Free An Improper Proposal by Patricia Cabot Page B

having performed a licentious act, and then forcing her, by night, to service the local military officers. Wasn’t that charming?
    That shut Drake up. Unfortunately, it also shut up everyone else within earshot. Payton, who’d really only said it to force Drake into using his normal speaking voice, and not that detached, polite tone she hardly recognized as belonging to him, blinked a few times. Drake sat frozen, a forkful of lobster halfway to his mouth. Lady Bisson leaned past Hudson to peer at Payton through her lorgnette, as if she were an interesting scientific specimen. Georgiana had sunk her face into her hands, and Ross, Raleigh, and Hudson were looking everywhere but in Payton’s direction. Only her father and the odious Miss Whitby looked at all pleased—Sir Henry because he was always proud of his little girl, no matter what came out of her mouth, and Miss Whitby because Payton had made such a perfect fool of herself … again.
    But Payton wasn’t about to back down. Dabbing the corner of her mouth with her napkin, she said primly, “Well, it’s true.” She sent a reproving look at Drake. “You shouldn’t lead people to believe it’s all bare breasts and waterfalls.”
    The silence that followed this piece of information lasted maybe a heartbeat, but to Payton, it seemed like a decade. Then Hudson, who could stand it no longer, let out a terrific whoop of laughter, which Raleigh echoed with one of his own. Soon, everyone—with the exception, Payton noted, of Lady Bisson and Miss Whitby—was laughing.
    Including Drake.
    Only Payton hadn’t meant to be funny.
    Still, it was very hard not to laugh when so many people around her were doing so.
    Payton tried not to smile, but she couldn’t help it—especially not after Hudson pounded her on the back, causing her to drop a large portion of lamb cutlet into her lap.
    Well, she’d been looking for an excuse to leave the table, anyway. One of the many disadvantages of wearing a corset, she soon realized, was that it did press rather insistently against the bladder. She felt the need for a moment to herself, and not just to wipe the gravy off her skirt.
    She was coming downstairs again, having realized a little belatedly that she was more than just tipsy, but downright drunk—how was she ever going to remember how to dance when the time came? Georgiana had spent hours teaching her the latest steps, and now it was all going to be wasted—when a gravelly voice arrested her on the landing. She looked down to find Drake’s grandmother waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs.
    “Well,” Lady Bisson said, as if there’d been no interruption of the conversation they’d been having in the drawing room. “What are you going to do about it?”
    Payton stared at the old woman. Earlier in the evening, she had taken Georgiana aside and shared with her the mortification of her interview with the woman who’d turned out to be Drake’s grandmother.
    “I shouldn’t worry about it,” had been Georgiana’s surprising response.
    “What? Georgiana, I told her I hate her grandson’s future bride! And you say I shouldn’t worry about it? Don’t you see what I’ve done?”
    “Yes,” Georgiana had replied mildly. “You were honest with a woman who was very dishonest with you. If she chooses to share what you told her with Drake, or with Miss Whitby, then that’s her business. You can always deny you said it.”
    “You mean lie?”
    “Yes, lie. You’re quite a convincing liar, Payton.” Georgiana’s smile had been knowing. Too knowing for Payton’s comfort.
    That conversation had been very nearly as bad as the one Payton had had with Lady Bisson. But now, if she wasn’t mistaken, the old lady was looking for another one. Whatever for?
    To torture Payton, no doubt, for having maligned her future granddaughter-in-law.
    “Do?” Payton echoed unintelligently. She thought Lady Bisson must be referring to the wrongfully incarcerated women of the Sandwich