Total pages in book: 207
Estimated words: 196971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 985(@200wpm)___ 788(@250wpm)___ 657(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 985(@200wpm)___ 788(@250wpm)___ 657(@300wpm)
Needs must when the devil drives, the viscountess thought, and this couldn't be any truer in the demon-run kingdom of Chalys.
Eleanor reached for the little silver bell on her desk, and after a few musical rattles, her steward entered her office and bowed in greeting.
"I have a task for you," she told him briefly. "You will be richly rewarded for your subsequent discretion alone and will be given an added bonus once the task is completed." She paused to give her steward time to digest this and then added warningly, "If word of it happens to fall on the wrong ears, however, you shall be facing the Marquis of Sangre's wrath."
Mr. Whyte carefully considered the matter. "It depends on the reward, milady." The amount the viscountess named had his eyes widening. "For that amount, I would be inclined to sell my soul," the steward admitted.
"Then you'll be pleased to know the task is not at all onerous," Eleanor commented. "All you must do is ensure that any correspondence addressed to one of our students, Lady Rhapsody Norwood, is first coursed through my office. There must be no exception, Mr. Whyte. Not even a single receipt from her dressmaker or even a pamphlet of the newest perfume to hit town. Nothing must slip through the cracks, or it will be both our heads on the block."
Chapter Nine
Tuesday lessons began with Art, and this semester had all students running yards of cotton through sewing machines. The goal was to make their own shift, and albeit a fairly simple task, it still had Peyton and Emily sniping at each other like cats and dogs.
"Oh, she has quite the nerve," Peyton fumed over lunch afterwards. "That excuse about her mother still being sick is getting old. She is making those stories up, and I can prove it."
Rhapsody lowered her soup spoon at this. "How so?"
"Her mother is a seamstress, correct?"
"Yes."
"Then why was she acting like she had never used a sewing machine before?" Peyton asked triumphantly. "She didn't even know what a spool pin was! She thought it truly was a pin, can you imagine?"
Rhapsody's forehead creased as she considered her friend's words. "Maybe they only sew everything by hand..."
Peyton stubbornly shook her head. "And that, too! Have you seen the state of her hands? They are not a working girl's hands! I am always right about these things, you know that. She's lying for some reason," the other girl muttered, "and sooner or later I shall find exactly what it is she's hiding."
Peyton's words continued to dwell in Rhapsody's mind as she made her way to her next class. If Peyton were right, and Emily was not a seamstress' daughter, then what could be worse than being poor?
Perhaps...she was a nobleman's by-blow?
If that were the case, Lady Eleanor would never have accepted her as a student, and it might also be why Emily could be rather prickly and quick-tempered at times. It was her way of discouraging people from asking too many questions, just to remain qualified as a student.
Mayhaps she could take the initiative and befriend Emily, Rhapsody mused. Both her Social Graces professor and therapist did say that she had to occasionally push herself to her emotional limits, so as not to fall back on old habits.
Satisfied with her plans, Rhapsody switched her attention back to her next class. It was finally her turn to attend a one-day lecture of Earthly Obligations and Pleasures, and as with the previous sessions, today's guest lecturer would be another surprise.
The classroom was nearly full when she entered, and as she quickly made her way to the last row of seats, she felt a palpable wave of excitement sweep over the class. Everyone was giggling and whispering to each other, and she could've sworn that she heard the marquis' title being mentioned.
How curious.
Rhapsody took her seat, and upon lifting her head, it was then she saw the marquis himself, green eyes bright with devilish amusement. He was today's guest professor...and he had not even told her?
How wickedly deceptive!
"Good afternoon, ladies."
He spoke in his usual precise fashion, but the sensual drawl of his voice lent the words an almost sinful intimacy that had the girls gasping and looking as if they were seconds away from swooning. The reaction of the class was altogether expected, but strangely enough, it didn't sit well with her at all.
How odd, Rhapsody thought, and even odder was how her discomfort turned into disgruntlement when the other girls continued to ogle him. Her Master was only discussing the outline of his lecture, but oh, the way they were looking at him, it was as if they were undressing him with their eyes!
A funny, little sting stabbed her heart as she watched the marquis stride towards the chalkboard. He looked rather exquisitely dashing today, almost improperly so, with nary a coat or cravat to limit a woman's appreciative view of his imposing physique. His fine lawn shirt, pristine white and unbuttoned a couple of inches down, stretched tautly across the massive breadth of his shoulders and revealed a flawless V-shaped expanse of his bronzed chest, while his breeches, black and tight-fitting, emphasized the muscular length of his legs.