Free Megan Frampton by Baring It All Page B

might be. Matter of fact, her eyes were large like a cow’s also, with thick lashes surrounding them.
    He didn’t know what her philosophy was.
    “I apologize for whatever impropriety you might have overheard, Violet. It’s just that—”
    She stepped towards him, those big brown eyes focused on his face. “It’s just that your sister is unexpectedly called away, and you need to write her column for her, correct?”
    “How did you—”
    She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, do you think I am an idiot?” She shook her head. “No, you haven’t thought of me at all.”
    Why did her words sound so rueful? And why did he suddenly feel guilty?
    She continued. “ ‘What Not to Bare’ has Charlotte’s way of speaking all over it. And she honestly can’t help giving out advice, even if she knows nothing of the topic. I’ve seen her wardrobe, and—” She shuddered. Christian didn’t blame her; he’d seen his sister’s wardrobe also.
    “Anyway, she couldn’t have planned to have to leave London, and she hasn’t trusted anyone—not even me—with her secret identity. So,” she said, shrugging her shoulders, “I imagine she asked you. And of course, since you’re a man, you shared this dark knowledge with your friend there.”
    He bristled at the accusation, but then realized it was true. He had told Gilbert, even though Charlotte had made him swear on his Aristotle that he wouldn’t.
    “You are the only one she would have been able to go to so suddenly. Did you know before, when you were still abroad?” She tapped her finger against her cheek. “I would imagine she told you. She couldn’t have kept the secret from everyone. She isterrible at keeping secrets. Do you remember when we stole all those fruit pies, and then she told everyone in the middle of dinner?”
    Christian’s eyes narrowed. Would she be this observant when they were married? Would she insist on looking over his shoulder as he did his work?
    He would not allow any interference. He’d agreed to this betrothal because he assumed Violet would want to pursue her own interests while he pursued his.
    Not that he knew what her interests were. Apparently they included undergarments. And fruit pies.
    “Why does she need a column on undergarments, of all things, anyway?” She frowned, and then her expression cleared, almost as though she had discovered a great secret. “Oh! Well, clever Charlotte.” At his inquiring look, she shook her head. “Never mind. You need my help, my lor—Christian.” Again, that unfamiliar twinge as she stumbled on his name. Had they not addressed each other by their Christian—ha!—names before this?
    Or had he never addressed her at all?
    “I will not ask you to do anything as untoward as—as untoward as that, Violet,” Christian said, wishing her eyes were less beautifully bovine. He hadn’t noticed before. Nor had he noticed how creamily pale her skin was, and how she arched her eyebrows up when she was asking a question.
    Violet’s mouth curled up into a wry smirk. “And here I thought you were the cleverest man in England, Christian. You do realize you’ve just uttered the most tautological phrase ever, don’t you? ‘Untoward as as untoward as that, Violet,’ ” she said, deepening her voice into a credible imitation of his. He felt his lips quirk in an answering smile.
    Which dissipated when he thought about what she was suggesting. Absolutely not. Her? Disrobing? In his study? “I mean what I say. No.” He walked to his desk and picked up his well-worn copy of Aristotle’s
Metaphysics
. Which probably did not contain an answer to dealing with the improper ways of his betrothed.
    She planted her fists on her hips. Her luscious, curved hips. And raised an eyebrow. Which was not curved, except in the normal way. “Why not, Christian? Because you won’t have your wife appear naked in front of you? Whom should I undressin front of, then?” She spread out her hands. “Just imagine, you can