The Perfect Mistress. Victoria Alexander

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СКАЧАТЬ Chapter Four

      “You want me to do what?” Veronica stared at him in that way she had, as if the level of his intelligence was far too low to justify his existence.

      “I thought about it all the way here and it’s a brilliant idea.” Harrison paced the width of Veronica’s parlor, his mind occupied with the details of what he now thought of as The Plan.

      “It doesn’t sound especially brilliant to me.”

      “That’s because you don’t see it the way I do.”

      “As much as I am eternally grateful for that, let me see if I understand any of this.” She paused to pull her thoughts together. “You want me to have a soiree—”

      “Nothing elaborate. Simply a dinner.”

      “Simply a dinner?” She sighed. “Very well then. A dinner so that you may use your powers of persuasion and your considerable charm on Julia to convince her to sell you her great-grandmother’s memoirs so that you may destroy them.”

      “Exactly.” He grinned.

      “The obvious flaws in this plan are too many to mention.” She shook her head. “Why a dinner? Why not a small gathering of some sort?”

      “A dinner allows me to be seated next to her. Besides, I have impeccable manners.”

      “Yes, that will sway her.” She scoffed. “I know when I am interested in a gentleman, the correct usage of the proper fork is always a considering factor.”

      He ignored the note of sarcasm. “If I am next to her at the table she cannot escape and will be forced to speak to me. I am prepared to raise my offer, by the way. I am considering some sort of trust or annuity that will pay her annually but right now she will not give any offer from me due consideration.”

      “Not surprising as you acted like an ill-mannered boor.”

      “I did not … well …” He paused. “Ill-mannered boor” did seem to describe his behavior with a disquieting accuracy. “I insulted her lamp.”

      “Goodness, Harrison, don’t you know anything about women?”

      “I know a great deal about women,” he said in a lofty manner.

      “Then you would know insulting a woman’s style of décor is not unlike telling her her waist is a bit thick or saying yes when she has asked if her bustle makes her bottom look large.”

      “I didn’t see her bottom,” he muttered although admittedly, the rest of her figure was exceptional. She was shorter than he by nearly a head with a form nicely curved and lushly rounded in all the appropriate places. He mentally shook his head to clear the intriguing image.

      She rolled her gaze toward the ceiling. “As for this dinner, how many guests would you like?”

      “I don’t know, thirty perhaps.”

      “You want me to have a dinner for thirty people?” Disbelief sounded in her voice.

      He glanced at her. “Too many?”

      She sighed. “I suggest we make up the guest list before deciding on a number. As I understand your somewhat garbled initial explanation, you wish me to invite—”

      “I don’t care who you invite for the most part but I do wish to have some of the literary set present.”

      “Why?”

      “So that the conversation may be casually directed toward the uncertainty of publishing.” By God, this was brilliant.

      “I see,” she said slowly. “You wish Julia to understand Lady Middlebury’s memoirs might not ultimately prove as lucrative as your offer.”

      “Precisely. If you could invite a few authors perhaps.”

      She raised a brow. “Would you like some poets as well? Perhaps an artist or two? Maybe a violinist?”

      “Don’t be absurd. Why would we need artists or violinists?” He paused in midstep and glared at her. “You are not taking this at all seriously.”

      “It’s not like hiring servants, you know. I can’t simply send a note to an employment service requesting an upstairs author and a scullery poet. For goodness’ sakes, Harrison, where do you propose I find such people?”

      “I assumed you knew some. You are a well-known hostess after all.”

      “Well yes, there is that,” she said grudgingly, somewhat mollified. “I suppose I have met, on occasion, an author or two, at someone else’s affair …” She paused.

      “You’ve thought of something.”

      “Perhaps.” She sighed. “Lady Tennwright has a literary salon every other month or so. She knows everyone who has ever so much as picked up a pen. She insists on inviting me and usually I manage to avoid attending. I find her extremely pretentious. If I make any overtures to her whatsoever she will assume we are the best of friends. Still, I suppose I could ask her if she could—”

      “Provide you with names? Excellent.” He beamed at her.

      She stared. “Whatever is wrong with you?”

      “Nothing at all.” He drew his brows together. “What do you mean?”

      “You’re pacing, you’re smiling, and God help us all, you’re positively enthusiastic.”

      Shock coursed through him. “I am, aren’t I?”

      “You are indeed.” She shook her head. “It’s most disconcerting. You arrive unannounced, which I cannot recall you ever doing even when Charles was alive, ranting about my giving a party so that you can charm Lady Win-terset.”

      “I want those memoirs,” he said firmly.

      “Then you should have been charming when you met with her today.”

      “Yes, I should have,” he said sharply. “But I wasn’t and I must go on from here.”

      “At least sit down. All that pacing is driving me mad.”

      He took the chair nearest hers then leaned toward her. “I realize this is a large favor to ask of you, especially as I am someone you do not particularly like.”

      Her eyes widened in surprise. “Goodness, Harrison, I don’t dislike you. I believe, as Charles did, that you have a great deal of potential, if you would only get that very large stick out of your—”

      “Veronica,” he said sharply.

      She huffed and glared at him. “Honestly, Harry, I have always wanted a brother and have never had one save for you. As such I do wish we could get on better.”

      He stared at her for a moment. “And I have never had a sister. In spite of your marriage to Charles I СКАЧАТЬ