Free The Dress of the Season by Kate Noble

chest.
    “Read the first volume. And if you dislike it, I’ll never mention it again. But if you do . . . I’ll lend you the second and third volumes. All you have to do is admit to it.”
    He looked at her little hand, pressing the book into his chest. Her fingers resting near enough to his that he could feel the electricity passing between them. He should say no. That old panic settled in. He should go back to his work, whatever it might be, and keep her at a distance. When she was younger, it had been a distraction, trying to do right by Felicity, while still learning how to be Osterley. Now . . .
    She wasn’t a distraction anymore. She was a temptation.
    “I dare you,” she challenged, her eyes sparking.
    He really should simply walk away.
    “Agreed.”

Chapter Seven
    On the second day of rain, Felicity was certain that something was going to break inside her guardian. His dual nature was at war. Either Harris was going to come out from where he’d been hiding, or Osterley was going to squash him back down into oblivion again. And Felicity was too fascinated watching the game play out to have caution about her part in it.
    Harris had come up to her right before dinner, and told her his feelings on the first volume of the book. “It was utterly ridiculous,” he said. “The girl is insipid, the man a brute who, if he acted like that in real life, would be arrested on the spot. And the house is a complete anachronism. If it is tumbling down about their ears, why on earth does it have modern plumbing?”
    This speech carried on right through dinner, with Felicity adding in the appropriate noises here and there, until, sometime around the soup course, he asked, “So, may I have the next volume?”
    “I thought you hadn’t liked it?” Felicity replied with an easy smile.
    “It’s terrible! But I have to know how it ends, especially if it is as ludicrous as I expect,” he grumbled. “Besides, you haven’t told me anything about it, and I suspect that’s because you’re trying to not ruin it for me, so how are we supposed to have this discussion you crave if I have not read the whole thing?” He put his nose up in the air . . . a rather difficult thing to do during the soup course. “It would be unconscionable of me to go into a situation without having all the information.”
    “Of course.” She smiled serenely, taking a sip of her soup. But inside she was doubled over with laughter. She had long thought about the split between Harris, the boy she had known and grown up with, and Osterley, the mantle he had taken on. It seemed that for Harris to do something out of Osterley’s character, he had to find an Osterley-like justification for it.
    The next day, she was with Mrs. Smith, looking over the larder and the pantry, deciding what stock needed to be laid in for the cook, when Harris found her again.
    “Oh! Hello,” he said, as if caught in the act of stealing a cookie, even though he was the one who came upon them. “I wanted . . . er . . . tea? Mrs. Smith, would you mind fetching me some tea?”
    Mrs. Smith, somewhat startled, smiled and curtsied, and went to fetch a tray. Which left Harris and Felicity in the pantry, alone together.
    “You know, you can ring for tea,” she replied, amused. “You don’t have to go searching through the kitchens.”
    “Yes, well,” he answered gruffly, clearing his throat. “I . . . ah . . . was exploring a bit. It’s always good to take proper stock of where you are, and make sure the house’s upkeep is in good hands.”
    There it was again. The Osterley excuse for Harris wandering the halls. She smiled at him, but then she caught his eye.
    “You look tired,” she said, suddenly concerned.
    “It was that dratted book,” he frowned at her. “I was awake until my candle burned down, reading the second and third volumes.”
    “Oh dear.” She smiled at him, suddenly relieved. “I’m terribly sorry to have subjected you to such