Duchess By Night (Desperate Duchesses #3)

Duchess By Night (Desperate Duchesses #3) Page 19

“Naked?” Harriet squeaked.

Nell giggled. “How else?”

How else indeed? It was fascinating to see how much more open relations between men and women seemed to be in Lord Strange’s world.

“I believe they employ some gauze scarves here and there. But I am going to get you—” Nell paused impressively “—a private showing with Kitty. She generally plays Erato…do you know what she inspires?”

Harriet shook her head.

“Erotic poetry,” Nell said cheerfully. “Apparently she knows realms of it and can recite in three different languages.”

“That’s it!” Harriet said.

“What?”

“Erotic poetry. You need to send him snippets of verse. He’ll be intrigued by it.”

“Not if he thinks I’m Kitty, he won’t. Kitty would be lovely for you, but she’s a bit of a giggler. I don’t think Strange—”

“We can make that clear,” Harriet said. “But don’t you see how well this will work? You can send him a verse or two a day for a time, and then fix a place to meet. Then you can do all those things you won’t tell me about, and you won’t need letters any more.”

“You are wonderful, Harry!” Nell said. “Wonderful! And it’s so useful that you know about that kind of poetry. I suppose it’s because you’re a man. No one ever writes me poetry.” She looked rather wistful.

“I’ve never read any,” Harriet said bluntly.

“Oh. Never mind,” Nell said, patting Harriet’s hand. “I’ll ask Kitty to share some of her books with you. I think she travels with them all the time. You can pick something out.”

“Shouldn’t you pick the poem?” Harriet asked.

“Too busy,” Nell said quickly. “We have to rehearse first thing in the morning, you know. In fact, I’d better go to bed. I’ll ask Kitty to bring you a book of verse this very evening. In your bedchamber. So think about that, Harry. And you will deliver my letter in the morning, won’t you?”

And with that she pressed a kiss on Harriet’s cheek and left.

Chapter Eleven

“Yet Still She Lies, and to Him Cries, ‘Once More!’”

K itty turned out to be a lovely little person with pale gold hair with a faintly brassy tone that suggested it didn’t come from nature. She had the air of someone with no ambitions to be a lady, but a good many ambitions to enjoy herself.

She appeared at the door of Harriet’s room, thankfully before Harriet had disrobed. “Nell told me as how you did her a favor,” Kitty said with an enchanting giggle. “Do you mind if I sit down? I’m that tired from all the dancing.”

She sat down—on Harriet’s bed.

Harriet backed up so that she was against the door. “It is very kind of you to lend me a book.”

“It’s one of my favorites. Gentlemen like me to read it out loud. You do know that I’m the muse of erotic poetry, don’t you?”

Harriet blinked. Did Kitty really think she was a muse?

Kitty was busy ruffling through the book. “Would you like me to read you a poem?” She looked up with a mischievous smile. “It would be absolutely free, of course. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to read for a gentleman for whom I personally could not feel a bit of attraction.”

Her smile broadened, and Harriet realized with a little burst of panic that apparently Kitty had no problem feeling attraction for Mr. Cope.

“This is a funny one,” Kitty crowed. “It’s all about a man’s yard. Listen to this line: ‘It is a pen with a hole in the top, to write between her two-leaved book.’ Isn’t that clever?” She laughed merrily. “Two-leaved book!”

Harriet smiled stiffly.

“It is a dwarf in height and length, and yet a giant in his strength,” Kitty read. “You know, I’ve really come to know something of men. I know if a man is a dwarf.” She got up and drifted toward Harriet. “Mr. Cope, you don’t mind if I call you Harry, do you?” She stopped just in front of Harriet and ran a hand along her cheek. “Your skin is so smooth; it’s as if you never had a beard at all.”

“Umph,” Harriet said, moving quickly away. “That’s a very humorous piece of verse, Miss Kitty.”

She followed. “What I was saying, Harry, is that I can tell when a man is a dwarf, and you’re more along the lines of a giant, wouldn’t you agree?”

Less padding in the front was definitely called for.

Harriet turned around and cleared her throat to say something, but there was a brisk knock on the door. She swung around to find Lord Strange in the doorway.

He looked from Kitty to Harriet, and then raised an eyebrow. “You surprise me, Mr. Cope. You truly do.”

Kitty dimpled at him. “I was just lending Harry a book to read, Lord Strange. From my special library.”

A flash of something crossed Strange’s eyes, but Harriet was too embarrassed by the fact that her face was growing hot to interpret it. Did men blush? She couldn’t remember seeing a man blush, but Harry Cope was definitely turning red.

A second later Strange had Kitty by the arm and was escorting her from the room, telling her that she needed her beauty sleep.

Then he put his head back in the chamber. “Don’t invite women to your room until you can control your blushes—though that’s not as bad as losing control of your timing, if you understand me. I’ll see you in the morning. We are going riding.”

Harriet would have been angry at his high-handedness, except that she was so grateful to have Kitty removed. She had the distinct impression that Kitty was about to make a grab at her supposed pen and try to get her to write. One had to think that her visitor would be surprised to find herself holding a rolled-up woolen stocking.

Lucille helped Harriet take off her tight jacket and the roll of cotton bands that kept her breasts trapped. Finally Harriet climbed into a steaming tub of water with a grateful sigh. “Lucille, would you give me that book of verse on my bed?” she called.

Lucille was darting around the room, grumbling to herself. She wasn’t used to “doing” for two young women, let alone one who was dressing as a man, but they could hardly have brought along a separate lady’s maid for Mr. Cope.

“Don’t worry,” Harriet said. “You take care of Isidore. I’ll ring for someone to take away the water.”

Lucille whipped around, hand on her hip. “And how will you do that, Your Grace? One look at you in that nightgown of yours, and the footmen will know what’s up.”

“It’s quite plain,” Harriet protested. “It could easily be a man’s gown.”

“It’s not the design, it’s what you can see of your legs when you stand in it,” Lucille said, exasperated.

“Oh,” Harriet said. “I am sorry to be so much work.”

“I’ll just run over to the other chamber and take out her night clothes,” Lucille decided. “Here, you read your book and then I’ll wash your hair later. That’s the one blessing about all this foolishness. Your hair is so short that it doesn’t take me more than a minute to wash.”