her back, and Payton had only herself to blame for it. Hadn’t she been the one who’d invited Miss Whitby to stay with the m in the first place? They’d all lived under the same roof for weeks, Payton in blissful ignorance of the fact that all sorts of illicit trysts and moonlit embraces were apparently taking place after the lights were put out. Payton, a sound sleeper, hadn’t had the slightest idea any of this had been going on. Drake and her brothers could have been entertaining half a dozen whores a night, and she never would have been the wiser.
How could she even have suspected it? No one had ever snuck into Payton’s bedroom after dark. No one had ever so much as tried the knob!
And why would they? She was such a hideous, unfeminine thing. Who would want her?
When she’d wailed this a little earlier in the evening, as Georgiana had been bathing her face and trying to get her out of her corset, her sister-in-law had responded by cooing, “Oh, there, there. That isn’t true. Lots of men will want you. Lots of them.”
But that was the thing. Payton didn’t want lots of men. She wanted one man. And he was marrying someone else upon the morrow.
So why did she still want him? How could she still want that no-good dockside dog?
Maybe because no matter what they said, no matter how much opportunity he might have had, no matter how much he and Becky Whitby might have been thrown together, Payton couldn’t bring herself to believe that Captain Connor Drake was capable of doing something so low, so base, as what Ross had accused him of doing. Get a poor orphan girl with child? Connor Drake? Impossible! Even if that orphan girl was in her mid-twenties, at least, and had hair the color of a gaslight flame, and a figure that caused men passing on the street to walk into lampposts. Connor Drake was not the sort of man who’d allow himself to take advantage of any woman. He wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t.
“He wouldn’t do something like that,” Payton had informed her sister-in-law, when she’d folded back the bedcovers and urged Payton to climb inside them. “It isn’t true.” She’d looked at her brother, who’d been dispatched to fetch her a soothing toddy, and had just returned with it. “Did he tell you it was true?”
Ross shook his head. He had not understood a single thing that had been going on since he’d come upstairs, and had decided long ago that he probably never would. “You mean did Drake tell me he’d gotten Becky Whitby full in the sail? Well, no, not in so many words. But, dammit, Pay, why else would he be marrying the wench?”
But Payton ignored the question. “He didn’t do it,” she insisted. “I know he didn’t do it.”
“All right, Payton.” Georgiana extinguished the flame on the candle by Payton’s bed. “All right. You drink this, and then go to sleep. You’ve had enough excitement for one night. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
Even through the closed door after they left, Payton had been able to hear her eldest brother asking bewilderedly, “Whatever’s gotten into Payton? I’ve never seen ’er get so fouled at the block before. Not even the time that damned pirate La Fond snuck on board and tried to slit Drake’s throat—”
“It’s your fault,” was Georgiana’s angry reply. “You and those brothers of yours. They encouraged her to drink more than was good for her, and you had to go and tell her about Drake. And after I told you, repeatedly, not to!”
“Humph. I don’t see why Payton should care a jot about Drake and Miss Whitby. Let him marry the little slut. He’ll soon regret not waiting until he’s found a perfect gem of a woman, like I did—”
There was the sound of a ladylike slap, followed by an urgent, “Don’t,” from Georgiana. “Ross, I mean it. Put me down. I’m extremely put out with you right now—”
“Do we have to go back to that damned party now?” Ross wanted to know. “I can think of something
How could she even have suspected it? No one had ever snuck into Payton’s bedroom after dark. No one had ever so much as tried the knob!
And why would they? She was such a hideous, unfeminine thing. Who would want her?
When she’d wailed this a little earlier in the evening, as Georgiana had been bathing her face and trying to get her out of her corset, her sister-in-law had responded by cooing, “Oh, there, there. That isn’t true. Lots of men will want you. Lots of them.”
But that was the thing. Payton didn’t want lots of men. She wanted one man. And he was marrying someone else upon the morrow.
So why did she still want him? How could she still want that no-good dockside dog?
Maybe because no matter what they said, no matter how much opportunity he might have had, no matter how much he and Becky Whitby might have been thrown together, Payton couldn’t bring herself to believe that Captain Connor Drake was capable of doing something so low, so base, as what Ross had accused him of doing. Get a poor orphan girl with child? Connor Drake? Impossible! Even if that orphan girl was in her mid-twenties, at least, and had hair the color of a gaslight flame, and a figure that caused men passing on the street to walk into lampposts. Connor Drake was not the sort of man who’d allow himself to take advantage of any woman. He wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t.
“He wouldn’t do something like that,” Payton had informed her sister-in-law, when she’d folded back the bedcovers and urged Payton to climb inside them. “It isn’t true.” She’d looked at her brother, who’d been dispatched to fetch her a soothing toddy, and had just returned with it. “Did he tell you it was true?”
Ross shook his head. He had not understood a single thing that had been going on since he’d come upstairs, and had decided long ago that he probably never would. “You mean did Drake tell me he’d gotten Becky Whitby full in the sail? Well, no, not in so many words. But, dammit, Pay, why else would he be marrying the wench?”
But Payton ignored the question. “He didn’t do it,” she insisted. “I know he didn’t do it.”
“All right, Payton.” Georgiana extinguished the flame on the candle by Payton’s bed. “All right. You drink this, and then go to sleep. You’ve had enough excitement for one night. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
Even through the closed door after they left, Payton had been able to hear her eldest brother asking bewilderedly, “Whatever’s gotten into Payton? I’ve never seen ’er get so fouled at the block before. Not even the time that damned pirate La Fond snuck on board and tried to slit Drake’s throat—”
“It’s your fault,” was Georgiana’s angry reply. “You and those brothers of yours. They encouraged her to drink more than was good for her, and you had to go and tell her about Drake. And after I told you, repeatedly, not to!”
“Humph. I don’t see why Payton should care a jot about Drake and Miss Whitby. Let him marry the little slut. He’ll soon regret not waiting until he’s found a perfect gem of a woman, like I did—”
There was the sound of a ladylike slap, followed by an urgent, “Don’t,” from Georgiana. “Ross, I mean it. Put me down. I’m extremely put out with you right now—”
“Do we have to go back to that damned party now?” Ross wanted to know. “I can think of something
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