made short work of the task. Beatrice went into the dressing room and sat down on the chaise. The scent, her scent, filled the little room. She could only wish she was as intriguing as the fragrance hinted.
Pulling off her chemise, Beatrice reached for the fresh one that Darwell had set out for her.
The chemise was still in her hand when Darwell came through the door. “Do you like the dress, Miss Brent?” she asked in a loud voice and then added sotto