My Lady Mischief Read Online Free Page B

adjustment to her hair, styled a la Caracella, a few long ringlets draped upon one shoulder. She'd come across a number of carefully preserved peacock feathers in her mama's trunks and had attached them to the wide ribbon that held her hairstyle in place.
    Selecting the delightfully low Mrs. Twining as a model had been a perverse inspiration, for her appearance was all that could be desired. "Do not despair, Meg. I know what I am about. When Lord Hartingfield learns my identity, the last thing he will wish for is marriage. Miss Mimms has assured me that gentlemen do not marry wantons."
    "What they do with 'em is what worries me, Miss Althea. That and losing my position."
    Although tempted to learn more about what gentlemen did with wantons, Thea realized she didn't have time for any discussion about the matter. She had a date with destiny. "Nonsense, Meg. Cheer up. I'm certain I've considered every possible thing that can go wrong and my plan is unassailable."
    *
    Thea peered into the drawing room and found, much to her relief, that it was empty. She wanted time to set an appropriate scene before meeting Lord Hartingfield. Feathers bouncing, she darted over to the fire in the massive grate, thankful for the warmth it provided in the chilly room. Her revealing attire did not give the same protection from drafts as her normal clothing. How fortunate her petticoats had not been dampened, for by now she would have been forced to return to her rooms for a wrap.
    She heard footsteps approaching and quickly took up a pose she hoped would be perceived as risque. It wouldn't do to have Lord Hartingfield find her shivering like a green girl, not if she wished him to believe her to be anything other than what she truly was—a miss barely out of the schoolroom.
    A man's silhouette was visible and she quickly looked away, feigning indifference. Her heart pounded in her chest and she hoped the sound was not audible to anyone other than herself.
    "Thea, how are you this evening, m'dear?"
    She had difficultly suppressing a nervous start, for the voice was her father's. Her plan had encompassed every eventuality but she'd forgotten one very important consideration. What would her father think of her immodest apparel? She cleared her throat. "I'm very well, Papa."
    He stepped into the light and his brow furrowed as he eyed her ensemble. She watched as the furrow turned into a look of disbelief and then a scowl. Biting her lip, she stood a bit straighter, hoping to somehow pass his inspection. Drat it all, why hadn't she considered what his reaction would be when he caught sight of her? Perhaps she could carry it off if she conducted herself as if nothing was untoward?
    "Althea Emogene Candler," the earl growled.
    With his use of her full name, Thea knew she would be lucky to get out of this predicament with her skin intact.
    "You will return to your room at once. I will have dinner sent up to you." He sputtered to a halt, apparently unable to find the proper words to express his disapproval. Thea sagged.

Chapter Three

    On the landing above the open doorway, Hartingfield carefully flicked a speck of lint from his waistcoat before slowly descending the center stairwell. The sound of voices drew him to the drawing room.
    The earl's voice rang out, "I do not know what ploy you had in mind, Thea, but it will not work. Be off with you."
    Hartingfield stepped in the doorway, taking stock of the situation, then spied Lord Steyne standing near the fire. As a young woman headed in his direction, he stepped back to allow her exit. When she passed, he recognized her—his parlormaid.
    Earlier she'd been dressed like a typical, although slovenly, servant. Now, however, her appearance had undergone a thorough transformation. She was attired in a manner that might only be politely described as garish. He was particularly struck by the seven glitter-encrusted peacock plumes dancing drunkenly about her head.
    Realizing she was about to escape, Hart scrambled