Free Barbara Metzger by The Wicked Ways of a True Hero (prc) Page A

wail.
     
     
The kiss meant nothing but that he was male, maybe with too much brandy, wine, and port in him, and she was beautiful. Uh, what do you think it meant?
     
     
Now she turned to him, looking up through watery eyes. That I am open to such improper advances. That I can be kissed and clasped likelike a tavern wench. She sobbed again. That you think I am a loose woman.
     
     
Dash it, dont cry. Its nothing like that. The problem is, I am not a gentleman. You said it yourself: Im a cad and a wastrel. I told my mother I shouldnt be here, shouldnt be accompanying her for the Season. Im not fit for polite company. No gentleman would have forced himself on you, taken liberties without leave, made you cry with brutish attentions.
     
     
She gave one last sniff. It wasnt so bad, I suppose.
     
     
Not so bad? Now his amour propre was suffering. Hmph.
     
     
It was almost nice. Nicer than most.
     
     
Daniel was still insulted. Oh, now youre an expert? First you say you are not a highflier. Next you are comparing kisses.
     
     
I have not had as many kisses as most women my age, if you must know. My father watches me too carefully since . . . well, since I saw you last. I have not kissed as many gentlemen as Susanna, Id warrant, and she is three years younger. She practices with every boy in the neighborhood. Theres always a dark corner or a secluded garden or an unlighted path at dinner parties or assemblies.
     
     
He growled. Great gods, what is my mother thinking, to let her sneak off like that?
     
     
Corie sat down on the chair, reaching for the hairpins shed left on the end table. She is thinking your sister should know more of men, so she can judge them better than I did.
     
     
Daniel tried not to watch her gather the honeyed waves back and start twisting them into a bun. You judge a man by his sense of honor, his bank account, his seat on a horseanything, dash it, but his kisses!
     
     
Corie paused in her braiding. Why? She wont be sleeping with his ledger books.
     
     
And he wouldnt be sleeping tonight, thinking about running his fingers through those long, silky curls. Because a man doesnt stop at kisses, if he thinks he doesnt have to. Next thing you know, her hair is down, your slippers are missingno, thats not right.
     
     
Corie let her hair fall loose down her shoulders again. No, that is not right. I think a woman should know what she is getting, and if shell like it. Marriage is more than sharing a house and a name.
     
     
But too many stolen kisses can ruin a gals reputation as fast as a fart. I suppose I cant say that, either. This is London now, not the country, where everyone knows you and accepts a bit of hoydenish behavior. Both of you have to watch your steps here, where every action is scrutinized and dissected, looking for scandal. No kissing, do you hear?
     
     
Corie looked around, afraid Dobbson would hear from the butlers pantry near the front door.
     
     
I am not Susanna. And you must know your sister is not fastshe is just young and experimenting. Ive had less than a handful of kisses since Lieutenant Snelling, discounting a few under the mistletoe, in public. For once and for all, I am not a trollop.
     
     
I could tell. You do not kiss like an experienced woman.
     
     
Instead of being reassured by his agreement, Corie was annoyed at his words, the same way Daniels pride had been pricked. Her brow puckered into furrows. I do not kiss right? You said it was nice. Did you lie?
     
     
I never lie. That is, seldom. It was a lovely kiss. For a novice.
     
     
Oh. Corie could not decide whether to be pleased Stamfield finally accepted her innocence, or to be irritated he found her less desirable than his demireps.
     
     
She gathered the hairpins on the table into a neater pile, missing the twinkle in his eye when he said, Perhaps I caught you by surprise. That must be it.
     
     
Yes, I was surprised. I never thought you would. That is, I did not think you liked me or found