The Courtesan's Secret (18 page)

That Anne could suggest no such thing to her was also, sadly, obvious.

Ah, well, she would do what she could, staying within the bounds of strict propriety as she properly ought. When a woman had a mother such as she had endured, she lived forever within the bounds of propriety or risked immediate censure and expulsion. She had lived after having been expelled. She had crawled her way back in, in large part by Sophia's efforts, and she was not going to risk being tossed back out.

She felt sorry for Amelia, but not so much so that she would risk her own survival.

It was a truth Sophia knew well, as did Anne, because it was a truth they had lived and survived to remain silent about. One did not discuss life on the outer wall of Society because it was simply too dismal to revisit, even in memory. That was another truth they shared, albeit silently.

Anne looked across the small space that separated her from Sophia, who was currently laughing about something with Dutton, who looked as compelling as he ever did, miserable or not, and watched her. Sophia, black haired and ivory skinned, her black eyes shining like polished onyx, was more mother to her than her own mother had been. She owed her a debt of love and gratitude that she paid daily and gladly. Not that Sophia expected anything of her, but the depth of understanding and devotion they shared for each other was precious to her.

If Sophia Dalby had asked Anne to walk through fire, Anne would have certainly tried to do so, which is exactly why Sophia had not told her to marry Staverton. No, she had let Anne make her own mind up about that, and then affirmed her when she had.

It was the right choice. Caroline, Sophia's headstrong, protected daughter and Anne's dear friend, could not see it. Caroline had lived well loved within the bounds of Society all her life. No, she could not see the wisdom, the pure gift, of marrying dear Staverton.

Staverton, charming and sweet, was her salvation.

Anne turned her gaze back to Amelia Caversham. From the slightly haunted look in Amelia's eyes, it looked like she needed some salvation of her own and it was not going to come from either Calbourne or Iveston. Anne was not at all accustomed to behaving in any way that could be deemed heroic, but she was determined all of a sudden to play the hero, in whatever small measure she might, with Amelia. The poor girl looked quite ready to burst into tears.

And the men looked not at all disposed to care.

Men, like the brutes they were on the worst of occasions, had to be managed most carefully, at least according to Sophia. Anne had seen nothing to dissuade her from that observation.

"Then do we agree?" Anne said, compelling the men to look at her. "Is it not the ladies who should henceforth be indulged?"

"I am in complete agreement, Mrs. Warren," Iveston said. "In what fashion would you prefer your indulgence? Wine? Food?"

"A canceling of your debts?" Calbourne said slyly.

The Duke of Calbourne was most captivating when he was acting sly, and she was entirely certain he knew it. Impossible, irrepressible man; it was quite apparent by his behavior that he had been married once before. He was entirely too comfortable around women. Although the same could be said about her, she supposed; having been married, she was quite comfortable with men and their odd little jests and random moods. They often behaved like rather large children and responded best when dealt with firmly and not unkindly. They could not help their limitations, after all, and should not be faulted for them.

"I won the wager over that particular word, your grace, if you remember," Anne said. "Mr. Grey was quite certain that there was no such word."

"As
intersex
," Calbourne said, smiling slyly down at her.

He was rather like one of those imps one read about in chil-dren's stories, the smiling monster who laughingly drags one off into a wood. Calbourne was not going to drag her off anywhere.

"Exactly," Anne said primly. "It is not a word, and I won the wager. It is not I who shall have to drink enough to make me light-headed."

"Pity," Calbourne said, grinning down at her. How did he manage to look so impish when he was roughly the size of an ox?

"But as to how we should like to be indulged," Anne said, forcefully pulling Amelia into the conversation. Amelia looked willing to be pulled, but ignorant as to the procedure.

Virgins.

Well, one worked with what one had.

"Do you have any thoughts, Lady Amelia? I say it is past time for our whims to be indulged, don't you agree?"

"I do," Amelia managed, her voice as soft as white velvet.

Men, as a rule, did not particularly care for white velvet: too difficult to manage.

"In the ways of indulgence," Iveston said, almost completely avoiding looking at poor Amelia, "as I said, there is food, drink—"

"And the other, intensely popular, widely regarded form of indulgence," Calbourne interrupted.

Yes, well, she knew quite well where Calbourne's mind was headed and she thought it entirely horrible of him to try and haul the conversation and their delicate female minds there with him.

Imp.

"Male interests," Anne pronounced, cutting off Calbourne and not one bit apologetic about it. She had to protect Amelia, didn't she? And she was not going to risk anything inflammatory being said about her to worry Staverton. He deserved at least that much from her. "Male interests to the last. Men may indulge in food and drink, but a woman has different, more delicate, interests. Does she not, Lady Amelia?"

Really, on the subject of dragging things, she could hardly do more to drag Amelia into an only slightly scandalous conversation with two eligible men. The girl, virgin or not, could at least
try
to appear interesting.

"I should say so," Amelia said, her voice rising just a bit. White velvet was left behind for pink damask. Well, it was an improvement.

"Did you have a particular indulgence in mind, Lady Amelia?" Iveston asked most cordially. Anne sent him an approving smile. Calbourne chuckled, which was not at all surprising, considering the man.

"Ruined," Lady Jordan muttered into her cup of punch.

The lady, Amelia's aunt and chaperone, after all, had a point. It really was too, too fast a conversation to be... indulging in. Anne swallowed a smile at the thought and was rewarded with the sound of Calbourne's snicker.

Wasn't it only imps and small children who snickered?

Absolutely. Calbourne had made her point for her.

"Is it not an indulgence to be the singular point of interest for two very pleasing men?" Anne said, looking entirely at Iveston. She was certain Calbourne would take the point. And he did, to judge by his chuckle. "Shall we not call that our particular whim, Lady Amelia?"

"We could," Amelia said, her blue eyes showing the barest beginnings of a flicker of lively amusement. It was most charming and she looked wonderfully beguiling for the first time that evening. "We probably shall, but shall we not ask for our whim to be perhaps more...calculated?"

"A calculated whim?" Calbourne said. "Does that not defy logic?"

"Only a man's logic," Anne said quickly, "which we hold not to have the smallest value in this present circumstance."

"This is turning quite deadly," Iveston said. "Shall I not draw my sword, which would be highly inconvenient as it is stored in a trunk on the third floor in a poorly placed closet? But I must defend myself against such an accusation. Calbourne, naturally, must defend himself. Defending myself will be quite as far as obligation shall take me."

"Gallantry in action," Calbourne muttered good-naturedly.

"That I must defend myself on my birthday must surely be seen as gallantry enough."

"Why must men ever and always resort to force?" Anne said to Amelia.

"Perhaps because they lack the sense to do otherwise?" Amelia responded immediately, her voice a very pleasing shade of hearty plum-colored wool.

At which point, and for one delicious moment, the men were stricken speechless.

Well done, Amelia!

And for the first time that evening, Amelia Caversham had the full attention of two very marriageable men with the exact qualifications she seemed to want in a marriageable man. It was a moment worth behaving the hero for and Anne smiled fully, enjoying every second of her own, lesser, triumph.

It did not escape her notice that Lord Dutton, his conversation with Sophia edging to a close, had heard the last bit of her somewhat saucy exchange with the lords Calbourne and Iveston and was staring at her with what could only be described as shock.

Anne smiled fully and did not so much as lift her fan to hide it.

How remarkable that, in doing a good turn for Amelia Caver-sham, she had managed to deliver a dagger thrust to Dutton.

Wasn't life lovely that way?

NATURALLY, being a normal woman with perfectly normal goals, Louisa had dreamed of having the devoted and exclusive attention of a small gathering of men.

Oh, very well, in her dreams, which were rather more frequent than was charitable, she had captured no less than six gentlemen in her web of beauty and wit and they had fallen like so many autumn leaves in the wake of her charm. She now had three men, for Mr. Grey could hardly be deemed a gentleman, avidly clustered about her, demanding her exclusive attention and becoming quite churlish with each other as they did so.

It was not at all a pleasant situation.

In fact, she was coming dangerously close to losing her temper, something which she absolutely must not do. But really, did Blakesley have to be so sarcastically churlish? Did Penrith have to be so unrepentantly seductive? Did Mr. Grey have to be so dangerously savage?

Having to deal with Dutton's casual dismissal of her would have been a pleasure at the moment. As things stood, she had not a mo-ment's rest to give to thoughts of Dutton.

"And are you finding your stay in London pleasant?" Louisa asked Mr. Grey. She found that keeping him talking was far preferable to having him stand and stare at her in what could only be described as carnal hunger.

Oh, yes, she had read certain sections, the interesting ones, of that author, Fielding. She knew all about carnal hunger, at least as it was described in books. George Grey was, at this very moment, displaying the exact characteristics of one of the main characters in Fielding's most salacious novel. It was more attractive in a novel. In person, it was positively frightening.

"I was finding it interesting. As of this afternoon, it became fascinating," Mr. Grey answered, staring hungrily into her eyes. Most disturbing. She felt almost sick to her stomach.

"Is this your first visit?" she said, raising her chin and quelling her queasiness.

"No, not my first and not my last," he answered.

He had the most disturbing habit of speaking in abrupt phrases. It made conversation so difficult. That, and the look in his dark brown eyes. At least he was sparing her his dimple. His dimple was extremely difficult to ignore.

"And when will be your last visit?" Blakesley said, looking rather rudely at Mr. Grey.

"When I have what I want," Mr. Grey answered, looking not at all offended. In fact, Mr. Grey looked almost amused.

Mr. Grey was a very unusual man, that much was certain. Or perhaps he was normal for an American; she could hardly judge as she didn't know any actual Americans that she was aware of. Unless one counted Sophia Dalby as an American since she had to be half American by any reckoning, American Indian at that. Although, perhaps being an Indian was significantly different than being an American.

Something else she had given no thought to whatsoever in her life to date.

Leave it to Sophia Dalby and her annoying relatives to complicate what should have been a very pleasant evening.

"And what is it you want?" Blakesley said, holding Mr. Grey's gaze like a clenched fist.

"What every man wants. A woman."

Upon which, Mr. Grey turned his gaze away from Blakesley's and stared directly at her.

Oh, dear.

When
would
dinner be served?

"You've come to the right town if you're looking for a wife," Penrith said, his smile plainly showing his amusement.

Yes, well, he could afford to be amused; he was not a
woman
.

"Yes," Blakesley said, looking at her with a half smile, "there's not an unmarried woman in Town for the Season who is not eager to be wed. Even to an American. But aren't there women enough in America?"

"There are women enough everywhere. The right woman is not so easy to find. I thought," Mr. Grey said, staring down at her, practically ignoring both Penrith and Blakesley.

It was, dare she say it, almost flattering. He did seem quite spellbound by her. It was completely beyond her usual experience of men and, now that she seemed to be growing accustomed to it, it was not unpleasant.

In fact, she rather thought she liked it.

Oh, dear.

"I agree with you completely, Mr. Grey," Lord Penrith said, casting his green-eyed gaze down at her. Really, she wasn't a small woman, but what with being surrounded by three unusually tall men, she was beginning to feel positively hemmed in.

She rather thought she was beginning to like that as well.

"Finding the right woman is merely a question of entering the right room at the right time," Penrith continued. "How fortunate I was to happen upon Lord Dalby in the park today, and fortunate that he invited me home with him."

"Seems everyone was at Dalby House this afternoon," Blakesley muttered.

"Yes, I was so surprised to see
you
there today," Louisa said stiffly. "Pity that you left so quickly. Off to White's, were you? We did wonder." Really, Blakesley made it sound as if she had gone to Dalby House for the express purpose of meeting men.

Although, there was nothing wrong in that if it happened to be true, was there? Even though it was nothing close to the truth. She had gone to Dalby House for the sole purpose of seeking Sophia Dalby; was it her fault that the salon had wound up being simply awash in attractive, available men?