She shouldn’t have sent that quick little note of apology following the ball. It was an atonement for mauling Henry in the Blue Room, even after she knew how much he wanted letters from Caroline.
But if he was sending letters again, then she hadn’t really atoned for anything. She’d just compounded her sin.
The needle flashed faster. Its tip caught the edge of Frances’s thimble, flicking it with a delicate ping across the morning room.
“I should never have allowed you to take my name in vain, but I thought the blasphemy would be short-lived. I never imagined your scheme would go on this long.” Caroline stretched back on the green upholstery, chosen to match the shade of her eyes, and picked up the newest issue of Lady’s Magazine. “Do you think a Pomona green gown would look well on me?”
Frances tossed aside the handkerchief again and dropped to the floor, squinting across the vine-patterned carpet for her lost thimble. “Yes, it would look lovely on you. And you know I meant to put a stop to the letters once it was clear to me that Henry was getting fascinated with you.”
“Now there we differ, because that’s not clear to me at all.” Caroline snapped her periodical closed and dropped it on the floor, then hoisted herself up on one elbow. “Why are you scrabbling about on the floor? Are we playing charades?”
“Yes,” Frances said. “I am playing a deranged fool. Could you not guess?” With a wrench of her arm, she laid hold of the thimble under a small writing desk. She then crawled over to retrieve Caroline’s magazine, shook out the pages, closed it, and sat up.
Caroline peered down at her from the sofa. “It was a more than fair imitation, but I do not understand why the urge seized you.”
“I lost my thimble,” Frances said. “It was a perfectly normal reaction.”
“And you got a letter from Henry,” Caroline reminded her in a singsong voice.
“No, you got a letter.”
“No.” Caroline shook her head. “It’s your letter, Frannie. They’ve all been for you, no matter the name on them. Whatever you’ve written is what he’s become fascinated with. You ought simply to tell him the truth, then do the kind of thing to him that makes a man forget all about being angry.”
The kind of thing they’d done last night… hard-muscled thighs, a firm mouth moving hot over her skin, hands stroking and groping in a twilight-dark room. Frances could have moaned at the memory.
“Your cheeks are turning pink.”
Frances frowned and covered them with her hands. “So? It’s hot today.”
“Fine, lie to me.” Caroline reached down an arm and patted around on the floor until she found her Lady’s Magazine. “I’ll just read about Pomona green and wait for the callers to start coming. We’ll just have an ordinary day. We’ll get far too many roses and we’ll feed the blooms to the carriage horses. I wish for nothing else in the world.”
“Nor do I.”
Caroline rolled her magazine into a tube and batted Frances on the head. “Lies, lies, and more lies. I count on your advice, you know. If you’re only going to tell me what you think I want to hear, I won’t want to hear it anymore.”
Frances rubbed at the top of her head and scooted on the floor out of Caroline’s reach. “Right now I’m thinking of something you won’t want to hear.”
“Likewise.” Her cousin waggled the rolled-up magazine. “Tell. Henry. You. Wrote. The. Letters.”
Frances stood and brushed off her skirts. “So we’re back to that? Listen to me, Caroline. I’m not going to tell him.”
She sighed and sank back into her chair, not caring that she rumpled her embroidery. “I can’t tell him. Not after seeing how delighted he was to receive a letter he thought was from you. He said…” She made herself smile. “He said he’d been thinking about leaving London, but your letter convinced him to stay.”
Caroline’s mouth went slack. “What in God’s name did you put in that letter? It must have been some sort of magical incantation.”
“I don’t recall, exactly. Just something that let him know I enjoyed his company.” She gave a mirthless laugh. “But he didn’t enjoy mine, did he? I signed it as ‘a friend,’ and he decided that meant you because your friendship was the one he wanted. He might have welcomed my words, but they held no power until he linked them with your name.”
Caroline had shoved herself upright on the sofa. Under her crown of golden hair, her ocean-green eyes were huge and bright, and her mouth sagged.
“Don’t make your lost-kitten face at me.” Frances covered her eyes. “That’s not fair. I’m not even going to look at you until you stop.”
“Oh, fine.” Caroline’s voice sounded normal, but when Frances lifted her face, the countess still looked a little distressed. “I know you don’t like that expression, but the feeling’s real enough. I absolutely hate that you think you aren’t everything he wants. And I hate him a little bit for making you feel that way.”
“Don’t hate him,” Frances said. “It’s not his fault. This muddle is my doing. I wrote more letters knowing he thought they were from you.”
“How silly of him. I suppose that’s proof of male arrogance, because I’ve tried to give him no encouragement. Not since the first time I met him, and certainly not since you sent him a letter. If he had eyes in his head, he’d see that readily enough.”
It was silly of Henry, maybe. But it didn’t take much for a man to become fascinated with Caroline. Her ever-full drawing room was testament to that.
“Maybe he just thinks you’re being devious,” Frances suggested.
“I usually am,” Caroline said, the lost-kitten expression now entirely vanished. “But in this case, you’re being far more so.”
“I’m not going to tell him the truth. I just told you why.”
“Then I pity you both, because one day he’ll find out the truth and he’ll hate you for lying to him.” Her hand fluttered to her mouth. “Oh, damn, and he’ll probably hate me too, for going along with it.”
“He won’t find out. And please don’t say that you pity either of us, Caroline.” Soldiers never want pity as much as they want a good meal and a quick tumble.
Or a not-so-quick one.
“All right.” Caroline slid to the floor. “The words will not come out of my mouth again. They might run through my thoughts, though.”
With a quick swoop, she grabbed the still-sealed letter from the chair where Frances had left it. She cracked the seal and flapped the paper open in front of Frances’s face. “Read it, you stubborn wench.”
Despite herself, Frances laughed, and she took the paper from Caroline’s outstretched hand.
Dear Caro,
Thank you for your letter. I was pleased to see you at the ball as well. It’s kind of you to write that you wished I had danced more. I found one minuet quite enough, though I hope in time to find other amusements that suit me just as well as dancing.
I shall call on you this afternoon—with violets, of course—and must speak to you privately. Would you grant me a few minutes of your time for a discussion of a highly secret but not at all improper scheme?
Yours,
Henry
Her fingers felt chilly, and they trembled. “Here.” She thrust the letter back toward Caroline. “I told you it was intended for you.”
As Caroline skimmed the lines, Frances made herself stand and roam around the room, tidying periodicals, folding up her sewing. If Henry intended to call today, he might be here in little more than two hours.