Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right by Kieran Kramer Page B

sure you were serious.”
    She sucked in a breath. “You mean, you and your colleagues don’t disrobe and run around the gallery three times?”
    “No. But congratulations. You passed the test.”
    “My goodness.” Her hand froze on her sleeve. “You were lying.” She let her hand drop to her side. “You’re no gentleman.”
    “Perhaps I’m not.” He pulled a cheroot out of his pocket and lit it. As usual, it was a fine distraction and he only wished he had some brandy to go with it. “But it was only a game. Nothing worth naming seconds over.”
    He puffed on the cheroot once, removed it, and let the smoke curl upward into the night.
    “Game?” She flicked a wary glance at his breeches. “For whom? You or me? Being called an Impossible Bachelor shouldn’t grant you leave to have boorish manners. Has no other female called you on them? I’m here to work with you—as your colleague. Not to be treated like one of your … your women.”
    “Yes, well, I am sorry.” He couldn’t believe it, but even though the cheroot was a fine one, he couldn’t stave off a vague feeling of shame. He ground the smoky thing under his boot, then sprawled out on the stone floor of the gallery. “Sit.” He patted the stones beside him. “We’ll waste no more time on petty quarrels.”
    Deuce take it, he wished he could perform his sensual Indian maneuver on her, the one that calmed the angriest of females, but she wasn’t naked, and that was a requirement for it to work properly.
    “I won’t sit.” She arched a brow. “Not until you receive a comeuppance. Flimsy apologies won’t do.”
    He heaved a sigh. “Come now. I already said I was sorry.”
    He tried to ignore the fact that her bodice was still unlaced, but he also didn’t want to tell her. Glancing at it was like taking a sip from a hot buttered rum on a freezing cold day.
    She pursed her lips. “Stay where you are, Drummond. I know the perfect punishment for a smug rogue like you.”
    “Is that so?” He couldn’t resist a small chuckle.
    Her.
    Punishing him.
    Ha .
    “Remember,” she ordered him. “Don’t move.” With slow fingers, she loosened her laces even further.
    He lurched forward. “Wait a minute.” He could really use that brandy now. His mouth was perfectly dry. “What’s going on here?”
    She sent him a well-satisfied look, then turned her back—and, much to his shock, shimmied out of the top of her gown and stays.
    She looked at him over her bare shoulder. “I’m not one of your jaded mistresses, nor am I a silly debutante. I’m a Spinster. You’d do well to remember.”
    He was mesmerized by her flirtatious stance, her hands on her hips, and by the sight of the smooth plane of her back tapering to a tiny waist. He could only imagine what her breasts looked like. She was beautiful and strong—and he wanted her.
    Badly.
    “This is certainly an exquisite sort of punishment,” he murmured. He was unsettled by her, to say the least, and not only by her curvaceous form.
    “Well, it’s over,” she said lightly. And with quick, sure movements, she pulled her gown and stays back up, laced herself in, and turned back around, delivering him one last disapproving look. “Now, if you’d like to continue a discussion between equals, we may proceed.”
    And with a flounce, she sat down next to him.
    He studied her, more intrigued than he’d been in ages. He’d never met a female like her. “I’m supposed to be able to recover from that?” He gave a small laugh of disbelief. “Seeing a proper young lady reveal herself in almost half her naked glory?”
    She shrugged, adjusting her bodice. “You’ll have to.” She tried to maintain a severe expression, but then the corner of her mouth quirked up.
    He grabbed her wrist. “I deserved every bit of that torture.” He was pleased to see she allowed herself a small grin. “Just don’t make me go through it again, will you? Or maybe you should. But from the other side.”
    She