The Courtesan's Secret (14 page)

Louisa was not supposed to know such things, but again, having Lord Melverley for a father made all sorts of knowledge almost impossible to avoid. It was equally true that Louisa Kirkland had no intention or inclination to avoid any knowledge of any kind. A point which may, upon reflection, have indicated a very strong resemblance to her father.

It was with the greatest relief and profound satisfaction that Louisa prided herself on rarely wasting time in reflection of any sort. Action was the order of this day and any day.

She was just turning to Lord Iveston to make her excuses when Lord Dutton entered the room. She knew he entered the room, the exact instant in which he entered, by the complete and immediate absence of blood in her veins and breath in her lungs. Dutton did that to a girl.

She absolutely adored that about him.

Truth be told, and why not be truthful about it? She
was
going to marry him, after all. She adored everything about him. His smoldering gaze, sardonic grin, lean form, leonine walk; the sum total of his being called to her, and while she was completely certain that his charms called to every woman of his acquaintance, she was the woman who was going to capture him.

Of that she had no doubt whatsoever.

Mr. Grey and Mrs. Warren reached their group and were introduced properly, which Louisa barely noticed as she was too busy studying the beautiful line of Dutton's leg and the perfection of his tailoring. As she was trying to think of a dignified way to exit her current clique and make her way to Dutton, he spied her and almost immediately made his way to her.

Her heart skipped a beat.

"Try not to faint, will you?" Blakesley said.

"Don't be absurd," she whispered, throwing out her bust and hoping that the candlelight would cast the most flattering shadows upon her rather ordinary bosom. "I never faint."

"You'll do something if you keep straining your bosom like that," he said, and none too quietly either.

"Be still!" she hissed, though she did relax a bit and allow her bosom to fall a little closer to its natural position. At least Mrs. War-ren's bosoms were no larger than hers.

"Why is it that women think men are only interested in the heft of a woman's bodice?" Blakesley murmured almost directly into her ear. She did hope he wasn't spoiling her perfect curl.

"You
are
being contrary tonight," she whispered back, hiding her mouth behind her fan. It would not do at all if Dutton thought she felt anything beyond the most tepid friendship with Henry Blakesley; the field was clear and she was determined that Dutton know it. "Of course men are positively
consumed
by the exact dimensions of a woman's bodice. What else does a man want, if not that?"

"Oh," he drawled just before he made his bow to Mrs. Warren, "a sweet disposition?"

She had never heard anything more absurd in her life. Louisa just barely managed to paste a pleasant look upon her face by the time Dutton reached them. She certainly hadn't bothered to produce any sort of pleasing look for George Grey or Anne Warren.

It was patently obvious, at least to
her
, that men, as defined by George Grey, Indian, did not require any sort of pleasing countenance whatsoever. He had been staring boldly at her and did not look at all displeased by what he saw.

Which was entirely appropriate. She looked, at the risk of sounding immodest, spectacular. Her dress was perfection and her hair, well, her curls tonight were arranged to give just the sort of demure innocence that was the apex of fashion and tasteful seduction.

If Blakesley didn't breathe the whole, careful arrangement into disaster, that is.

He was just the sort of man to ruin a girl's hair for the sport of it. The look in his blue eyes as she glanced at him over her fan confirmed it. Blakesley looked ready for fun, and that was dangerous to everyone around him.

Normally, she enjoyed that sort of evening with Blakesley, but not tonight, not when Dutton was so close and she had Sophia's counsel ringing in her ears. Tonight... tonight anything was possible.

"You have need of me, Sophia?" George asked of Lady Dalby, but his eyes never left Louisa's face.

She was becoming so accustomed to his blatant fascination with her that she failed to blush, which was such a relief. Louisa took a deep breath in satisfaction and held it, lifting her bust to a lovely advantage.

Blakesley snorted softly in amusement.

"Yes, George," Sophia said, "we are engaged in a wager and have need of an arbiter."

"A wager?" Anne Warren said, her pretty mouth smiling softly. Louisa didn't happen to like Anne Warren, but even she could see that the woman had a pretty mouth. It unfortunately was not her only good feature. Mrs. Warren was possessed of a flawless complexion of the creamiest white, lustrous hazel green eyes, and glossy red hair.

A thoroughly dislikeable woman.

"What are the terms?" Mrs. Warren said, intruding herself into a
private
wager without any invitation whatsoever. That said everything which would ever need to be said about her general character and the blatant lack of delicacy in her deportment.

It was particularly satisfying as Mrs. Warren had made such a mess of it in front of Dutton. Of course, he didn't seem to grasp the situation at all. Dutton, oddly enough, was looking at Anne Warren with a blatant lack of delicacy, as much as she hated to admit it. But admit it she did. One did not go about seducing Lord Dutton into a proper courtship without the necessity of admitting certain things. Namely, that Dutton was a bit of a rogue.

Which was completely charming on him, certainly.

"Ah, another participant," Calbourne said. "There is nothing so interesting as having lovely women involved in wagers. It leads to such interesting results."

"Do not listen to him, Mrs. Warren," Lord Iveston said. "It is a completely innocent wager with completely reasonable terms. The loser must drink a glass of liquor without taking a breath. Simplicity itself."

"Simplicity itself," Mrs. Warren said, "unless the glass be the size of a demijohn and the liquor be rude gin."

"The lady has wagered before," Calbourne said with a smile. Amelia wilted even further, her bust sinking almost with every breath. "She is wary."

"Mrs. Warren lives with Lady Dalby," Louisa said. "Perhaps she has been tutored to be wary."

She had spoken impulsively, more to steal Dutton's attention away from Mrs. Warren, and his attention had most definitely been on Mrs. Warren. Why, he scarce had been able to look at anyone else since joining their small party within the greater confines of the blue reception room at Hyde House. Impulsive, yes, and perhaps a tad cruel.

Oh, very well, cruel indeed, but what was a young woman to do when the man she adored was standing before her and did not so much as glance her way? What attention Anne Warren had not garnered, Sophia Dalby had. She and Amelia might have been made of bronze for all the attention they were receiving. Hard times called for hard measures.

Yes, and a bit of cruelty as well.

Sophia Dalby saved her, and knew she did, too, which made it all the more horrible.

Into the slightly shocked silence her observation had merited, Sophia turned her dark and liquid gaze upon Louisa and said, "How clever you are, Lady Louisa, and how very true your words. Mrs. Warren has indeed been under the careful guidance of my tutelage. And an apt pupil she is. I daresay the proof of it, aside from her spectacular marriage to Lord Staverton in a fortnight, is that she is most careful to get all the terms of a particular understanding well defined before plunging."

Which, of course, was a direct and cutting remark aimed precisely at Louisa. Any fool could see that.

"Have you entered into some arrangement with Lady Dalby?" Blakesley said in an undertone, trying to edge her away from the group. As the group contained Lord Dutton, Louisa held her ground and would not allow herself to be moved.

"Hardly," she muttered behind her fan. She was going to have to insist that Blakesley stop speaking to her as she could not possibly conduct an adequate seduction of Lord Dutton from behind her fan. She happened to know that her mouth was one of her better features and her teeth were practically a miracle of nature. Small help it would be to her if Dutton were sheltered from their impact.

"But something," Blakesley insisted, his hand going to her elbow.

She shifted her elbow, lifting her hand to touch the back of her neck. She had a lovely neck, too; though perhaps not as slender as Anne Warren's, it was certainly as white.

"Nothing to speak of," she hissed.

"Speak of it anyway," Blakesley snarled softly.

He seemed to care nothing for propriety, or the position of her hand on her neck; Lord Henry Blakesley stepped on the back of her skirt so that she could not move. By some strange concert of movement, Lord Iveston turned his body and shifted his weight from one foot to the other so that in a matter of seconds, she and Blakesley were separated from the wagering clique. The clique that contained
Lord Dutton
.

"What are you about?" she said, turning to face him as far as his big foot on her hem would allow.

"I'm asking that of you, Lady Louisa," he said. "Kindly answer."

The group shifted yet again and now there were three people between them, a barrier comprised of Lord Hartley, his unattractive and unsurprisingly unmarried daughter, and his third wife, Millicent or Margaret or some such thing.

Blast.

"Isn't there a wager we should be a part of?" she said, turning so that she could almost face him. He still stood on her hem. If she twisted much more she would rip a seam.

"There is a wager we
are
a part of," he said, stepping back, releasing her hem. She almost lost her balance, but he still had hold of her elbow so she didn't tip even the slightest degree. Small thanks for that. "I must speak with you, Louisa."

"You
are
speaking with me, Lord Henry," she said, trying to move through the crowd to the tallest man in the room, the tallest man in any room: the Duke of Calbourne. They were all still gathered. She could just make out Anne Warren's red hair and the welcome gleam of Amelia's blond hair. That Indian, George Grey, who should have been effortless to spot, didn't seem to be a part of their number any longer. He was likely stealing the silver.

"Kindly listen to me," Blakesley said. "I am trying to get your pearls back for you."

That got her attention.

"How?" she said, turning to face him.

She didn't often look at Henry Blakesley directly as his gaze was rather too clear-sighted and incisive for comfort. She also rarely, if ever, stood as close to him as she did now because of the very particular discomfort such proximity always engendered in her.

No, one did not go to Blakesley for comfort. One went to him for amusement of a most jaded and cynical variety. He was not looking very cynical at the moment and amusement was the farthest thing from her mind. She wanted her pearls back, that was certain, and if she could reacquire them through Blakesley rather than through a questionable alliance with Sophia Dalby, well, things couldn't have looked more encouraging.

"Did you say we were part of a wager?" she said a moment later. "A wager involving you and I? What possible wager could have us as its heart? Did
you
make this wager, Blakesley? Because if you did, it was not at all in good taste. I should not at all like being part of any man's ill-conceived wager. Is it on the book at White's? I should certainly hope you have enough decency to not bandy my name about in a gentleman's club."

Though it was true that Sophia's daughter had got her name on the betting book at White's and it hadn't appeared to hurt her in the least. She had even heard a rumor to the effect that Sophia had insisted that that particular bet had been the making of Caroline. Preposterous, obviously, yet Caroline
had
made a stellar match...

"Shut it, can you?" Blakesley snapped, escorting her none too gently toward the rear of the reception room and a small door very tastefully concealed in the paneling.

Well.

"If you could force yourself to be quiet and ignore the fact that Dutton is in the vicinity, I believe you'd be interested in what I have to tell you."

No, one did not go to Blakesley for comfort.

They were at the complete rear of the room, and a quiet spot it was, when he finally stopped hauling her about like a load of wool.

"I'm listening," she said, not able to resist the urge to cross her arms over her chest in exasperation.

"I can see that," he said wryly. "You are very fond of striking that pose when listening to something that you anticipate will annoy you completely."

She uncrossed her arms as casually as possible and checked her curl. It felt distinctly droopy. Of course it did.

"Is that better, Lord Henry? I would so hate to strike a pose which offends you."

"Yes, pleasing me has always been your highest priority."

"Is that the wager? That I arrange myself in a manner which pleases you? Pray, who would ever be found to arbitrate that?"

Blakesley's lips turned up in the most cynical of smiles; really, it could hardly be called smiling, what he did with his mouth. Snarling was the truth of it. Civilized snarling. Blakesley was many things, but he was always and eternally civilized.

"We require no arbiter, do we, Louisa? Things stand as they have ever done."

What the devil did that mean? Of course things stood between them as they ever had done. What else? Of all the tumult of her life, of all the trouble with her father and with snaring Dutton, she found her time with Blakesley to be the most welcome respite of every day.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Lord Henry. Is this to do with the wager you mentioned? Is that what you've been doing all day? Making wagers with my name upon them?"

He smiled again, a soft smile that nevertheless had a sharkish look to it. Blakesley was not himself at all tonight, which was most inconvenient as she had hoped for at least some assistance with Dutton.