Free Margaret Moore by Scoundrels Kiss

royal-blue velvet dress in the very latest fashion, or so petite Mademoiselle Juliette, who had better taste than Arabella hadsuspected, assured her. The low, rounded bodice was trimmed with gold embroidery, as was the gathered skirt. The skirt was drawn back and held by a series of slender gold chains to reveal a light-blue silk underskirt. Her feet were clad in thin slippers that made negotiating the mud and dirt of the street a difficult task, and she was in perpetual fear that someone around them would tread on her toes.
    Her gown was protected from the soot by a thin cloak of taffeta, whose hood rested lightly on her elegant hair.
    Lady Lippet was attired in a similar gown, albeit of persimmon and lemon yellow, with a cloak of the most astonishing shade of brilliant pink Arabella had ever seen, which made the earl seem positively subdued in his garments of indigo blue. Where they had come from, she could not begin to fathom, unless his absence from the house this morning meant he had been to a tailor.
    So many surprising things had happened since their arrival in London that she could believe even this.
    “Clear the way, you impudent puppy!” the earl demanded, speaking to a splendidly attired fellow blocking his way.
    The man, who was with a pale, plump, overdressed woman, turned around and ran a disdainful gaze over the earl before slowly surveying Arabella. As he did so, his scornfulscowl transformed itself into the most insipid smile Arabella had ever seen.
    He was dressed in what Arabella knew to be the most extreme example of fashionable male attire, from his curling wig, ruffled lace jabot and bright green jacket, petticoat breeches adorned with so much ribbon and lace that they looked more like a petticoat than her own undergarments, down to his silver-buckled shoes. His powdered face bore so many patches that he looked as though he had a nasty disease.
    His companion was likewise dressed in a flamboyant, expensive ensemble of pea green, which had the unfortunate effect of making her look astonishingly bilious in the daylight. Arabella could only hope she looked better by candlelight.
    “May I ask who petitions me in this bold manner?” the fashionable male vision inquired. Although he ostensibly addressed the earl, not for a moment did he take his impertinent scrutiny from Arabella.
    Neville Farrington had also regarded her with bold impertinence, yet he had not made her feel soiled, as this man did.
    The stranger’s companion looked at Arabella with hostile eyes, and Arabella wanted to tell her that she thought the man looked utterly ridiculous and totally unattractive.
    “I am the Earl of Barrsettshire,” the earl declared,running an equally disdainful gaze over the man. “Who the devil are you?”
    Lady Lippet shoved her way forward.
    “Your Grace!” she cried, as if this stranger’s appearance were the answer to all her prayers.
    “Madam?”
    “It is I, Lady Lippet.”
    The stranger bowed. “Ah, yes, Lady Lippet. Your servant, ma’am.”
    Lady Lippet grabbed the earl’s arm to pull him forward. “Your Grace, Lord Barrsettshire. Lord Barrsettshire, the Duke of Buckingham.”
    “The Duke of Buckingham, eh? I knew your father,” the earl replied, and it was quite obvious the earl was not impressed.
    The duke didn’t seem disturbed by the earl’s reaction; indeed, Arabella noted with some distress, he hardly seemed to notice her guardian at all. “And this charming young lady is …?”
    The duke’s smooth tone reminded Arabella of some of the peddlers who came to Grantham, the ones whose goods were particularly shoddy and overpriced.
    “Your Grace, may I present Lady Arabella Martin,” Lady Lippet gushed. Apparently overcome by the honor of conferring with the duke, she began to fan herself so rapidly that a small cloud of powder rose from the unnaturally white expanse of her bosom. “Arabella, this is the Duke of Buckingham.”
    Arabella dropped a curtsey and kept hergaze focused on