A Lady Compromised (The Ladies) by Pennington Ava

Author:Pennington, Ava [Pennington, Ava]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-01-16T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

The next morning Delia awoke to a loud clatter as the Marquess of Durham bumped the tea-tray into her door. She sat up with a start and he dropped the tea tray entirely.

“Bloody hell!” he roared, “Do not parade in front of me in that gown at this ungodly hour!” She hurriedly grabbed a pillow and covered her chest.

“Have you already forgotten what you forced me to wear to bed?” she expostulated, “What would you have me do?”

“Well now we will have no tea and I was in desperate need of fortification. I will go downstairs and get a towel. By the time I return, I recommend that you cover yourself.”

As he turned, Delia dashed from the bed and set up the screen behind which she ordinarily dressed and splashed water on her face and cleaned her teeth. She was pulling the silk over her head when she heard him return.

“Do not come over here!” she squeaked.

“I have no intention of doing so,” he replied. “I will assume at this time you are wearing a nun’s habit.”

“Precisely,” Lady Delia replied. “That is an exact description of my costume,” she continued as she struggled into a shift and gave up on lacing her corset. She tied a petticoat around her waste and reached for her most serviceable gown that buttoned up the front. When she at last appeared in front of the Marquess, he looked quite mad. His hair was on end and there were dark circles under his eyes. She strode quickly toward him stopped just short of an embrace.

“You look dreadful!” she said.

“Thank you. Now I hope you will appreciate my restraint and what you have done to me.” She laughed, unable to stop herself at the sight of the generally impeccably gorgeous Marquess, looking as if he had passed the night in a horse stable.

“I will not sleep in the same room with you again, my lord,” she said, teasingly, though she was not entirely sure she meant it.

“Don't call me that,” he said. “I don’t like it and it sounds ridiculous after last night.”

“You can’t expect me to call you—“

“Call me Mason. It’s my Christian name and not enough people use it.”

“Are you sure that isn’t terribly inappropriate?”

“It absolutely isn’t. But given we are alone, unchaperoned, in a tiny house where I undressed you and watched you put on a nightgown that would make a Cyprian blush, I fail to see a great lot that is ‘terribly appropriate’ about any of our interactions in the past twenty-four hours.”

“And that is entirely your fault,” she replied.

“It is. And I trust I have proven my case. Despite my propensity for impropriety, I can still be trusted to behave. Now let’s stop tempting me. I just burned myself on some terrible tea. It is not quite potable but you are welcome to attempt a drink if you make haste. We will take a hackney cab to Durham House in the next ten minutes or I might in fact be fit for little but Colney Hatch.

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