The Lady Most Willing

Persuasion—not to mention Sir Walter and his daughter—when she heard the door to the library open and then quickly shut again.

She was curled up under a toasty red blanket with a comforting doggy smell, and felt vastly disinclined to move.

“Hello?” she asked reluctantly, sitting up.

The earl was standing against the door, finger on his lips. She nodded and lay back onto the sofa.

She had decided to keep her distance from the earl. She could not allow herself to be enticed by that air of confidence and power that he wore like an invisible cloak. It had probably been bestowed in the cradle along with his insignia or crest or however it was that earls distinguished themselves from mere mortals.

She read the next paragraph three times, trying to fix her attention on the words, even though every fiber of her being was dying to know what Byron was doing. Against her better judgment, she had started to think of him as Byron, an inappropriate intimacy, if ever there was one.

When she’d read the paragraph for the fourth time, and still had no idea what it said, she conceded defeat. She sat up again to confront Byron just as the door was slammed open and Marilla appeared, flushed and radiant. If Marilla was exquisite at the best of times, when she was rosy and excited, she was terrifying. “Oh, Byron! I’m very, very sure you’re here!” she caroled.

The moment she noticed Fiona, her eyes narrowed, and her voice lost all claim to charm. “I’m looking for the earl. Has he entered?”

Marilla’s quarry had flattened himself against the wall behind the door. His lips were moving, perhaps in prayer or entreaty; either way, he had the look of a hunted animal. Marilla had obviously overplayed her hand again, but Fiona couldn’t bring herself to care very much.

She quickly looked back to her sister so as not to betray his presence. “No, but I think I heard someone running up the stairs.”

The sparks in Marilla’s eyes faded as she contemplated the significance of this. “Of course! He’s hidden in his bedchamber or mine, so that we may enjoy a moment or two of privacy once I find him.”

Fiona frowned, and Marilla added irritably, “High-society games are little more than opportunities for dalliance, which is something you could never understand. The forfeit is a kiss. We’ve been playing hide-and-seek all afternoon, but the duke and Catriona insist on finding no one but each other, which is tiresome for the rest of us.”

“In that case,” Fiona said, “perhaps you’d better find the earl before Lady Cecily steals a kiss.”

Marilla smirked. “She’s proved to be a regular sobersides. We’re all playing, even Taran, and—”

“Taran ran off and hid?”

“I found him in the back of the kitchens! He’s surprisingly fit for a man on the edge of the grave. He actually insisted on the forfeit.”

“Taran is hardly on the edge of the grave,” Fiona pointed out.

Reputation—as distinguished from virtue—seemed to have been declared irrelevant for the duration of the storm-imposed confinement. Fiona was fairly certain that the Duke of Bretton and Miss Burns were not worrying about reputation . . . well, now she thought about it, Catriona’s virtue as well as her reputation might be at risk. But that was hardly Fiona’s problem, and besides, they were betrothed.

“Don’t you dare return upstairs or come to the drawing room,” Marilla ordered. “Our bedchamber may be occupied for some time.” Her smile was more predatory than sweet.

“I’m getting hungry,” Fiona protested. “It’s teatime.”

“You’re plump enough. You could go a whole day without eating, and it would be the better for your waist.”

Fiona’s eyes must have narrowed, because Marilla suddenly looked a bit cautious. “I suppose if you must eat, you could ring for something. I am certainly not the person to wait on you hand and foot.”

“The library has no bell,” Fiona pointed out. “In fact, I doubt the castle has a system to summon the help.”

Marilla sighed. “I’ll have one of those disgusting old fools send you some seedcakes, I suppose.”

“I would like a hot drink as well.”

“Very well,” Marilla said with a flounce. “Just remain in this room. As I said, I do not want the earl to associate the two of us in any way. It’s better that you stay tucked out of sight.”

“I shan’t leave,” Fiona promised.

Characteristically, Marilla slammed the door behind her.

The library fell silent again. Fiona could hear Marilla impatiently delivering orders on the other side of the door, and then the patter of her slippers as she left in hot pursuit of her prey.