The Courtesan's Secret (27 page)

Louisa's gaze went to Sophia, talking softly with Molly, likely talking Molly into accepting her into the family.

Small chance of that.

But looking at Blakes, who was talking to his father and brothers, a circle of men who, by their look, were not at all displeased by his sudden fall into matrimony, she could not spare a thought for Molly. Blakes, she was suddenly certain, would manage everything.

"You look content," Amelia said softly. They were sitting on a pair of small chairs behind the harp. Mary was fully asleep on the settee, almost sprawled across it; no one thought it necessary to wake her as the situation had been settled, and quite well, without her. "I confess to being somewhat surprised."

"Because of the scandal?"

"No," Amelia said on a breathy chuckle. "I'm well aware that you have no fear of scandal, but because of Dutton, of course. You don't seem at all brokenhearted, and should you not be? He is the one you said you loved and wanted above all others."

"Yes, I said that, felt that," Louisa said, her gaze still on Blakesley.

Dutton had left the room after being helped up off the floor by Mr. Grey, of all people, and then, pushing credulity to the limits, Mr. Grey and Lord Dutton had left the music room together. It was, perhaps, not at all impossible that Mr. Grey was acting as a sort of guard against future misconduct on the part of Lord Dutton. Lord Dutton seemed to warrant that sort of special attention.

She had been so certain of what she had felt for Dutton. So very certain. For two years, she had wanted no one else, thought of no one else... and yet, she had kissed Blakes, and with that kiss, that first touch of his mouth to hers, she had all but forgotten Dutton.

Was it possible? Could she be...lecherous?

She'd seen it all her life, naturally. With Melverley for a father, how could she not? A lovely face, a plump wrist, a ripe... well, there was little point in cataloging the various attributes that could and did and would again lure her father into someone else's bed. She'd thought him shallow and flighty and led by passion when reason should rule. Yet now, with Blakesley's kiss still tingling on her lips, she had forsaken Dutton without a qualm and jumped, quite literally, into Blakesley's bed.

It was just possible that she was a wanton.

Did Blakes know?

And if he did not, should she tell him?

"I, for one, am delighted that you have finally seen him for what he is," Amelia continued, forcing Louisa to momentarily abandon her thoughts about her own, possibly, flagrant lechery, which, as everyone knew, soon led into blatant debauchery. "He is a rake, Louisa, and was never worthy of you."

But perhaps that was why she had been attracted to him, one rake to another?

What did one call a female rake? A rakess? Rakeine?

"I suppose not," Louisa said, studying the various sons of Hyde. Did she find any of them compelling, any besides Blakes, that is? Was she destined to cuckold Blakes with his own brothers?

It did not escape her notice, particularly as she was concentrating so fully on herself, that before today, she would never have considered cuckolding anyone for the simple reason that she could not have imagined that any man would want to... well, would want her in that way. But today had been a revelation of the most unbiblical variety. Today, she thought that perhaps it was highly likely that any number of men would want her in the most carnal terms imaginable, and that, strangely, she might be entirely capable of choosing from among many.

Aside from thinking of herself as lecherous, it was the most original thought she had ever entertained about herself.

Might she be... beguiling?

The events of the day certainly encouraged that conclusion.

Being beguiling was completely acceptable. Being a wanton was not.

The real question was if it were possible to be one and not the other. She certainly had seen no sign of it in her months in Town. One need only look across the room at Sophia Dalby for proof of the obvious fact that women who beguiled men were, in fact, rather wanton as a result.

Was there any help for it?

Certainly Sophia would be unable to answer her as she was both beguiling and wanton. It was most unfortunate that she could think of no one else to ask. Louisa cast a speculative glance to Amelia, who was quietly chatting on about how undeserving Dutton had been and how surprising the evening had been, all the while staring with demure charm at Lord Iveston. Amelia, to her credit, never wasted a moment in seeking to attain her goal of marrying a duke. Louisa had nothing but respect for a woman so supremely focused on a well-defined goal. Although Amelia was as innocent as she, though perhaps it was better said that Amelia was as innocent as she had been an hour ago, Louisa could not but wonder if Amelia, because of her clearheadedness and stark good sense, might know or be able to speculate on whether wantonness was an avoidable trait.

Louisa had nothing to lose by asking, and certainly Amelia
had
to know more about abstaining from certain appetites than Sophia. Though, as a married woman, perhaps it was not so much abstaining and refraining. All she had to do, really, was to keep her passions within the confines of the marital bed.

How difficult could that be?

Never mind that the ton was simply awash with people who couldn't seem to manage it. She was quite certain, because she was quite desperate, that she could do it. No matter that Melverley was her father. Or rather, in spite of it.

Oh, dear. The more she thought about it, the more hopeless it all seemed.

What if, dear God, Blakes could not satisfy her? What if her lusts were insatiable, as Melverley's clearly were?

"Louisa?" Amelia asked her, touching her arm to gain her attention.

"Yes?" Louisa said, dragging her gaze away from Blakes, who, she suddenly realized, was staring back at her. Who knew what he was thinking? Perhaps he could read her increasingly wanton thoughts all over her face.

The sad bit was that she had been thinking wanton thoughts, and in the midst of her trying very hard to think of how to save herself from wantonness. She was clearly a hopeless case.

"It truly doesn't bother you? To have to give Dutton up, I mean. Your plans, all your hopes that the two of you would . . ." Amelia said, stopping awkwardly as a blush fought to life on her cheeks. "What was it like?" she said instead, leaving the topic of Dutton altogether, at least for the moment.

Of course Louisa knew exactly what Amelia was asking, the problem was that she didn't know how to tell her what
it
was like without sounding like the veritable wanton she clearly was.

Life, she was certain, was going to be so much more complicated from this point on.

"Did you mind it very much?" Amelia said.

To which Louisa jerked her gaze, which, yes, had strayed to Blakes again, back to Amelia. "Did it look as if I minded it very much?"

Perhaps there was some hope for her. Perhaps she wasn't as lecherous as she felt whenever she looked at Blakes, and, yes, she'd once again allowed her gaze to settle on Blakes, which clearly was becoming something of a disagreeable habit, which surely she could break. Perhaps after they were wed. Perhaps then, these stirrings would diminish.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Life did not appear altogether hopeful when one was forced to rely upon a series of
perhaps
.

"No," Amelia said, her blue eyes appearing suspiciously soft and dewy, "you looked... you looked as if you were being quite... quite, almost transformed by it. In fact, you haven't looked the same since he kissed you. I had no idea such a thing could happen, did you? Do you
feel
different?"

Yes, as it happened, she did. She felt exactly like a wanton. And it appeared she now looked like one as well.

"SHE doesn't appear any the worse for it," Iveston said softly.

"I'd say she looks better," Cranleigh said.

"Try not to say anything," Blakes said. "I don't care to have my future wife discussed by you."

"I'm your brother," Cranleigh said.

"Exactly," Blakes said. "Brothers are exactly the wrong sort to discuss women one intends to marry."

"But women of the other sort are perfectly acceptable," George said.

"Only by default," Blakes said. "It's far better not to discuss women at all."

"It's clearly better to leave off talking and simply kiss them into ruin and marriage," Cranleigh said. "Got it."

It was going to be nearly impossible to keep his brothers from talking about Louisa for the next month, at least. It was going to be truly impossible to keep his brothers from talking
to
Louisa for the next few decades. Blakes understood in that instant that having his brothers realize his affection for Louisa and his delight in finally bringing her to the altar was going to be fodder for every conversation they would have for perhaps the rest of their lives. He didn't particularly enjoy contemplating that as he preferred his private life to remain private and his brothers, on most subjects, to remain silent. On the subject of women, especially. On the subject of his woman, definitely.

Louisa was his.

He wasn't at all certain how it had happened, namely, what had prompted her to so readily meet him in the yellow drawing room, which could easily have been managed, and to then kiss him like the veriest wanton, which could not easily have been managed, before he had his guard up.

He liked to think that he would have, given the appropriate warning, got his guard up in time to keep her from being ruined. But he wouldn't have laid odds on it.

He wanted her, had wanted her for more months than he cared to count, and to find that she wanted him, even in a purely physical sense, was better luck than he was willing to abandon. Actually, that she so clearly had wanted him in a purely physical sense was better than any wanting he could imagine.

Louisa, not that he had ever had any doubts about it whatsoever, was going to prove a very passionate wife. As she was clearly a passionate woman in all her dealings, it only made perfect sense. It was one of her charms, certainly, that particular brand of violence to her emotions and her boldness in behavior. He'd always found that amusing as well as intriguing. So many women of his acquaintance, Louisa's cousin Amelia for one, were so guarded and so correct in all their various interactions. It became not only predictable, but boring.

Louisa was never boring.

He'd found upon reaching his majority that boredom was a rather too constant companion and, once established, very difficult to abandon. If there was one thing he knew about his marriage to Louisa, and certainly he knew far more than one thing, it was that she would never bore him.

In fact, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she would excite him.

In point of fact, she excited him at this very instant.

Josiah laughed, his gaze upon the very tight fabric currently stretched across Blakeley's
tree of life
, as the saying went.

"You'll need to plant that in something, soon," Josiah said.

"Go back to Paris, Jos," Blakes said. "You're too coarse for London."

"Come with me and we'll plant trees together. The ground is rich and dark in Paris," Jos said, still laughing.

Blakes turned his back on his brothers, who were all chuckling by this time, and said to his father, "I'm certain the gossips are running low on fodder. Shall we not return to dinner?"

And so they did.

DINNER was an abbreviated affair, the food mostly gone cold, which no one seemed to mind in the least, the gossip having been served piping hot. Food could be got at any hour, but an
on dit
of this sort happened once a Season at best. That twice in a single week two girls of good family had been ruined in the dressing room of Hyde House was something of a miraculous event along the order of the immaculate conception, although completely opposite in
type
, of course, not that anyone cared.

It was to be expected that people kept leaving the table to disappear in the general direction of the dressing room, a rather large room, as dressing rooms went, but still, only a dressing room.

Hyde found it necessary to post a rather beefy footman at the door into the dressing room from the yellow drawing room. When that proved unsatisfactory, he instructed the butler to assign another largish footman to be positioned at the other door to the dressing room, the door reached from the bedroom.

Yes, it had come to that.

If that proved less than satisfactory, there was always the possibility of charging a fee for admission, though Hyde would likely frown upon that sort of thing. Molly, on the other hand, would think that when the opportunity of making a profit presented itself it was a fool indeed who looked the other way.

Sophia so liked that about Molly. She couldn't help but wonder if it was their American upbringing, but discarded that thought as implausible as their upbringings could not have been more different.

Sophia surveyed the table with a very pleased expression, which she knew annoyed Westlin down to the bone, which prompted her to smile all the more. Really, things were going so beautifully well that even Westlin sitting in her line of sight was becoming a boon.