Seductive Deception

Chapter 6

"Can you believe we saw her?" Tess squealed, her blond ringlets bouncing, "how serendipitous!"

Morgan squirmed; his cousin was much louder than he expected a finely-bred woman to be, especially in a carriage.

He reached for his cravat, loosening it before he opened the window a crack, taking in a breath of fresh air— a relief from the day's commotion in Mayfair and the sweltering, stagnant heat in the carriage.

And while the scents of hot coffee and baked goods were not odious, the sounds of bells, whistles, carriage wheels, and horse hooves on brick road overwhelmed his senses. He was glad to smell scythed hay, warmed earth, and honeyed meadowsweet and listen to the arrhythmic clomp of horse hooves padding along the dirt below.

They bobbed on back country roads to the estate that Morgan had unpredictably become earl to only two weeks prior— a massive Elizabethan manor filled with echoing halls of renaissance period artwork, an English garden complete with gothic ruins, a lake, three fishing ponds, a bridge, idyllic rolling hills set amongst groves of trees (an ironic nod to pastoral life), a hunting tower, a main stable block, and not one, but two dower houses—each of which was easily four times the size of the home Morgan's family lived in— when he was simply Morgan, former stable boy, and soldier.

"Saw who?" Strickland, who'd declined to attend the textiles shop with Morgan and the ladies, asked dispassionately from the other side, his legs splayed and arms crossed as if he owned the conveyance.

"Madam Cerise," Tess prattled, emphatically swatting him, "the woman in Mrs. Wheelwright's... although I've heard her referred to as the Scarlet Scandal and the American Spinster," she said with a sense of wide-eyed enthusiasm.

Tess was referring to the woman they'd run into at the textiles shop who, for whatever reason, wore full mourning attire and a domino mask. He didn't get a good look at her, only swept his eyes over her peculiar ensemble.

"She is the solution we've been waiting for!"

Lavinia waved her hands, putting a stop to the madness. "Madam Cerise is the most notorious woman in London. Any association with her would ruin Whittington."

A bump in the road caused the carriage to jolt and fling them into one another.

Morgan hit the roof, again cursing his inordinate size and the lack of space on the inside of the carriage. He rubbed the sore spot on his head as he laid his hair flat.

"Blasted road," Tess cursed as she readjusted her skirts, "one would think with the absurd amount of money spent on this carriage, it would have some ability to withstand a few blasted divots."

"You must find an alternative to that word, Tess," Lavinia admonished, pursing her lips as she smoothed her skirts and folded her hands in her lap, "ladies do not disparage, and they certainly do not curse."

"They also don't reprimand their sisters in company," Tess retorted, narrowing her eyes and crossing her legs, earning her yet another glare and an exasperated sigh under her breath from Lavinia.

"I propose something ridiculous like 'poppycock'," Strickland added, throwing his hands out in a grand gesture as if he were on stage, "or 'Oh, tiddlywinks.'"

"I prefer something with a little more...."

"Vulgarity?" Strickland offered.

"Flair," she corrected, narrowing her eyes at him.

"If you decide otherwise...the options are unlimited. In fact," Strickland leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "I know plenty of substitutes in French and Latin. For instance, Quelam Muleir—"