When He Was Wicked (Bridgertons #6)(23)

“You may call me anything you wish,” he said smoothly. It was strange. He’d finally grown used to being called Kilmartin, adapted to the way his title had overtaken his surname. But that had been in India, where no one had known him as plain Mr. Stirling, and perhaps more importantly, no one had known John as the earl. Hearing his title on Violet Bridgerton’s lips was a little unnerving, especially since she had, as was the custom for many mothers-in-law, habitually referred to John as her son.

But if she sensed any of his inner discomfort, she gave no indication. “If you are going to be so accommodating,” she said, “then I must be as well. Please do call me Violet. It’s well past time that you did.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” he said quickly. And he meant it. This was Lady Bridgerton. She was…Well, he didn’t know what she was, but she couldn’t possibly be Violet to him.

“I insist, Michael,” she said, “and I’m certain you’re already aware that I usually get my way.”

There was no way he was going to win the argument, so he just sighed and said, “I don’t know if I can kiss the hand of a Violet. It seems rather scandalously intimate, don’t you think?”

“Don’t you dare stop.”

“Tongues will wag,” he warned her.

“I believe my reputation can withstand it.”

“Ah, but can mine?”

She laughed. “You are a rascal.”

He leaned back in his chair. “It serves me well.”

“Would you care for tea?” She motioned to the delicate china pot on the desk across the room. “Mine has gone cold, but I would be happy to ring for more.”

“I’d love some,” he admitted.

“I suppose you’re spoiled for it now, after so many years in India,” she said, standing and crossing the room to ring the bellpull.

“It’s just not the same,” he said, quickly rising to his feet as well. “I can’t explain it, but nothing tastes quite like tea in England.”

“The quality of the water, do you think?”

He smiled stealthily. “The quality of the woman pouring.”

She laughed. “You, my lord, need a wife. Immediately.”

“Oh, really? And why is that?”

“Because in your present state, you are clearly a danger to unmarried women everywhere.”

He couldn’t resist one last flirtation. “I hope you are including yourself in those ranks, Violet.”

And then a voice from the door: “Are you flirting with my mother?”

It was Francesca, of course, impeccably turned out in a lavender morning dress adorned with a rather intricate stretch of Belgian lace. She looked as if she were very much trying to be stern with him.

And not entirely succeeding.

Michael allowed his lips to curve into a mysterious smile as he watched the two ladies take their seats. “I have traveled the world over, Francesca, and can say without qualification that there are few women with whom I’d rather flirt than your mother.”

“I am inviting you to supper right now,” Violet announced, “and I will not accept no for an answer.”

Michael chuckled. “I’d be honored.”

Across from him, Francesca murmured, “You are incorrigible.”



He just flashed her a lanky grin. This was good, he decided. The morning was proceeding exactly as he’d hoped, with he and Francesca falling into their old roles and habits. He was once again the reckless charmer and she was pretending to scold him, and all was as it had been back before John had died.

He’d been surprised last night. He hadn’t expected to see her. And he hadn’t been able to make sure that his public persona was firmly in place.

And it wasn’t as if it all was an act. He’d always been a bit reckless, and he probably was an irredeemable flirt. His mother certainly liked to say that he’d been charming the ladies since the age of four.

It was just that when he was with Francesca it was vitally important that that aspect of his personality remained at the forefront, so that she never suspected what lay underneath.

“What are your plans now that you are returned?” Violet asked.

Michael turned to her with what he knew had to be a blank expression. “I’m not certain, actually,” he said, ashamed to admit to himself that that was true. “I imagine it will take me some time to understand just what exactly is expected of me in my new role.”

“I’m sure Francesca can be of help in that quarter,” Violet said.

“Only if she wishes it,” Michael said quietly.

“Of course,” Francesca said, moving slightly to the side when a maid came in with a tea tray. “I will assist you in any way you need.”

“That was rather quick,” Michael murmured.

“I’m mad for tea,” Violet explained. “Drink it all day long. The maids keep water to near boiling on the stove at all times now.”



“Will you have some?” Francesca asked, since she had taken charge of pouring.

“Yes, thank you,” Michael replied.

“No one knows Kilmartin as Francesca does,” Violet said, with all the pride of a mother hen. “She will prove invaluable to you.”