Promise Me Heaven Read Online Free PDF Page B

Thomas. “Whatever should I deck myself out for? To entrance the local cows?”
    “My dear,” Thomas said with exaggerated kindness, “to the connoisseur, seduction is a lifestyle. You don’t go out for an evening and suddenly become a siren. You have to work yourself into it. Take on the trappings and slowly, surely,
hopefully
, achieve your ends.”
    “Since we are rusticating here, perhaps I should clothe myself in a page’s garb and cut my hair short like Lady Caroline Lamb. She is accounted something of a siren, is she not?”
    “Lady Caroline Lamb is mad. Or as close to being there as makes no difference. Her relationship with that poet fellow is merely a prime example of self-indulgent histrionics. At one time, she might have been considered alluring, but there is nothing in the least attractive about mental instability.”
    Cat stared at him with wide eyes. It suddenly reoccurred to her that Thomas actually knew the figures of social legend; that he might have met Byron, flirted with Caroline Lamb, sat at the Bow Street window of White’s with Brummell, Avonsley, and their ilk. How incredible.
    The rest of the meal passed with Thomas as friendly and even-tempered as last evening and afterwards Cat went upstairs determined to make a success of her schooling and vowing to impress Thomas. She spent all morning toward this end, rifling through the dresses hanging in the armoire. The gown she finally chose was more suited for a Covent Garden entertainment than a morning in Devon. It was a mauve and white striped muslin with a décolletage well beyond the accepted bounds of provincial propriety. The skirt was caught up in a brilliant green silk ribbon tied beneath her breasts, pushing their ample fullness higher.
    Wondering what a siren did with her hair, Cat finally decided to twist the thick mass into waves, catching it loosely at the nape of her neck, like the Dresden shepherdess that decorated the mantel at Bellingcourt. She had once heard one of her mama’s husbands remark that the statuette “looks a wanton little thing.” She smiled into the mirror, well pleased with herself, secure in the belief she would quite turn Thomas’s head.
    But when she presented herself at the drawing room door, Thomas did not fall over himself in eagerness to gain her side. He did not even reward her efforts with an appreciative gaze. He merely took her arm and wordlessly escorted her inside. Only after they had entered and he had shut the door did he turn and say, “I thought you were going to wear something alluring.”
    Cat blinked at him. “This
is
alluring.”
    “No. It’s certainly very pretty. And it’s very charming. For a young matron.”
    “A young matron?”
    “Yes. A young matron. A married member of a conservative family of some means with a desire to appear fashionable but not forward,” he instructed. “Is this really the best you can do? Because this evening we begin the game in earnest. And be assured that is precisely what it is: a game. I shall be the accomplished rake and you must try to be the accomplished flirt.”
    “I shall do my best,” she said, lowering her eyes so he would not see the battle lights gleaming therein.
    “Now, is this getup really the best you can muster?”
    “I am afraid so.”
    “Then there is nothing for it but that we go to Brighton to see about your wardrobe.”
    “I can’t afford a new wardrobe.” She cursed the blood she could feel staining her cheeks.
    “You can’t afford not to have one. Besides, I will find the ready to lend you until my brother returns. He can well afford it. We shall go in a fortnight. In the meantime, we shall see about your other accomplishments. You must spend the afternoon reviewing your repertoire. I regret I cannot take luncheon with you, but more pressing matters require my attention.”
    “Wrestling more sheep?” she asked sweetly.
    “Actually, Lord Coke has written me an interesting missive concerning the uses of manure. I