Authors: Christina Dodd
“I am not without sense!” Huntington said. “I’m perfectly sensible.”
Caroline didn’t understand him. When she was alone with him, he behaved like a reasonable man. But as soon as they joined a greater company, he became the same absurd gentleman she’d first met. If he was playing a game, she didn’t understand the objective. And what other reason did he have for his behavior? She could think of no explanation.
“Yes, we see your sense now.” Monsieur Bouchard viewed Huntington with a half smile. “At your convenience, my lord, we’d like to meet with you. Talk with you.”
“Delighted!” Huntington lit up like Atherton’s chandelier. “Shall we say tomorrow at noon?”
“Very good.” Monsieur Bouchard clicked his heels when he bowed.
“And, Comte de Guignard, let me be clear. I live my life as I like,” Caroline said. “I do not need supervision.”
Comte de Guignard’s eyebrows rose almost to the widow’s peak in his hairline, but obviously he didn’t believe her. He was an old-world gentleman, and for him, women had no thought beyond frivolity.
Caroline could almost see his mind working, seeking to rescue her one more time. Resting her hand on her arm, she looked into his eyes. “Truly. I have no desire to dance.”
“A beautiful young lady must always dance,” Comte de Guignard said.
“On command, my dear comte?”
“Non.”
He acceded to her gentle irony.
“Non.”
“But I asked you.” Lord Routledge obviously couldn’t believe he could fail in any endeavor.
“And I thanked you.” He truly deserved a harder setdown, but she needed no more enemies than she already had. “Gentlemen, if you’ll pardon me, I wish to introduce Lord Huntington to the young ladies.” With alacrity, Caroline stepped away from their admiration. “My lord, shall we make a circuit of the ballroom?”
“Delightful!” Huntington said again and offered his arm. “That’s exactly what I wish to do.”
They strolled through the ballroom, speaking to Huntington’s acquaintances. Caroline was well aware how they looked together. A handsome couple, well matched, complementing each other in looks. Despite Nevett’s conviction, few believed she was only a friend of the family. So she steered them toward Lady Pheodora.
Lady Pheodora watched their advance with wary eyes, and Caroline wanted to snap that her notoriety wouldn’t rub off. Then she noticed the direction of Lady Pheodora’s gaze. She seemed to be apprehensive of…Huntington.
Huntington, who waved his handkerchief in huge circles to indicate Lady Pheodora’s form. “Lady Pheodora, you look ravishing tonight!”
That was good, and so true. The fashion for low necklines displayed Lady Pheodora’s fine shoulders and bosom to an advantage, and her ring of suitors was growing.
“I must protest you giving attention to these other fellows.” Huntington dismissed his competition with a white cotton flutter. “After all, I discovered you.”
Everything he said was exceptional, but his voice rang with a false French accent he had unexpectedly acquired. Heads turned. People stared, then tried not to stare.
“My lord, you’re too benevolent.” Lady Pheodora shrank back when Huntington stepped closer. “I do remember you kindly.”
Before she could react, he leaned very close and whispered in her ear. Then with a chuckle, he took Caroline’s elbow and steered her away.
“What did you say to her?” she asked.
“I told her to take Lord Cunningham. He’s the best of the lot around her, and he’s ready for domestication.”
Unwillingly Caroline laughed, then sobered. “My lord, you should be one of her suitors.”
“No. Lady Pheodora is definitely not my one true love.”
“True love, indeed.” Caroline sighed in frustration. “How will we know this paragon?”
“I’ll hear music.” He slanted a glance at her.
“There is music playing right now.”
“Then my true love is here.”
“Let’s find her,” Caroline said lightly. Yet he unsettled her in his words and manner.
He steered his way toward Miss Edwina Richardson, where he flirted lightly before taking Caroline to yet another young lady. He declared none of them were his own true love, but on her command he put away his handkerchief and spoke like a normal English gentleman.
While they were conversing with Lady Rutherford and Miss Jordan (who showed a regrettable tendency to giggle nervously) Nicolette stopped by. In a low voice, she said to Caroline, “From a distance, it looks as if my disgraceful son is behaving.”
“He is, and the mamas are allowing themselves to be convinced that he can be nabbed for their darlings.”
“Good.” Nicolette patted Caroline’s shoulder. “Good. So they’re starting to hope you’re not his affianced wife?”
“No!” People looked at her curiously, and she lowered her voice. “No. I mean…no.”
“I did hear the rumors that abounded.” Nicolette’s kind gray eyes sharpened on Caroline. “Yet I think the mamas have more to worry about than they might wish.”
Caroline felt the color leave her face. “Your Grace, I would never take advantage of my position to press my suit with Lord Huntington.” Yet that wasn’t strictly the truth. She had kissed him. Guilt twisted in the base of her stomach and left a bitter taste in her mouth.
“I didn’t suggest you had. But you’re not the only one involved, and Jude behaves for you. When a fully grown man does what a woman tells him, he has a reason.” As Nicolette walked away, she nodded as if imparting great wisdom. “Think about it.”
Caroline didn’t want to think about it. She wanted, she really wanted, to get Huntington married. She watched him with Miss Jordan, and he managed to put her enough at ease that she stopped giggling and started talking. When young Lady Claudia Leonard joined them, he teased her, and when she teased back, he laughed aloud. That made the heads turn. Caroline waved them over, and Huntington swiftly had his own group of admirers surrounding him.
Caroline relaxed. No, he hadn’t formed an attachment to her. Soon he would be married and…and she would be on her way to France with Genevieve. Everything was perfect.
Occasionally someone spoke to her; for the most part, they contented themselves with distant smiles and nods. The debutantes and their mamas didn’t want to endanger any marriages that might occur by appearing fast and consorting with a known fallen woman. She didn’t mind. She stood off to the side and watched Huntington handle the ladies, flirting with the mamas as well as the daughters. He signed dance cards, and she thought she detected a special gleam in his eye for at least three of the debutantes.
Just at the time she had grown weary of standing, when the sound of the music and other people’s conversations gave her a headache, Huntington said, “Excuse me, ladies, but I must find refreshments or perish.”
The girls giggled.
“I hope to see you later,” Lady Claudia said daringly.
“Bless you, child.” He kissed her forehead. “I hope to see you and everyone again soon. For a while, I lost myself in your company.” He offered Caroline his arm.
As he led her away, Caroline said, “I thought you liked Lady Claudia.”
“I do,” he said with some surprise. “She’s charming. Why? Did I give the appearance of disliking her?”
“No, but that kiss was positively paternal.”
“I’m old enough to be her father,” he said, a tart note of exasperation in his voice.
“Not likely.”
“No, but acquit me of lusting after little girls. She’s not yet eighteen.”
“So she’s not your one true love?” Caroline couldn’t believe she was asking that.
“No, but I think I have met the one. And do you know what I wish?” He looked down at her.
“What do you wish?” she asked indulgently.
“I wish I could kiss you right now.”
“Sh!” Startled, she looked up at him. She observed no trace of the fop, nor any sign of the swain who obediently followed her from girl to girl. Instead, she saw a tall man with a strong chin and blunt features who smiled at her as if
she
were his one true love.
“No one can hear me,” he assured her. “People are talking too much. The music is too loud.”
He spoke of their kisses. She tried never to think about those kisses, and now, there in the middle of a ballroom, he used his voice and his gaze to make her remember…remember how much she relished those stolen moments in his arms. Remember the sensuality of his touch. She understood his kisses, and she supposed that was the greatest thing about it—and him. When they kissed, she slipped into his mind, reading thought and intention, gaining joy at knowing another being so well.
And while Huntington was right and no one heard him, one man was watching from behind a pillar, and that man saw her blush.
Lord Freshfield was not pleased.
B
efore Caroline could subdue her blushes and remind herself she held the position of Jude’s governess, a footman found them. He presented Jude with a sealed note on a silver tray, and when Jude broke it open and scanned it, his eyes narrowed. He looked intent, mature, serious: not at all like the trivial Lord Huntington she knew.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“Something wrong?” His expression became anguished. “Indeed there is. My valet writes that he dropped black polish on my white boots.”
“Your valet interrupted your attendance at a ball to send you word of that?” Caroline was incredulous.
“It’s an outrage! Do you know how difficult it is to find a boot maker who has the imagination and creativity to make white boots? I had to pay twice as much as normal, and the boot maker was almost crying with joy as he created them, and now…they are ruined unless I can get them to the boot maker at once.” Placing his palm to his forehead, he moaned, “I must go.”
“No!” Caroline looked back at the clutch of debutantes he’d already met, then out at the young ladies scattered throughout the ballroom, all potential brides. “Not now. This is absurd. There are no boot makers open at this hour.”
“For me there are.”
She supposed that was true. When a man spent as much on fashion as Jude, the boot makers and tailors were always open. “But you’ve promised dances to those ladies—”
“And I will dance with each one at my wedding. In the meantime, they would comprehend the severity of my situation.”
“You’re making a fool of yourself.”
“I promise”—he took her hand—“I’ll dance with you at my wedding, too.”
“You’re abominable.” She yanked her hand away. “I’ll be lucky if Nevett doesn’t throw me out tomorrow. Stay!”
“I
must
go.”
Right then, she hated Jude. She hated that he’d reverted to his old self. She hated that she’d built hopes on his charming behavior that night and made plans for the money she would make from his wedding. Most of all, she hated that his defection relieved her, for that meant she had him to herself for a little while longer. With a spite increased by shame, she said, “Then go. I don’t care. Just…go.”
“I’ll escort you to my stepmother’s side.” Taking her arm, he tried to move her toward the corner where Nicolette sat with her friends.
“I don’t need you to take me anywhere.” With chilly precision, Caroline removed her arm from his grasp.
He hesitated, glanced around, then nodded. “All right. If there’s trouble here, it’s hiding its face well. Go to Mum’s side and remain there for the rest of the evening.”
“Do you think I’ll meekly do as you command?” For all that Caroline kept her voice modulated, she was in a rage.
A rage. She was angry. Ladies were never angry.
She
was never angry. Yet she wanted to shout at him, to strike him, for thwarting her so. And…for being as big a fool as he looked.
His eyes turned cool and sharp as steel. “I think you’d be a fool not to do as I command, and you’re no fool.” With a bow, off he went.
The swine was right, she reflected morosely. She would do as she was told. She’d go to the duchess’s side and stick close. The night had been remarkable by its lack of drama. She intended to keep it that way. And on that thought, she realized she stood alone in the ballroom. Her friends were matrons, dancing with their husbands or visiting with the other wives about children, schools, servants, and household accounts. The debutantes had drifted away on whispers and giggles. Her suitors had gone on to more receptive maidens.
A chill slid up her spine. She was only too aware how precarious was her acceptance in society. It depended more on the company she kept than on her behavior, and at once she started toward the corner where she’d last seen Nicolette.
Of course people got in her way. They were talking, laughing, drinking. It was a ball, the kind of celebration that four years ago she’d loved so much to attend. Suddenly it seemed fraught with peril. Four years ago, someone was always with her—men who loved her, friends who enjoyed her, a chaperon…who betrayed her. Her uneasiness increased at the remembrance, and more than that, it seemed as if people were now aware of her disquiet and moving away. But her imagination was acting up…wasn’t it?
No. For Lady Freshfield stepped into her path.
For one moment, Caroline was back in Lord Freshfield’s study, a terrified, drugged young lady helpless under the onslaught of condemnation.
Now beads of sweat sprang out on Caroline’s forehead. This woman had slapped her and marked her as a wanton.
Yet the past four years had changed Lady Freshfield. She was thinner, more worn, and the skin beneath her chin had assumed the shape of swagged drapes. Her huge skirt should have looked like the height of fashion; instead it overwhelmed her, shrank her to the dimensions of a decorated stick. Unhappily her eyes were exactly the same: brilliant blue, lit with flames of loathing directed at Caroline. Only at Caroline. “Miss Ritter, I couldn’t believe it when my husband told me you were here tonight.”
Caroline’s gaze flicked behind Lady Freshfield.
And there he was, golden hair gleaming in the light of the candles, white teeth glistening with his derisive smile. Lord Freshfield. He had done this, waited for the moment when Caroline was alone and set his wife on her.
“How do you dare show your face in polite society?” Lady Freshfield’s shrill voice sent a chill up Caroline’s spine. “Do you imagine that anyone has forgotten what you did, luring my husband into his study and—”
“Being drugged by him?” Caroline didn’t fidget. She looked Lady Freshfield in the face. “You know it’s true. He attacked me.”
“Even now you lie about that night—and to me, his wife.”
So many people were staring. All those eyes, shocked and accusatory, just like last time.
“You went into his study on purpose. You knew what he wanted.”
Caroline swallowed. That was the crux of the matter, the thing she could never explain away. She
had
willingly gone into his study. “I didn’t understand what he wanted. I was a foolish girl. But you know—doesn’t it repulse you that your husband seduces innocents?”
Caroline’s courage seemed to take Lady Freshfield aback, and she chose her words carefully. “He’s a man with a man’s appetites, and when a pretty girl entices him he gives into temptation.” Then fiercely, she returned to the attack. “But he’s mine,
mine
by law and by vow, and you tried to take him.”
The people around them were muttering.
Caroline stepped back from Lady Freshfield’s barrage. This was so much like last time. So much like her nightmares.
Lady Freshfield followed, breathing hard, and her breath felt like fire and smelled like brimstone. “Get out of here. Go back to the streets or wherever you’ve been living.”
“I haven’t been living on the streets.” But it had been close, so close, and Caroline backed up another step.
“We’re decent women here, and we don’t associate with the likes of you.”
This was hell. Caroline had fallen into hell. She looked around at the encircling guests.
Eyes were wide. They stared in shock. They accused. They remembered. And everywhere she looked, she saw agreement.
And lingering in the background, the shining white teeth and glorious blond hair of Lord Freshfield. He was waiting for her. Waiting to catch her on her last fall from grace.
Turning on her heel, Caroline walked toward the door of the ballroom. A path cleared before her. She heard someone call her name, but she didn’t care. She wanted out. Out, away from the stuffy atmosphere where cruelty to innocents was acceptable as long as it was entertaining. Out where the villains carried visible weapons and could be disarmed. She strode through the foyer where earlier she’d stood in the receiving line with the duke and duchess. She walked toward the outer door.
The footmen ran when they saw her, and somehow before she reached the door, she had her cloak in her hand. She didn’t don it; she was overheated. Hell had a way of causing that. “Open the door,” she said.
One liveried young man sprang to attention and obeyed her.
She walked out.
She heard the footman calling, “Miss, let me get your carriage.”
But the air was fresh and cool against her hot cheeks. She took long breaths as she walked steadily down the drive. The coachmen all turned to look at her. They tipped their hats. One asked, “Can I ’elp ye, Miss?”
“No. Thank you.” Unlike every other lady in the ballroom, Caroline wasn’t afraid of the streets and the night. She knew how to hail her own cab, and when she got to the thoroughfare, she did exactly that.
As she climbed in, the driver asked, “Where ye going, Miss?”
Where was she going?
She wanted to wash away the memory of her encounter with Lady Freshfield. She wanted to forget the mortification at having her sins recounted for the debutantes and the gentlemen. More than anything, she wanted to forget her own ignominious retreat.
And she wanted to make Jude pay for abandoning her.
With a smart nod to the driver, she said, “Take me to Lord Huntington’s town house on Fitzroy Square.”
By morning, she would know what led a perfectly intelligent lady to abandon morals and prudence and take a lover to her bed. Caroline would be what everyone already thought she was—a woman of experience. And after she had settled her sister in France…perhaps she would become a courtesan. Not a mistress with no power, but a woman of experience with her own salon, where learned men and women would discuss politics, science and discovery, and after the lights went out, the gentlemen would beg to stay. After all, she had learned to flirt so skillfully, all the men in London had declared her to be a diamond of the first water. Under the proper tutelage, and Jude would provide the proper tutelage, she could learn to drive men mad with desire. It was—it had to be—a matter of skill coupled with the opportunity to learn. Being with Jude would provide the opportunity.
Despite the advanced hour, Huntington’s butler was still in uniform when he answered the door.
Caroline tugged her hood close about her face. “I want to see Lord Huntington.”
Not a muscle stirred in the man’s face. “Is he expecting you, Miss?”
“Yes, of course he is. Why else would I be here?” She took care to keep her tone reasonable, but firm. She would not be turned away. Not tonight. Not for any reason.
Apparently other ladies with dalliance on their mind visited Jude at all hours, for the butler bowed her inside. Without inquiring her name or business, he took her to a comfortable sitting room. “He isn’t in right now—”
Of course. The boot maker’s.
“—But you can wait here. Is there something I can get you, Miss?”
“No, thank you,” she said. Then, “Yes! I’d like a glass of wine.” Almost immediately, she held a glass of wine, ruby red and fragrant. She sipped it and smiled.
She couldn’t believe she was here. She couldn’t believe she was going to do this. She loved the idea of being in control of her destiny.
Not as she had been tonight in that ballroom, driven out by the shrill spite of a bitter woman. Caroline clutched the glass as she remembered, and the surface of the wine shivered with her distress.
Jude made her feel as if she were strong and brave. She, who had spent the last years living in fear. Fear of poverty, fear of starvation, fear of the dark, fear of losing her sister, fear of Lord Freshfield. But when Jude held her in his arms, she became a new woman, one who feared nothing. Everything in him challenged her, and she found herself rising to the challenge.
That was why she’d come here. Not because he’d abandoned her, and she wanted revenge. She needed to learn his indifference to criticism. She wanted an infusion of his unwavering spirit.
The wine slipped over her tongue, and she cast her mind forward. She loved the thought of being a hostess everyone clamored to meet, and she loved that she had taken the initiative and come to Jude to learn the necessary skills…to experience love one time. Just once, before intercourse became a matter of bargain and trade.
Odd, but standing here looking at Jude’s possessions didn’t cause her second thoughts. His belongings were masculine, dark, warm, and chosen with sophistication. So his taste in clothing didn’t envelop his furnishings…she was doing the right thing.
She and Jude had kissed repeatedly. Each time she’d found herself more aroused by the passion that bloomed between them, and she had taken him by storm every time. She would bend him to her will this time, too.
The butler didn’t return. Clearly, he thought she was one of Huntington’s light o’ loves, and he saw no reason to treat her with undue respect. All right. Then she saw no reason to stay where he put her.
She walked out into the foyer and with a regal nod at the startled footman, she climbed the stairs. Without difficulty, she located Jude’s bedchamber and entered with all the brazen confidence of the courtesan she intended to be.
And she met Jude’s valet.
The two of them stared, each astonished to see the other. But tonight, Caroline had changed. Or perhaps it hadn’t been tonight; perhaps her life of the past years had been working its changes on her. Perhaps tonight all the changes had all caught up with her.
“I’m waiting for Lord Huntington, and I wish to do so here,” she said with composure. “Is he out with his boots?”
“Miss?” The valet cocked his head as if he didn’t understand the question.
“His boots,” she repeated. “You dropped black polish on his white boots. Has he taken them to the boot maker?”
“Miss, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” His features chilled, and ice dripped from his voice.
So he didn’t want to admit what he’d done. “Very well. May I suggest you seek your bed, and I’ll care for Lord Huntington’s toilette?”
The small, dapper man backed out of the room and shut the door. If his unflappable demeanor meant anything, it was that women regularly strolled into Jude’s bedchamber and made such requests.
Well. Why not? Huntington was handsome, wealthy, and very much the man. He’d proved that in Nevett’s lesser drawing room and the zoo that was really the garden. When she remembered his kisses, his mouth on her breast, her body softened, and any doubts—not that she had any—melted away.