Page 8 of The Best Marquess

“Alas, I cannot today,” he said apologetically, as he wrote names and addresses for the novel gift on a sheet of paper. “I have to meet Pippa so we can discuss…er…”

“Your pretend betrothal,” said Abby, shaking her head. “Go on, then. I’ll give Nessie a kiss from you.”

“Thank you,” Finn replied, giving her a brief hug before returning to the mews.

Fortunately, he had a patient horse; his movements were clumsy as he prepared for his return to Hanover Square. Even the thought of this conversation made his stomach churn. Would a pretend betrothal and kissing lessons with Pippa be the start of something?

Or the end?

She felt completely out of sorts, and it was all one man’s fault.

At the sound of horse hooves in Hanover Square, Pippa once again glanced out the drawing room window. As usual, they continued past.

This ridiculous flutter in her stomach was quite unacceptable. Finn was her best friend. An unrepentant rake who snort-laughed, ate caramels at all hours of the day and night, only seemed to recall Latin phrases that involved bedding, and had turned messiness into an artform. For heaven’s sake, back in the schoolroom when Xavier had dipped one of her braids in ink and used it as a paintbrush, Finn had studiously dipped the other so she would have a matched set. And he’d turned her best slippers into boats complete with twig mast and handkerchief sail to race across large puddles!

Finlay Knighton was not her hero.

They were merely undertaking a mutually beneficial arrangement to resolve a significant issue in each of their lives, and once he arrived and they settled matters, everything would return to normal. Finn hadn’t growled like a wolf, and her hand most certainly hadn’t tingled when he’d rubbed her knuckles. That was just her mind misremembering; perfectly understandable in the heightened emotional circumstances surrounding her wretched grandmother’s marriage pronouncement.

Now, if the man would just hurry up, she could get back to her novel. In the latest chapter of Travails of a Lonely Pirate King, the pirate had rescued a highborn lady abducted by a Prussian prince, and taken her back to his ship. He’d kissed her. She’d slapped him. He’d kissed her again and the lady had surrendered with a throaty whimper, urging him on as he destroyed her stays with an expert twist of a dagger tip.

Pippa wrinkled her nose. It was hard to imagine a kiss that good, although she would forever be in favor of stay desecration. In the past few years, she’d permitted kisses to her hand and cheek, even a few furtive ones to the lips, and precisely none had provoked a throaty whimper. Not even a toe twitch let alone a toe curl. Kissing was probably why Finn hadn’t arrived yet; he was too busy embracing his way across London. No doubt he’d consigned a cartload of stays to the rag bag. Perhaps an entire barge load.

Gah. Why was he not in this drawing room? He’d said eleven, and the clock on the mantelpiece said three minutes past. Utterly unacceptable.

“Pippa Pearl. Make up your mind and either sit or stand. Watching you bob up and down like an empty bottle in the Thames is making me seasick, a distraction to the point where Gigi is fleecing me at vingt-un. How can you do that to your favorite twin?”

She turned her head to where her brother and sister were playing cards on the chaise, raised one haughty eyebrow at Xavier, and sat down in her chair. Then stood. “The claim that you are my favorite twin, Xavier Vaughan, is an extraordinarily tenuous one. As to your second complaint, I suggest you stop watching me and start noticing how the baby of the family cheats like a brigand.”

“I do not…” protested Georgiana, her lips twitching. “Much. Besides, I’m actually helping him. If he can beat me, perhaps he’ll come home with some guineas in his pocket rather than fresh air.”

“Excuse me?” said Xavier indignantly. “I win. All the time.”

Pippa snorted and smoothed a crease in her primrose-yellow gown. Damnation. This would never have happened if she’d worn the practical calico. Why had she chosen today to wear something new? “A collection of lacy handkerchiefs is not currency.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Ugh, don’t wiggle your eyebrows at me. It doesn’t work when Finn does it, and it won’t work for you either.”

“Come now, Pippet. Taking my name in vain is one thing, but slandering my eyebrows? Shocking behavior.”

Spinning on her heel, Pippa barely suppressed a shriek at the sight of Finn lounging in the drawing room doorway. He looked entirely too rakish in black trousers, brown jacket, and embroidered waistcoat; his longish hair curling slightly from the light rain in a way that made her fingers positively itch to smooth it. Had his shoulders always been this broad? His grin so cocky? More importantly, why was she even thinking such things? Finn already had a Regiment panting after him; no more were required. “I didn’t see you ride up!”

Finn sauntered into the room and winked. “Watching for me, were you?”

“Hardly,” she blustered, reaching for a slice of fruit cake on the tea tray, missing it, and rattling the bowl of sugar cubes instead.

Good grief. What on earth was wrong with her?

“Knighton,” said Xavier, with a friendly nod. “How is your father? Better, I hope.”

“Well enough, thank you, Northam. How are you faring? I see Little G is neatly divesting you of coins.”

“Only because I am letting her win…ow! No pinching, Gigi.”

Georgiana fluttered her lashes at Finn. “Would you like to play a few hands of vingt-un, Finlay? I’d enjoy some actual competition.”

“Tempting, but I’ll respectfully decline. You really do cheat like a brigand,” said Finn, sinking onto the chair next to Pippa and helping himself to an apple tart.