No Good Duke Goes Unpunished (The Rules of Scoundrels #3)(48)

He could rectify this tragic wrong.

Except he couldn’t.

She looked up at him. “Can you believe it?”

He did not know what to say. So he said nothing.

“You can, I see.” She took a deep breath. “This is why I required your help from the beginning, Mr. Cross. I need you to show me how to do it.”

Yes.

He swallowed back the word. Surely he was misunderstanding. “How to do what?”

She sighed, frustrated. “How to attract him.”

“Whom?”

“Are you even listening? Castleton!” She turned away, heading for the nearest table, where a roulette wheel stood quiet in its thick oak seat. She spoke to the wheel. “I didn’t know that he should be attempting to seduce me now. Before our wedding. I didn’t know that was a part of it.”

“It’s not. He shouldn’t be doing any such thing.”

“Well, you’ve clearly never been engaged because it seems that this is precisely the kind of thing that happens between to-be-married couples. I thought I had two weeks. Apparently, I don’t.”

There was a roar in his ears that made it difficult to understand her, but when she turned to face him again, shoulders back, as though she were about to do battle, he knew he was done for. “My research must begin immediately.”

He was being punished. That was the only explanation.

“I need someone”—she paused, then reframed the statement—“I need you to teach me how to be normal.”

What a travesty that would be.

“Normal.”

“Yes. Normal.” She lifted her hands helplessly. “I realize now that my original request—for the experience of ruination?” she asked as though he might have somehow forgotten the request in question. As though he might ever forget it. He nodded, nonetheless. “Well, I realize now that it is not at all a strange request.”

“It’s not?”

She smiled. “No. Indeed. In fact, it seems that there are plenty of women in London who fully experience those things that I am interested in before their wedding night—including my sisters. That bit is between us, I hope?”

Finally, a question to which he knew the reply. “Of course.”

She was already moving on. “You see, I thought I would require a certain amount of knowledge on the night in question because Lord Castleton might not have the knowledge himself. But now, I realize . . . well . . . I require it because it’s ordinary.”

“It’s ordinary.”

She tilted her head and considered him curiously. “You do a great deal of repeating me, Mr. Cross.”

Because listening to her was like learning a second language. Arabic. Or Hindi.

She was still talking. “It’s ordinary. After all, if Olivia has it, and Lord Tottenham is quite the gentleman, well then, many must have it, don’t you think?”

“It.”

“Knowledge of the inner workings of the marital . . .” She hesitated. “Process.”

He took a long breath and let it out. “I’m still not certain why you need a prostitute to teach you such . . . workings.”

“It’s no different, really. I continue to require a research partner. Only, it seems now I require research on normalcy. I need to know how it is that ordinary females behave. I need help. Rather urgently. Since you refused, Miss Tasser will do.”

She was killing him. Slowly. Painfully.

“Sally Tasser is no ordinary female.”

“Well, I understand that she is a prostitute, but I assume she has all the required parts?”

He choked. “Yes.”

She hesitated, and something flashed across her face. Disappointment? “You’ve seen them?”

“No.” Truth.

“Hmm.” She did not seem to believe him. “You do not frequent prostitutes?”

“I do not.”

“I am not entirely certain that I support the profession.”

“No?” Thank God. He would not put it past Pippa to simply pronounce a newfound desire to explore all aspects of the world’s oldest profession.

“No.” She shook her head. “I am concerned that the ladies are ill-treated.”

“The ladies who frequent The Fallen Angel are not ill-treated.”

Her brows knit together. “How do you know?”

“Because they are under my protection.”

She froze. “They are?”

He was suddenly warm. “They are. We do all we can to ensure that they are well treated and well paid while under our roof. If they are manhandled, they call for one of the security detail. They file a complaint with me. And if I discover a member is mistreating ladies beneath this roof, his membership is revoked.”

She paused for a long moment, considering the words, and finally said, “I have a passion for horticulture.”

He wasn’t certain how plants had anything to do with prostitutes, but he knew better than to interrupt.

She continued, the words quick and forthright, as though they entirely made sense. “I’ve made a rather remarkable discovery recently,” she said, and his attention lingered on the breathlessness of the words. On the way her mouth curved in a small, private smile. She was proud of herself, and he found—even before she admitted her finding—that he was proud of her. Odd, that. “It is possible to take a piece of one rosebush and affix it to another. And when the process is completed properly . . . say, a white piece on a red bush . . . an entirely new rose grows . . .” She paused, and the rest of the words rushed out, as though she were almost afraid of them. “A pink one.”