Free In My Wildest Dreams by Christina Dodd Page A

did something stupid. “What oversight?” Kissing her was an oversight?
    â€œThat your room isn’t . . .” He frowned yet more, responsible Mr. Throckmorton whose preparations had failed to materialize. “I do apologize. We didn’t realize you would come so soon, and with the preparations for the betrothal party, I’m afraid your needs were delayed.”
    â€œNo. I mean, that’s completely acceptable.” She groped for the doorknob behind her. “Understandable.”
    â€œYou’ll come to my office in the morning?”
    â€œYes, Mr. . . .”
    He placed his finger over her lips and stared at her inreproval. “Foolish, to call me Mr. Throckmorton after what we’ve just shared. But perhaps you didn’t enjoy . . . ?”
    â€œNo! Yes! It was very nice, very . . . um . . . I did like . . .”
    He smiled at her, a luxurious wash of indulgence. “Good.”
    â€œGoodnight.” She turned the door handle.
    â€œI’ll meet with you in the morning.”
    â€œAs you desire.” In her effort not to use his name, she had said just the wrong thing. She stood immobile, stunned at her madness, staring at him as he stared at her.
    All trace of his smile disappeared. A lock of dark, disheveled hair fell over his forehead. He bowed, yet never took his gaze from her.
    She fled into the bedchamber before she could make yet a bigger fool of herself.

7
    â€œD ear!” An hour later, Lady Philberta bustled into Throckmorton’s study, the sounds of the still-boisterous party following her through the door. “I just heard the most amazing gossip.”
    Cradling a hefty shot of whisky, Garrick turned from the dark window to face his mother. “What would that be?”
    â€œThat you were seen walking arm-in-arm through the darkened corridors with a beautiful, mysterious girl.”
    Satisfaction soothed his stirring conscience. Mr. Monkhouse had spread the rumor with admirable speed. “How is Ellery?”
    â€œScratching.” She looked him over, reading him as she always did. “You felled him, didn’t you?”
    With false innocence, he asked, “Whatever are you talking about, Mother?”
    Her mind leaped to the logical conclusion. “You hidthe strawberries in that pastry. What a mean trick!”
    He admitted his guilt without remorse. “But effective. Would you rather he canoodled with Miss Milford all evening long while Lady Hyacinth weeps and Lord Longshaw makes plans to break the Throckmorton family?”
    â€œNo, but—” Lady Philberta scratched her neck in unconscious empathy, then hastily lowered her hand. “You’re right, of course. Better Ellery hide in his bedchamber all evening than ruin our plans.” Moving to one of the straight-backed, hard-seated chairs in front of the desk, she seated herself. “If you’d pour me a ratafia, I would be grateful.”
    Throckmorton twisted the cork out of one of the bottles on the liquor cabinet and filled a glass. “He doesn’t suspect me, and won’t. My shock and disappointment in Frau Wieland, who knows better, forced me to bribe her.” His lips twisted in a half-smile as he gave Lady Philberta her drink. “She had to go before she announced who ordered the strawberries in the pastries.”
    â€œBut you love pastries as much as your dear father.”
    â€œInto every life a little rain must fall.”
    â€œNow what do you have planned?”
    He set his chin. “I’m going to seduce the girl.”
    The silence that followed his pronouncement was prolonged and telling.
    â€œCeleste,” he clarified.
    Slowly, Lady Philberta rose to her feet. “You?”
    â€œWho else would you suggest?”
    â€œThen this Miss Milford is nothing but a gold-digger—”
    â€œI assure you, Mother, she is not. That would be too easy.” If she was a