Read The Importance of Being Wicked for Free Online Page B

large purring feline on her lap and the company of her favorite person in all the world.
    â€œWhy did you name him Tish?” she asked.
    â€œWell,” Caro said, with the special look that presaged a story, often a tall one. “He appeared at the back door one day, just a tiny kitten. So hungry and piteous, though you wouldn’t think it to look at him now, the spoiled, lazy beast. I named her Letitia.”
    â€œHer?”
    â€œThe name turned out to be a mistake so he became Tish.”
    â€œI don’t believe you.”
    â€œI’m wounded.”
    â€œAdmit you invented the whole thing.” Anne reached over and tugged playfully at Caro’s curls, which she found fascinating, never having seen such a style in the depths of the country. “Admit you made it up!” The subject of the argument growled ominously.
    â€œNever!” Caro said. “Not even under the direst torture.”
    Anne could only laugh. Ever since she was a small child, Caro had been the source of fun and giggles, the likes of which she seldom encountered in the household of her loving but elderly grandfather. On her only-too-rare visits, Caro would tear into the grand mansion, running and laughing in the passages, teasing her uncle, Anne’s grandfather, who couldn’t resist her any more than Anne could. Not Anne, Annabella. Caro had pronounced Anne too dull a name for her darling cousin. When she was with Caro, she felt like Annabella, a beautiful, exotic creature instead of the plain, quiet, well-behaved heiress known as Anne Brotherton.
    Their guests had gone, though most would have stayed all night given the slightest encouragement. Except Castleton, who hadn’t even prolonged his call sufficiently to elicit an invitation to dine. The duke seemed very proper, exactly the kind of man she was used to.
    Caro edged along the sofa and took Anne’s hand, prompting the cat to stretch his claws into the delicate stuff of his mistress’s gown. “Stop it, Tish! He’s such a naughty boy,” she said. “What do you think of him?”
    Anne deduced that the question was addressed to her and “he” was not the cat. “I hardly know. We’d scarcely spoken before Denford and Oliver started baiting him. I suppose you put them up to it.”
    â€œThere was no need. Denford is naturally contrary, and Oliver is suffering agonies of passionate jealousy.”
    Anne began to giggle. No one, including her late fiancé, had ever subjected her to such overt and overblown worship. “I like Oliver. He’s sweet.”
    â€œWhich is precisely why he’s always in the throes of unrequited love. Poor dear! A gentle character combined with a complete lack of the means of support make him entirely resistible to women.”
    â€œDid he ever fall in love with you?”
    â€œFor about a week, after Robert discovered him and invited him to the house. He recovered quickly. He always does. Until two days ago, he was in love with Lady Windermere and then, voilà, you appeared, and poor Cynthia was forgotten.”
    â€œLady Windermere doesn’t seem upset.”
    Caro stopped laughing. “No, and I’m worried. Oliver was a nice safe flirt for her. Perfect for a lady not used to London wickedness. But Julian . . .”
    Neither was Anne used to London wickedness. She was a little shocked by this easy attitude to dalliance. “But she’s married. Surely her husband is alive.”
    â€œWindermere is very much alive, not that he’s had the decency to keep his wife informed. He has neglected her horribly, and it would serve him right if she gave him a pair of horns.” Caro stood up and strode around the room. Anne, who had never heard her sound so wrathful, knew what she meant by horns and couldn’t contain a little shocked gasp.
    â€œYou are such a country mouse, love,” Caro said. “You don’t know the depraved ways of