think.”
“I see! That explains a good deal.”
“It explains why I am not an actress,” she confessed. “I daresay I would be otherwise, perfectly respectable of course, like Mama. Not that being an actress, respectable or not, could change the likelihood of my committing the most dreadful faux pas .”
“Not dreadful,” said Miles. “Not last night at least, though I can’t speak for the future. I’ve been to more than one formal dinner given by a fashionable newly-wed bride who has made just the same mistake. No one would have thought twice about it if you had not been surrounded by people hoping you’d do something wrong.”
While they talked, Sir Barnabas was concentrating on a delicate manoeuvre. The spider’s gossamer thread was so flimsy, he had no difficulty swinging it aside till the creature hung above Nerissa’s shoulder.
Alarmed, the spider dropped the last few inches. It sat on the greenish-brown woollen cloth for a moment, planning its next move. Sir Barnabas’s cold, once-bony finger poked it towards Nerissa’s neck.
As its eight feet scampered onto her bare skin, Nerissa clapped her hand to her neck. Too late. Urged on by Sir Barnabas, it had already dived for cover down the high but loose front of her bodice.
“Something went down my dress,” she cried, clutching her bosom.
And that bosom now claimed all Miles’s attention, just as the late baronet had intended.
“A leaf?”
“Something with legs.” Twitching, Nerissa pulled at the neckline of gown and tried to peer down it. “It’s scuttling about.”
“I’ll help you get it out,” Miles offered, a gleam in his eye.
She played the outraged maiden well, too. “Certainly not,” she snapped. “Please go over to the stile and make sure no one comes. And keep your back turned. And hurry.”
Grinning he obeyed. Led by the reins, his mount followed, tossing its head as it passed Nerissa.
The moment Miles’s back was towards her, Nerissa turned her back on him, untied the bow at her neck, and pulled down the front of her dress. Her chemise was cut lower. As she held it away from her body and squinted down it, Sir Barnabas saw the white globes of two small but softly rounded breasts.
“I can’t find it,” she wailed.
“Do, pray, permit me to be of assistance, ma’am,” said Miles, the formality of his words belied by his laughing voice.
“No!”
“Then might I suggest that if you cannot find it from above, you try to shake it downwards, to the ground.”
“Oh yes, I will,” Nerissa said gratefully. She loosened the ribbon at the high waist of her gown.
Sir Barnabas watched every gyration of her slim body. There was no harm in it, for after all he was her grandfather, and dead, besides. He just wanted to see how far his shameless granddaughter would dare to disrobe in the open air.
She twisted and jiggled and jumped up and down. Perhaps she was an opera dancer rather than an actress? The gelding caught sight of her and rolled its eyes nervously. What a pity Miles, in a most unexpectedly well-behaved manner, was observing her orders rather than her undulating quivers.
Nerissa stopped and stood still with an intent expression. “I can’t feel the horrid thing moving now. I do believe it’s gone.”
“Congratulations. Shall I....”
“Keep your back turned!” She retied the ribbons, straightened her bodice, smoothed her skirts. “There, I’m decent. Oh, bother, my plait has come undone. I knew I should have pinned it up.”
About her shoulders flowed a rippling cape of light brown hair, touched with shimmers of pure gold by the rising sun. Miles’s eyes widened in admiration.
Self-conscious, she gathered it back from her face with both hands. As she raised her arms, her breasts pressed against the fabric of her gown and Miles’s admiring gaze slipped down from the cloud of sunlit hair.
On the whole, Sir Barnabas was satisfied with the effects of his spider ploy.
Nerissa let her hair drop. “I
“I see! That explains a good deal.”
“It explains why I am not an actress,” she confessed. “I daresay I would be otherwise, perfectly respectable of course, like Mama. Not that being an actress, respectable or not, could change the likelihood of my committing the most dreadful faux pas .”
“Not dreadful,” said Miles. “Not last night at least, though I can’t speak for the future. I’ve been to more than one formal dinner given by a fashionable newly-wed bride who has made just the same mistake. No one would have thought twice about it if you had not been surrounded by people hoping you’d do something wrong.”
While they talked, Sir Barnabas was concentrating on a delicate manoeuvre. The spider’s gossamer thread was so flimsy, he had no difficulty swinging it aside till the creature hung above Nerissa’s shoulder.
Alarmed, the spider dropped the last few inches. It sat on the greenish-brown woollen cloth for a moment, planning its next move. Sir Barnabas’s cold, once-bony finger poked it towards Nerissa’s neck.
As its eight feet scampered onto her bare skin, Nerissa clapped her hand to her neck. Too late. Urged on by Sir Barnabas, it had already dived for cover down the high but loose front of her bodice.
“Something went down my dress,” she cried, clutching her bosom.
And that bosom now claimed all Miles’s attention, just as the late baronet had intended.
“A leaf?”
“Something with legs.” Twitching, Nerissa pulled at the neckline of gown and tried to peer down it. “It’s scuttling about.”
“I’ll help you get it out,” Miles offered, a gleam in his eye.
She played the outraged maiden well, too. “Certainly not,” she snapped. “Please go over to the stile and make sure no one comes. And keep your back turned. And hurry.”
Grinning he obeyed. Led by the reins, his mount followed, tossing its head as it passed Nerissa.
The moment Miles’s back was towards her, Nerissa turned her back on him, untied the bow at her neck, and pulled down the front of her dress. Her chemise was cut lower. As she held it away from her body and squinted down it, Sir Barnabas saw the white globes of two small but softly rounded breasts.
“I can’t find it,” she wailed.
“Do, pray, permit me to be of assistance, ma’am,” said Miles, the formality of his words belied by his laughing voice.
“No!”
“Then might I suggest that if you cannot find it from above, you try to shake it downwards, to the ground.”
“Oh yes, I will,” Nerissa said gratefully. She loosened the ribbon at the high waist of her gown.
Sir Barnabas watched every gyration of her slim body. There was no harm in it, for after all he was her grandfather, and dead, besides. He just wanted to see how far his shameless granddaughter would dare to disrobe in the open air.
She twisted and jiggled and jumped up and down. Perhaps she was an opera dancer rather than an actress? The gelding caught sight of her and rolled its eyes nervously. What a pity Miles, in a most unexpectedly well-behaved manner, was observing her orders rather than her undulating quivers.
Nerissa stopped and stood still with an intent expression. “I can’t feel the horrid thing moving now. I do believe it’s gone.”
“Congratulations. Shall I....”
“Keep your back turned!” She retied the ribbons, straightened her bodice, smoothed her skirts. “There, I’m decent. Oh, bother, my plait has come undone. I knew I should have pinned it up.”
About her shoulders flowed a rippling cape of light brown hair, touched with shimmers of pure gold by the rising sun. Miles’s eyes widened in admiration.
Self-conscious, she gathered it back from her face with both hands. As she raised her arms, her breasts pressed against the fabric of her gown and Miles’s admiring gaze slipped down from the cloud of sunlit hair.
On the whole, Sir Barnabas was satisfied with the effects of his spider ploy.
Nerissa let her hair drop. “I
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