The Courtesan's Secret (32 page)

They were, to a man, very well educated in how the different nations of the world conducted battle and built empires.

It was all very well to understand a man's weapons, but it was far better to understand his thoughts and the way his mind turned.

"She was here," Young said, looking at his brother George. "To

watch him." "He fought for her," George said. "She had a right to be here." "But the English would not think so," John said. "Yet he saw her and did not send her off," Young said. "He knows her," George said softly. "He has an understanding

of her." "I am not as certain that she understands him," Young said. They were walking almost silently through the wood, their bod

ies draped in shadow and worn leather, their voices hushed and soft, like the rustling of leaves. They moved quickly, effortlessly, without undue caution but not without care, back to Dalby House. Back to Sophia and her world.

"He will teach her," George said as Dalby House rose white and solid before them.

WHILE the Duke of Hyde went about acquiring a special license, not a difficult task as he was so very well connected, Blakes was in Melverley House to meet with the Marquis of Melverley regarding his marriage to Louisa.

Blakes had brought Iveston with him, mostly because Iveston refused to be left behind at Hyde House. Iveston, however, waited in the small salon whilst Blakesley faced Melverley in the library, an impressive room that looked to receive a fair amount of use. Which, it must be admitted, struck Blakesley as very strange indeed as he knew Louisa was not interested in books and he strongly suspected that Melverley was of a similar disposition. Melverley was far too busy seeing to his many pleasures to bother about sitting quietly in a room alone to read. What Melverley enjoyed doing could not be done in solitude, unless a man were very, very desperate and, in London, no man was required to become that desperate.

Melverley, aged, dissolute, and struggling with gout, did not rise as Blakesley entered. He had hardly expected him to. Melverley, an old rake with a reputation for insolence and arrogance, rose for very few. Melverley had been close with the Duke of Cumberland, the Prince of Wales's dissolute uncle, and Cumberland was rumored to have learned all his dissolute ways from Melverley. They had been known to share their liquor and their women with equal freedom and with equal jocularity. Blakesley knew it to be true.

Melverley, red-haired and stout, his nose a web of broken blood vessels and his blue eyes pale and bloodshot, eyed him coldly as he made his way across the carpet. Blakesley, accustomed to dealing with his mother, who, while not bloodshot and stout, was formidable in the same fashion, was not intimidated or alarmed. In fact, he was slightly amused.

Melverley was about to be dealt a blow. Melverley, seducer of women, was about to face the seducer of his daughter. It had definite comic possibilities, not that he would see it.

Melverley, on top of everything else, had a rather underdeveloped sense of humor.

"My Lord Melverley," Blakesley said with a bow.

"Lord Henry," Melverley said, "what do you require of me so early in the day?"

It was eleven in the morning, but Blakesley understood very well that Melverley likely hadn't gone to bed, that is, to
sleep
, until after dawn.

"I shall be brief, Lord Melverley," Blakes said. "I have come to ask your permission to marry Lady Louisa."

Melverley eyed him from beneath bushy brows heavily mixed with silver. "Why should she marry you? The fourth son of a duke? She can do better, sir. She
ought
to do better."

Blakesley bristled only slightly and said, "I have ruined her, my lord. I must and will marry her. Hyde is seeing now to getting a special license, to put her under the protection of our name at the earliest convenience."

Melverley scowled into his teacup and breathed out heavily. "She allowed it, I suppose."

"I beg your pardon?"

Melverley looked up at him, and the animosity in the man's expression was potent. "She allowed it. She allowed you to ruin her. You didn't rape her, I take it."

"I did not rape her, no," Blakesley said, all thoughts of comic possibilities erased completely. "But as to allowing it, I'm not at all certain what you expected her to do to stop it. You are as aware as I that a man, intent upon his pleasure, will accept no boundaries to his desires."

And that was putting it delicately where Melverley was concerned. The rumors about him were legion and legendary.

"Nonsense," Melverley growled, staring up at Blakesley without a shred of embarrassment. " 'Tis the woman who calls the step; a woman of her rank and disposition calls the tune as well. You'll not convince me that Louisa did not do this for the express purpose of shaming me, which she has failed to do. And with the fourth son, no less. She could have at least shown some sense and aimed higher. Certainly some duke or earl could have been managed into ruining her. You, Lord Henry, have been made a fool. I will not join you. You will not marry her. Let her be ruined. She is like her mother before her, intemperate, unsubmissive. Let her learn, if she can, the price of rebellion."

Blakesley was at a complete loss for words.

Melverley, unfortunately, was not.

"Good day to you, sir. I hold that you are not responsible."

And with that, Blakes was escorted from the library.

ELEANOR watched as Lord Henry was escorted from the library, saw the expression on his face, watched him exchange a few soft words with Lord Iveston, watched Iveston's look of shock, watched them leave the house with rather more agitation than they had entered it, which she knew because she had watched that as well, and concluded, accurately, that Melverley had spoiled Louisa's chances for a good marriage with a man who clearly and devotedly loved her.

It was completely like Melverley, and she had suspected something very like this would happen since hearing of Louisa's ruination at Hyde House last night from Amelia. Amelia, as was to be expected, was not at all inclined to tell Eleanor anything, but Eleanor was not to be put off. She knew
something
had happened by the state of Louisa's hair. In the end, Amelia was convinced to tell everything she knew, which was quite a bit, actually, because Eleanor had told her that she'd be far more likely not to be ruined herself if she knew exactly how a girl could so easily become ruined in the first place.

Actually, it hadn't sounded very easy once she'd heard. It sounded very complicated with lots of comings and goings and witnesses. Eleanor wasn't entirely certain how Louisa had managed to pull it off, but her respect for Louisa was infinitely higher as a result.

Not an easy thing, to become ruined by exactly the right man.

And Louisa didn't have the benefit of all those plays and novels to give her any ideas on the matter. Really, it was quite an impressive bit of work.

Eleanor waited until the front door closed, the butler was out of sight, and then ran upstairs to Louisa's room. Amelia and Louisa were waiting for her, Amelia's expression hopeful, as was her disposition, and Louisa's skeptical, as was her disposition. Eleanor hoped her expression was one of intelligence, as she was fairly confident it was her most dominant trait.

"What did he say?" Louisa asked, putting aside her cup of tea.

"I didn't actually hear what was said, Louisa," Eleanor said. "You know how Anderson lingers whenever Melverley is about. I couldn't get near without being noticed, but I
did
see Lord Henry as he left, he came with Iveston, by the way. What a handsome pair they make." Amelia blushed. She would. Iveston was in line for a dukedom. "They did not look at all happy, Louisa. In fact, Lord Henry looked quite displeased and..."

She couldn't quite bring herself to say it. Louisa was not so hesitant.

"Displeased and?" Louisa prompted.

"Shocked, I should say," Eleanor said.

Louisa said nothing for a moment. She merely looked at the carpet under her bare feet. Louisa liked to go about barefoot whenever possible, a habit that Melverley abhorred, which merely cemented the habit into Louisa's repertoire of abhorrent habits.

"He's refused him," Louisa said finally, tucking one foot underneath her, her free foot toeing the carpet. "He's refused to allow me to marry Blakesley. I should have anticipated this."

"He'll never hold to it," Amelia said. "He wouldn't. It will make all of you scraps for scandal."

"Why should he care about that now? He's been the subject of scandal for forty years. He's used to it," Louisa said.

"But you're his daughter," Amelia said.

Upon which, Louisa looked up at Amelia, her gaze encompassing Eleanor, her eyes so blue they blazed, and said, "Not according to him, I'm not."

Which explained everything, naturally.

"AND he gave you no explanation? No cause for such an action?"

Iveston said.

"No. He blamed
her
, if you can believe it," Blakes answered.

"Knowing what I do of him, I suppose I can believe it," Iveston answered.

They had walked to Melverley House as it was not far and the weather was pleasant for April. Blakesley was now glad they had; he needed to walk, to move, to think. He had not anticipated this, though he could not but wonder if Louisa had. She knew her father. It was not unlikely that she would have guessed his response.

Yet what woman gently bred could have anticipated this from a father?

Louisa, as he knew her, could have.

And that remark about her seeking someone of higher rank to ruin her, had she been hoping Dutton would do the deed for these two long years? Is that why she'd followed him, trying to catch his eye and his interest, so that he might be tempted into ruining her?

To what end? Melverley would not marry her off, even ruined.

Blakesley could not reason it out.

"You still want her," Iveston said. It was not a question.

"And mean to have her," Blakes said.

"Then I think we need wise counsel, and I can think of only one who can give it, giving you what you want in the person of Louisa Kirkland."

Blakesley knew exactly whom Iveston meant. He had come to the same conclusion, for there was only one person in London who was devious enough to outwit and outmaneuver Melverley.

Sophia Dalby.

SOPHIA Dalby watched the skies roll back in a bank of solid gray cloud. The rain came down gently, gusting softly against the windows. She sat by the fire in the white salon, sipping a cup of coffee, listening with increasing interest to the very unusual, but not at all unexpected events as they had transpired at Melverley House just an hour past.

It certainly was the perfect distraction for a rainy afternoon, and it was so reassuring that London, as ever, could be counted upon to produce one
on dit
after another. One truly could not ask more of a town than that.

"But I'm not at all certain I see the problem, Lord Henry," she said, smiling pleasantly at them. "You have behaved honorably from the start. If Lord Melverley wishes to punish his daughter in this peculiar fashion, why, it can be no concern of yours. Your reputation will hardly be tarnished by his actions. In some circles, it might even be enhanced."