Helena chuckled. “And undeniably bemused. I have never seen him like he is with you. Except,” she laughed again, “perhaps with his horses. We won’t see either him or Henri until this meet is over. They are like little boys and so puffed up when they win, it is almost comical. I warn you, over dinner this evening, they will rehash each race and argue vehemently. You must just ignore it.”
Was he bemused with her? Lara wondered. He was certainly a wonderful lover and a considerate companion, but he was charming to everyone, even the servants. “I am looking forward to seeing Marmont,” she murmured politely. “I love old country houses. I grew up in Derbyshire, on my father’s estate, and didn’t go to London until I married. My husband liked the bustle of the city and insisted we live there.”
“Then why did you choose Paris, Countess, after his death?”
Helena looked at her curiously.
It would hardly do to admit her uncle was deeply involved in the War Office and had approached her, knowing her lack of enthusiasm for London society once her mourning was over. Neither was he above using her beauty to aid England’s effort against Bonaparte.
“I needed something completely different, but not to be lonely.”
Lara shook her head. “When you are widowed, everyone assumes in your grief you should sit and mope over your loss. I obediently did so for a year. It was time for lights and color and new people.”
With perceptive insight, Madame Marmont said, “It sounds like your marriage was loveless, but it isn’t my business. I am happy for both you and Anton. He needs more than just another passing liaison
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whether he realizes it or not. You might be the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, but you are also bright. He is a lucky man.”
The compliment was a little unusual coming from another woman, and for a second, Lara was unsure what to say.
Amusement evident in those almond-shaped, light brown eyes, Helena said dryly, “I am told by Henri that I am outrageously outspoken. But, quite frankly, women also have eyes and the ability to appreciate beauty in any form. I have never seen skin so flawless or hair so luxuriantly dark and thick. Anyone can see why Anton is infatuated with you.”
“I…well, thank you, Madame.”
“Call me Helena.” The other woman reached over and took her hand, squeezing lightly. “I hope we can be good friends. I am sometimes bored to tears when my husband is with his horses and I know the
comte
is a very busy man. Henri tells me he intends to stay for a while, having his steward come up from Paris each week, so he can keep up with his affairs. Perhaps we could ride in the mornings.
The valley is lovely.”
“I would like that,” Lara said truthfully. Helena was right, Anton spent hours every day working in his small study, and at times she was a little lonely for company, though she did enjoy the luxury of being able to sit and read, and the peaceful setting was delightful.
“It is settled then…oh, look, I did not lie about his obsession, now did I? Here comes your lover, eschewing his horses for the moment.
You should be flattered.” Helena Marmomt laughed, her eyes bright.
“Especially since he is winning today…oh, dear, I suppose Henri will be in a frightful mood over his bay losing.”
Watching Anton climb through the stands to approach them, Lara felt her heart beat a little faster. Bareheaded, his dark hair gleaming in the sun, he smiled and nodded at acquaintances as he passed, but his gaze was focused on her.
What will we do tonight
, she wondered, feeling slightly flushed.
They had now been in the country three weeks. She had been his
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mistress for over five…and he had never failed to make each sexual encounter between them uniquely exciting in some way.
“Did you see Neptune?” He bowed before her and very publicly raised her hand to his lips. “He is going to be my next champion.”
Smiling over his enthusiasm, Lara nodded. “He’s magnificent.”
His gaze softened then, darkening in sensual appreciation. “So are you,” he said gallantly.
People all around them watched, but then she was well aware that wherever the Comte de Roussel went, he was noticed. Heaven knew she
noticed
him.
“My goodness,” Helena Marmont murmured emphatically, watching them, fanning herself, “it is warm today.”
“Yes,” Lara agreed, looking into Anton’s eyes, “it certainly is.”
Henri’s study was shrouded. The windows were open to the summer night, the cognac excellent. Dinner had been delicious, the company delightful, and after a long day at the races and the triumph of his horses, Anton felt expansive until his longtime friend murmured, “Things in Paris are very unsettled right now. It is just as well you brought Lady Edgerton here, out of the line of fire, so to speak.”
Straightening a fraction from his comfortable sprawl in a wellused chair, Anton tamped down on a ripple of alarm. “Why?”
“Cartel was arrested, plus two more. Lacroux is telling everyone they are talking, implicating her.”
Henri was more his father’s contemporary, twenty years his senior, and someone who well remembered the revolution. Yet, Anton always admired him and when his father had died, turned to him often enough for advice. “What will happen, do you think? Should I be taking steps?”
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“You took them, I believe, when you went to see Fouche and then whisked the lady away immediately.”
“I tried,” he admitted. “Damn Lacroux, this is more about an old vendetta between us than it is about Lara. It’s true, he approached her upon her arrival a year ago, but so did scores of men, most of whom now I would venture to say would leap to her defense, even though she refused them.” His smile was wry. “Including, of course, myself.”
Henri, gray-haired and dignified, lifted a brow. “Yet you prevailed, as usual.”
“She is exceptional.”
“Yes…she is. I like her,” Marmont declared in his thoughtful way.
“And despite her beauty, she seems remarkably unspoiled. I won’t ask if the rumor is true. If she was spying for her country, I don’t even wish to know it. I am just wondering what you will do with her now.”
Outside darkness had fallen, the stars twinkling above, the country air fresh and clean. “I don’t know,” Anton admitted finally. “I have considered offering marriage.” The words came out starkly, something he had never uttered before.
Marmont said gently, “But?”
“She was married before. There were no children.”
“Ahh, I see the problem. Tell me, what happened with Lacroux?”
In the garden behind the house, Anton suddenly heard a ripple of bright laughter, unmistakably Helena’s, and then an answering laugh, soft and musical. Lara was enjoying herself and it pleased him.
Abstractly, he said, “It was at least five years ago that I came upon him in the hallway at a weekend party at a country house, raping a young maid. I had not met him before that gathering other than to nod, but had never liked him for all that.
“When I heard her screaming and realized that she was resisting him, I pulled him away and hit him so hard, he lost consciousness.
That undoubtedly saved his life, for had he been able to fight back, I would have gladly killed him right then and there. As it was, he must have regained his senses while I was helping his unfortunate victim to
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her quarters below stairs, for he skulked away. Since the girl pleaded with me to not say anything to anyone, there was little I could do.”
Henri looked disgusted, shaking his head, reaching for the brandy.
“You should have castrated him as he lay senseless. Rape is a heinous crime based on violent anger, usually toward women in general. The man is an animal.”
“A dangerous animal. He wants Lara.” Anton narrowed his gaze.
“And you are correct. He hates her with a violent passion. You should see the unmitigated, lustful emotion in his eyes when he looks at her.
It frightens me because I cannot gauge how far he will go. I have heard some fairly disturbing rumors about him. This is an enemy that plays without rules.”
“Guard your love well, then,” Henri said soberly, his expression lightening when another burst of laughter drifted through the open window, he added dryly, “And not just from Lacroux. I am sure you noticed how Helena looks at her. She is already infatuated.”
In the past, Anton had always found the Marmont’s marriage amusing. Though they got along amiably and seemed good friends, he knew that Helena sought female lovers, preferring women to men, and that Henri never minded as long as she was discreet and ran his house efficiently.
“As much as I like Helena, I am not at all sure I want to share,” he stated quietly. “With another man, never, I’d kill him first, but with another woman…the concept is somehow entirely different.” He took a sip from his glass, enjoying the fine brandy.
“See, and you have always wondered why I allow it.” Henri chuckled. “You cannot tell me with your vast experience, Anton, you have never been in bed with two women before.”
“I have,” Anton acknowledged dryly, “more than that actually in my wild youth, but they all wanted serviced by me, not each other.”
“But when you were busy with one, did the others not play with each other?” At one time, Henri had been also considered a rakehell of the highest order, accepting casually the favors of many women.
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“And didn’t watching two lovely women in each other’s arms excite you? I have always found it stimulating. They are so soft and beautiful, and there is nothing of possession when they make love. A male penetrating a female is mating, an act that can result in procreation. But women in bed together is just simple pleasure.”
Curiously, Anton lifted a brow in amusement. “Are you trying to convince me, Henri, to allow your wife and Lara a romantic interlude?”
“I love Helena and want her to be happy. She has a healthy sexual appetite and likes what we do together, but women truly excite her.
What is the harm?”
“Well, for one thing, Lara, I believe, would take some convincing.
She is a passionate woman, but not experienced.”
“After over a month in your bed?” Henri laughed. “I think that would qualify as experienced for any woman.”
“I have no idea if she would find the notion intriguing or disgusting.”
“When Helena asks—and I know her well, she will approach you first since she respects our friendship—I guess you should be prepared to give her an answer. Once again, I cannot see the harm. If your lovely lady is passionate, as you say, she would enjoy it, I am sure. My wife is infinitely generous in bed. But don’t, be offended if she reserves her talents for the countess alone. In her own way, she is completely faithful to me.” Henri chuckled again.
The truth was, if he admitted it, the idea intrigued him. Helena was attractive, and the notion of her touching Lara’s beautiful body was arousing. Anton leaned back in his chair and swirled the brandy in his glass. “I might mention it, though I make no promises to Lara’s reaction. In the meantime, please, if you hear anything else about Paris or Lacroux, please contact me at once.”
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The morning was clear and pleasant, and where they walked their horses, the path wound around a small clearing full of summer flowers and long grass. Birds sang everywhere and Lara was reminded of her childhood near Matlock, when she had once upon a time dabbled her toes in the river and ran amuck in the fields near her home.
Her face tilted to the sun, she took in a deep breath. “It’s lovely here. The air is like pure, clean wine.”
Next to her on a small sorrel mare, dressed in a blue riding habit with her brown hair in a simple braid, Helena smiled charmingly.
“The weather couldn’t be more perfect, could it?”
“No.” Lara guided her own mount, an older bay, once one of Anton’s racers now kept for pleasure riding, around a small bush hanging into the path. The animal was bigger than any horse she had ever ridden before, but Anton had selected him for her, and true to his word, she had never been on a horse so well mannered. “I suppose it has to rain every once in a while, but I love days like this, all sunshine and blue sky.”
Helena gave her an oddly intent look, still smiling. “You are like me then, a creature of light and happiness. From the moment we met, I knew we would end up…intimate friends.”
It was nice to have female companionship. In the past year, Lara had kept to herself, except on a purely social basis, and even before that, once she passed childhood, many women treated her with envious spite.
Helena seemed to genuinely not resent her looks, but instead was complimentary and friendly. “I am glad you and Henri live so close,”
Lara said with warm sincerity. “Anton is wonderful, but he has many duties and no woman can expect a man to be at her side constantly.”
“Nor would she want him there.” Helena laughed her signature peal of genuine amusement. “I would kill Henri if he were with me all the time, though I am very fond of him. We don’t have the simmering
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passion that lies between you and your lover, my dear, but we get along famously in our own way.”
It was true. Lara had noticed during the race meet—and their dinner afterward at the Marmont estate—that Helena, a good two decades younger than her husband, treated him like a favorite aging uncle. “He is still very handsome,” Lara said truthfully. “Even with his hair completely silver, he is distinguished and attractive.”
“But nothing like your sinfully beautiful
comte
.” Helena sighed dramatically, a mischievous smile on her face. “I imagine the two of you in bed together is a glorious sight, him so bold and ardent, and you so very lovely and submissive.”
Thinking of their game the other night, Lara could not fight a blush. She was finding that Henri was right about his wife, she was outrageously outspoken and often said things that bordered on being scandalously personal. “Anton is ardent, that is true. I don’t suppose anyone who has heard of his reputation would think otherwise.”