Mary Jo Putney (15 page)

Diana glanced up, catching the black gaze intent on her face. "How did you know this was my first visit, my lord?"

"I attend often," he said, directing his attention to the corridor ahead. After another dozen paces he mused, without looking at her, "You are quite the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I would surely have remembered you."

"You do me too much honor, Monsieur le Comte."

They reached the end of the corridor, where it curved around the outer edge of the building. No one else was in sight. Remembering Madeline's warning about being alone with a man, Diana felt a touch of uneasiness. Though the Frenchman was attractive, something about him disturbed her. She turned, anxious to go back to other people, but Veseul blocked her retreat, effectively trapping her in a corner.

"Stay a moment,
ma fleur,"
he said softly, his dark eyes examining her in intimate detail. "I have a small matter of business to discuss with you."

His broad, black-clad bulk seemed enormous as he loomed over her, and Diana suppressed a faint tremor, telling herself not to be childish. Veseul was being perfectly polite. Besides, he was hardly likely to attack her in such a public place. Though if he did, the music and conversation were so loud in the opera house that a scream might go unheard...

Concealing her unease, she smiled coolly. "I am listening, my lord. Do you have a proposition for me?" After a mere twenty-four hours as a courtesan, she had already received several such offers and could feign nonchalance.

Sliding his hand to the middle of his ebony cane, he raised the stick and, with the delicate grace of a cat playing with a mouse, caressed her face with the gold knob. The warmth of his hand was still in the metal, and the intrusive intimacy of it revolted her. She tried to withdraw from the cane, but her back was already against the wall. As she stood rigid with distaste, Veseul drew the gold knob across her cheek, tracing the line of her jaw, then ran it across her throat with just enough pressure to suggest what it would be like to have her breathing stopped.

"If you wish to win my approval, stop doing that," she snapped. Ignoring her words, he stroked the cane across the creamy skin exposed by her low-cut gown before pressing it hard into her breast. The knob was skillfully wrought into the head of a serpent, its polished shine almost matching the golden silk of her dress. Diana gasped and shrank back, feeling more assaulted and soiled than if Veseul were mauling her with his hands. Grabbing the cane with both hands, she pushed at it with all her strength, but his wrist was as unyielding as iron.

The count's eyes followed the path of the gold serpent as it traced a circle around her left nipple, but at her angry gesture they flickered up to meet hers. Without withdrawing the cane, he murmured, "I really must have you. What is your price?"

Revolted and furious, Diana snapped, "Accustom yourself to disappointment—it is too late for any business between us. I do not give myself to mannerless men." She stepped sideways and tried to walk around him, but the cane shot out, hitting the wall with a sharp crack and blocking her with a breast-high barrier.

His sibilant voice heavy with menace, he said, "I have not given you leave to depart."

Diana lifted her chin and glared at him. "I am not subject to your wishes or desires, nor ever will be. Let me pass."

He smiled then, a lazy smile all the more chilling for its genuine amusement. "If you dislike me so much, you would be wiser to yield to me immediately. When I was introduced to you, an hour of your company would have sufficed. After just this little interchange, I will want a full night to have enough of you."

Lifting the cane away from the wall, Veseul pressed it above her heart. Diana sucked in her breath, trying to pull as far away from him as possible as he drew the golden serpent down across her belly, then pushed it into the juncture of her thighs in a quick, obscene gesture. The wall was cold against her bare shoulders and she clenched her hands against their trembling.

His musical French accent was quite lovely as he continued, "The longer you withstand me, the more I will want of you. It is quite simple. Come with me now. In the morning you will be the richer, and I will have satisfied my desires."

Diana's breath came in shallow gasps. She was insane to put herself in a position where she must endure this, and a fool for not having one of the knives she had learned to use so well. Madeline's warnings had not seemed quite real to her, but now, for the first time, Diana could imagine doing violence to another human being. The thought of slashing Veseul's complacent, evil face was less unbearable than the idea of submitting to him.

She struggled to sound calm and unafraid, but there was a tremor in her voice as she whispered, "
No!
Not tonight, not ever. I will never give myself to a man I despise."

He laughed lightly, the cane holding her to the wall like a pinned butterfly, his black eyes mesmerizing. "Your wishes have nothing to do with the matter. I promise that I will have you. And the more you despise me, the sweeter it will be."

Diana drew her breath in for a scream, but before she could make a sound, he dropped the cane and stepped back. Calmly he executed a graceful bow. "Many thanks for your company,
ma fleur.
I look forward to our next meeting."

As Diana darted away and fled down the corridor, the Frenchman watched her with a faint smile of satisfaction. He was glad she'd resisted him; the more she prolonged the waiting, the more exquisite his ultimate satisfaction.

She really was extraordinarily beautiful, with her Madonna face and perfect, sensual body. He looked forward to savoring every silken, resisting inch of her.

Chapter 6

Strolling couples were emerging from the boxes for the interval. Diana slowed her flight, struggling to regain her composure as she mingled with the laughing, flirting crowd. Was her fear a wild overreaction to what had happened? After all, Count de Veseul had merely propositioned a courtesan and touched her with his cane. Was that so very dreadful?

She rejected her doubts. A sense of horror lingered from the encounter, and she had learned more about perverse desires in the last ten minutes than in all Madeline's lessons.

She stopped outside the box for a moment, her hand pressed against her solar plexus as she tried to master her nausea. Even now, knowing that she was placing herself in a position where her worst nightmares might become reality, she could not turn back from what she had begun. The intuition that ruled her life insisted that her only hope for a complete, happy life lay in London, pursuing the life of a fallen woman.

Diana's admirers greeted her enthusiastically when she entered the box. With an effort she smiled, trying to appear as if nothing had happened. These men appeared so simple and wholesome compared to the dark depravity of the French count. Clinton gazed at her with his sweet, puppyish adoration and Ridgley shyly asked if he could get her anything to drink.

Before Diana could answer, Madeline's clear voice said, "Diana, my dear, would you mind terribly if we left now? I have a bit of the headache."

Madeline looked perfectly healthy, but her shrewd eye must have seen Diana's distress. Diana willingly seized the excuse to leave. Their admirers escorted the women downstairs and kept them company while the carriage was called.

On the ride home, Diana haltingly described what Veseul had done, her voice breaking entirely when she described the horrible violation of his cane. Madeline held her until the trembling ended and Diana could finish, sketching out the rest of the incident in sparse, painful words.

Craving reassurance, Diana ended by saying, "I'm being childish, aren't I, to be so frightened?"

But Madeline's response was grave. "I'm sorry this happened to you so soon, my dear. Six months from now, you would have been better prepared for such outrageous behavior." She tightened her arm around Diana protectively. "As I've said, sex can arouse dark and dangerous emotions. Veseul sounds like the kind of evil man who is every courtesan's nightmare."

"Despite his threatening words, Veseul may forget your existence quickly.
 
It will help if you avoid public places where he can see you and be tantalized." With a touch of acid, she added, "Demireps go to the opera for admiration and new customers, so there's no need to advertise yourself further if you've set your heart on St. Aubyn."

"I'm not sure yet if I will accept St. Aubyn," Diana said wearily. "At the moment, retiring to a convent looks appealing."

Shrugging with a rustle of fine cashmere, Madeline replied, "While I wouldn't advocate a convent, it's not too late to change your mind about becoming a Cyprian."

Taking Diana's silence as encouragement, Madeline continued with growing enthusiasm, "Returning to the moors is not the only choice, you know. We can take a house in a provincial city where no one will ever know of your flirtation with infamy. We can find Geoffrey another school as good as Mr. Hardy's. You can make friends, become part of a society that is less grand, but perhaps more honest. Even I might pass as respectable."

"No, Maddy," Diana said, gently breaking into her friend's planning. "I will continue what I am doing, at least for a while. Veseul is despicable, but he is only one man and I should be able to avoid him easily enough. All the other men I've met have been most kind, not frightening like him." She stopped a moment, then added with a note of surprise, "Do you know, I rather enjoy being admired."

Madeline laughed. "It is pleasant, so long as one doesn't take it too seriously."

"Never fear," Diana said dryly. "I've heard too many sermons on vanity and how physical beauty is inevitably doomed by the passage of time to let my head be turned."

Madeline smiled in the dark of the carriage. Perhaps that comment explained Diana's remarkable lack of conceit. If the girl had always been admired and made much of, she might not have become such an unassuming and generous person.

Madeline had had her share of both admiration and vanity, and knew very well that she lacked Diana's essential sweetness. But while she would never be mistaken for a saint, she could protect her protégée from the wickedness of men like Veseul.

* * *

Though Diana's state of mind improved after a night's rest, she was less than enthusiastic about her proposed expedition with Lord St. Aubyn. But since she wanted to discover what manner of man lay behind that stern, controlled mask, spending a day with him should be very instructive.

When he called precisely at ten o'clock, Diana was waiting in the salon with Madeline, and she thought that the viscount looked singularly grim for a man embarking on a day of pleasure. She was disconcerted, but reminded herself that on the previous day he had become more relaxed and less forbidding as time passed. If he had done that once, he could do it again.

She stood and offered her warmest smile, and his cool gray eyes softened as he bowed over her hand. Good; his lordship was willing to be pleased, although perhaps it was the fit of her riding habit and not her smile that affected him.

"You are very punctual," she said. With a gesture of her hand, she added, "I don't believe you met my friend Miss Gainford the other evening. Madeline, Lord St. Aubyn."

The viscount and Madeline eyed each other rather warily but exchanged polite greetings. Since St. Aubyn might be underfoot in the future, it seemed advisable that they become acquainted. Perhaps if Madeline approved of him more, she would drop her regular pleas for Diana to retreat to respectability.

Outside, the viscount helped Diana mount Phaedra, then asked as he stood by her stirrup, "Are you suffering ill effects from yesterday's ride, Mrs. Lindsay?"

Diana glanced down with a rueful smile. "Some unmentionable parts of my anatomy are reminding me of how long it had been since I last sat on a horse."

The taut planes of his face relaxed a little, and his gray eyes twinkled. "I'm not surprised to hear that. After I'd been five months on a ship, I noticed the same thing myself."

The twinkle became more wicked as he gravely added, "If you think that massage might help any of your unmentionable parts, I will be delighted to offer what assistance I can."

With equal gravity Diana murmured, "A noble and generous offer, my lord, but I prefer to struggle bravely on unaided."