What a Lady Needs. Kasey Michaels
means, because Trixie gave you the same talking-to she gave all of us, God help us.”
Kate was checking out her reflection in the glass, pushing a lock of hair back behind her ear. “Oh? So she told you if a man misbehaves you’re to kick him hard in the fork and then run away while he’s on his knees, whimpering and calling for his mama?”
“My God. It’s even worse than we’d imagined she say.” Valentine rubbed at the slight twitch that had started up beneath his left eye. “Thank you for not doing that last year, at Almacks. Really, I mean that sincerely. Now, shall we continue?”
“I’m not continuing anything,” Kate said, trying not to grin at her brother’s embarrassment. “You started this, remember?”
“Yes, for my sins, I do.”
“We make quite the handsome couple, don’t we, Val? Same dark hair, same amber eyes. Why, your eyelashes are nearly as long as mine. Does that bother you?”
“Not as much as it does Max. Why else do you think he’s grown that mustache? Now pay attention, Kate. First, your hair. Black as the ace of spades in most lights, golden-black in the sun. Hair like yours is rare as hen’s teeth in London, land of the insipid blond, blue-eyed miss. Then there’s the sheer amount of it. And the curls when you let it hang loose, which is most of the time, because you’re a lazy sot. Females live to be told they’re old enough to put up their hair, and you let yours hang. I’ll bet Trixie told you to do that.”
Kate played with one of the fat, soft curls that reached halfway to her elbows. “So Jeremy’s shocked into imbecility by my hair? Which, yes, Trixie told me to continue wearing down because the only reason to put it up would be so men can do nothing but concentrate on finding a way to take out the pins. Why not give them what they want beforehand, because that way maybe they’ll retain enough brains to actually attempt coherent conversation.”
“That woman’s a menace. And dead wrong in this case, or hoping to keep you looking younger so she doesn’t feel older. In any event, you let them start thinking lascivious thoughts having already arrived at step two of their plan for you—and with your help. Luckily for you, Jeremy hasn’t the expertise to have ever gotten past step one to even begin thinking about step three. You confound him, poor fellow.”
“Intriguing. What’s your step three, Val?”
“None of your business, brat. All right, so much for the hair. We’ve discussed the eyes as to color. The problem with yours is, you don’t lower them, not to anybody. You don’t simper, you don’t flirt, you don’t flutter. You look at the world with beautiful eyes, granted, but beneath those lashes and those tip-tilted ends you’ve got going so nicely for you, you’re a man, and they know it. You think like a man, you look boldly like a man, you appraise with your eyes. Also damnably unnerving.”
Kate looked at herself looking at her eyes. “Good. I like that.”
“Wonderful. I’m trying to explain something, and all I’m doing is handing you more ammunition to use against my own gender. Your mouth? That mouth is self-explanatory, and probably a sin to think about, not that your older, wiser brothers see it for more than it is, which is bold, and definitely opinionated. Leaving us with your body.”
“We are not going to discuss my body.” Kate tried to tug her arm free of her brother.
“No, no, let’s finish this. First, it’s noon, and you’re not yet dressed for the day. Not because you’re lazy. Lord knows half of London’s debutantes are just now waking up to their morning chocolate. But they’re hidden away in their chambers, not tramping about the house in their bare feet because of a sudden insuppressible desire to have me poking around behind a couch.”
“I wanted to catch you before you went out riding, or something.”
“We could argue that one point for hours, Kate, but we’ll let it go with the easiest explanation—you want what you want when you want it. Just like Gideon.”
“Thank you,” Kate said cheekily, knowing she was making her brother crazy. “Now you’re going to compare my body to Gideon’s?”
“No, mostly I’d compare it to our mother’s. I’d compare all of you, and most of the rest of us, to our mother. It’s what you do with your body that is like Gideon, or Max, or me, or men everywhere, at least the ones who aren’t wearing red-heeled shoes and mincing about like nincompoops.”
“Speaking of nincompoops, do you know Adam sleeps until eleven, and then takes two full hours to bathe and dress, only to come out of his rooms looking the brainless fop, his scent arriving in any room a good ten seconds before he appears?”
“Jessica’s brother is a good example of the men you don’t resemble,” Valentine said, grinning. “You haven’t been tormenting him too much since you brought him back here from London, have you?”
“No,” Kate said, peering at her reflection again, trying to understand what Val had meant about her body. She’d been tutored by Trixie, she was all of twenty years old—she should know what he’d meant. “He can fairly well make a cake of himself all by himself. And does, frequently. A spider crawled up his silly pink clocked stockings out in the garden the other day. He screamed, worse than any female and ran in circles until I could catch him and flick the thing away. I like him, though. He’s almost my same age, I think. We’ve agreed to cry friends, as long as we’re banished here together to keep us out of the way.”
“You two weren’t banished here to keep— Oh, all right. I’ll grant you that one. On the other hand, you weren’t Adam’s age since you were five. That’s still not what I’m trying to say, so if you’d please shut up I can be done with this. And not a moment too soon for my comfort.” He looked toward the ceiling, as if hunting his next words, and then said carefully, “You didn’t quite get the hang of London last year.”
“Oh, nonsense. Don’t tiptoe around the thing. I know exactly what London is. I just didn’t like it.”
“Yes, I’ve seen Lord Hilton’s crooked nose. Actually, it helps one forgive his nonexistent chin. But what I’m saying is you have a woman’s body, but you comport that body like a man. You slouch when you want to, you cross your legs at the knee, for God’s sake. You walk with purpose, your strides too long to be dainty. You fold your arms across your chest when your hands should be neatly curled in your lap. You put your feet up on the table and let your ankles show. And look at you today. Traipsing about here in your nightclothes, as if you have no notion of what’s proper. And when you finally get dressed, nine times out of ten it’s in one of your riding habits and a pair of boots.”
She truly didn’t understand his concern. She was who she was, just as her brothers were who they were, and what was good for the goose should also be good for the gander. Who’d decided only men could be comfortable? Probably a man. “Oh, dear. Surely I should be locked up. Or is that shot?”
Valentine ran his hand through his own thick thatch of dark hair. “You’re a motherless child, raised by Trixie of all people, and in the company of three older brothers who probably set a bad example.”
“Probably?”
“I’ll ignore that. But you aren’t a Redgrave brother, Kate, no matter how much you may have wanted to be. You’re a female, and these things matter. You were in London for less than a week when you went to Almacks and performed your little party trick. Now I’ve got a friend coming to stay with us for a few weeks. A sophisticated gentleman. A marquis.”
“Oh? And you’re ashamed of me, is that it? Wait—it’s worse than that, isn’t it? You’re matchmaking? I refused to go back to London for a second season, so you’re bringing London to me? With all that’s going on here, Val, with the search for the journals, the caves where the Society met? Have you entirely lost your senses?”
“As you just said, probably,” Val muttered, turning away from the glass, refusing to meet her gaze. “All I’m saying, Kate, is...well, it’s time to grow up,