The Courtesan's Secret (34 page)

"And that is?" Dutton said, his blue eyes cold with anger.

"Oh, don't press her, Lord Dutton," Sophia said. "You are certainly no fool and therefore know very well what Mrs. Warren does want and that is Lord Staverton, and he wants her, darling man, and they will marry next month and be very content and positively boring in their respectability, which must predict that you and I will have very little cause to visit them. But speaking of visits, how did your dawn visit with Lord Henry go? I have heard so little of it, yet it promised to be so vastly entertaining."

"We had good exercise, Lady Dalby," he said, shifting his gaze away from Anne with such cool disdain that it could only be taken as a compliment of the highest degree. "What's more, we came to an end of our disagreement."

"And was there not a wager between you?" Sophia asked.

"There was," Dutton answered, "and he won it, I'm sorry to report."

"How very sad for you," she said. "Perhaps you will have more luck in your next venture."

Whereupon Dutton's gaze drifted back to Anne's with almost magnetic precision. How completely delicious.

"Perhaps I shall," Dutton said.

"Oh, hello, Markham," Sophia said, turning in her chair to offer her son her hand. Markham, the Earl of Dalby, kissed it lightly and then greeted Mrs. Warren with the same courtesy. Markham greeted Dutton with a nod and a half bow, which Dutton returned, his gaze most determinedly not on Anne. It was completely charming. "Are you sitting with us this evening or have you made other arrangements?"

"I thought I'd stay for the first act," Markham said, "if there's room."

"I was just on my way out, Lord Dalby," Dutton said, bowing to the women. Anne all but ignored him. Sophia smiled prettily and watched him go. Markham followed him out and said something in a subdued voice before returning to them.

"What did you say to him?" Sophia asked as Markham sat down and crossed his legs.

"I simply reminded him that Mrs. Warren was very dear to you, and therefore to all the Trevelyans, and as he had made something of a name for himself with Lady Louisa Kirkland, he should avoid doing anything similar with Mrs. Warren," he said. "I hope I have not embarrassed you, Mrs. Warren, but I do see it as my duty to protect you from rakes of that particular variety."

"And how many varieties of rake are there, Markham?" Sophia asked. "And what sort of rake are you?"

Markham smiled at Sophia and said, "Mother, there are certain things, indeed, many things, which a man does not discuss with the ladies of his family."

"All the truly interesting things, no doubt," Sophia said. "Never mind. I shall find out all by myself. Now, where are you off to after the first act?"

"Uncle John has something planned for us, I am not at all sure what."

"For all you boys?" Sophia said.

"Yes, we
boys
," he said wryly.

"Now, darling, I am quite aware that you are a man and that it is of the utmost importance for a man to think of himself as a man," Sophia said. "It is only for what cause he thinks of himself as a man that interests me. Now, certainly it must be admitted that Lord Henry Blakesley is most assuredly a man. His very acts prove it to be so."

"Because he ruined a woman?" Markham asked.

"Don't be absurd, darling," Sophia said. "It takes no ability at all to ruin a woman. It is what he does after that which proves or dis

proves his manhood. And I am not speaking of this morning's duel." Which had been exactly what he had been on the point of saying. "What then?" Markham asked, his sable brows quirked quizzi

cally. "Why, what he's doing now, Markham." Upon which Markham and Anne Warren looked across the the

ater at the bank of boxes on the other side. It was, as ever, a sea of people lit up like individual gems in a jeweler's case, glittering and gesturing, talking and pointing, and behaving in any manner they found entertaining. The play on the stage had started, but the play within the confines of the walls of the Theatre Royal was already in full swing, each player watching for his particular moment of notice.

As it happened, all eyes were on the Duke of Hyde's box, for there, in full view of at least two hundred people, most especially the Marquis of Melverley and his woman of the hour, were Lord Henry Blakesley and, without chaperone and wearing a completely inappropriate but most becoming gown, Lady Louisa Kirkland.

They were alone. They were plainly observed. They were, to everyone's delight, behaving most,
most
indeco

rously.

Sophia smiled fully and, gesturing with her hand toward the Hyde box, said, "That's what a man does, Markham. Not only does he ruin a girl, but he does it in full view of her father."

"ARE you certain he can see us?" Louisa said. "Everyone can see us, Louisa," Blakes answered. "Then you best get on with it, Blakes. Seduce me, will you?" Blakes looked over at her and said sarcastically, at least she as

sumed it was sarcastically, surely he couldn't have
meant
it, "It's better if you help."

"What am I supposed to do? Lift up my skirts and plant my feet on the rail?" she hissed, trying to look unconcerned and sophisticated and all the qualities courtesans were supposed to drip off of them like rainwater. She wasn't sophisticated, not in this. And she was very, very concerned.

It wasn't the easiest thing in the world to do, ruin oneself publicly and revenge oneself on one's father, but Melverley was just the sort of father that required such effort and sacrifice and plain strength of purpose from a daughter. Thank heavens she was accustomed to it, the effort and strength, that is. She was not at all tolerant of sacrifice and saw no need to make a habit of it. Just this once should be more than enough.

It had to be.

She just couldn't imagine doing anything of this sort again.

"It sounds promising," Blakes said in a rumble of what she could only hope was desire. "But I don't think you have it in you. And before you object and prove to me that you do, I don't have it in me to allow it. So keep your skirts about your ankles, Louisa. I almost think being here with me, alone, is enough to make the point."

"You obviously have no idea who Melverley is," she said, using her fan to obscure her face so that she could study her father.

He hadn't noticed her yet. Or if he had, he hadn't reacted to her yet.

But others had.

She could see Sophia in her box, Mrs. Warren at her side, looking ethereally beautiful. She truly did dislike that woman. Between them sat the Earl of Dalby, a most impressive-looking man, tall, lean, with enormous dark eyes, which, at the moment, were staring directly at her.

As was Lord Dutton, sitting in his box down one and over two from the Dalby box, a fact she knew almost as well as she knew the location of the Melverley box as she had learnt everything possible about Dutton in the past two years. His gaze, so direct and so smoldering...it sent a shiver down her spine. He'd fought a duel because of her, because he'd kissed her and Blakes had taken great exception to it. As he should have done. Blakes had kissed her first...

Oh, very well,
she
had kissed
him
first and that had, in effect, settled everything. She had, for reasons she had yet to bother to figure out, chosen Blakesley. She also was, for reasons she had not yet bothered with, not upset in the least to be stuck with Blakesley.

She had wondered, however, if Blakesley was the tiniest bit upset that he was now stuck with her. Because of her, and Dutton, for she did feel that the blame ought to be properly shared, Blakesley had fought a duel this very morning, not that she had mentioned the fact to him because women, stupidly, were not supposed to notice things such as duels and debauchery and gambling debts that destroyed family estates. It wasn't her fault if she weren't stupid enough not to notice things of that sort. Particularly debauchery, as it lived, one might well say, in her very own house.

Her gaze went again to Melverley and his latest woman, a woman who looked rather a lot like that actress, Sally Bates of the straining bodice. Melverley was looking down this woman's bodice, and she appeared to enjoy having him look.

Perhaps Blakes would enjoy a peep down
her
bodice? It was clearly, to judge by Melverley, a known expert in debauchery, the thing to do when with a woman of uncertain reputation. One could only imagine that, with enough men staring down a single bodice enough times, a woman's reputation would become very certain indeed.

"Look down my bodice," she whispered to Blakes from behind her fan.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I suppose you never once thought about looking down my bodice?" she said, shooting him a dark look of exasperation.

"I suppose you expect me to admit to lecherous thoughts about you and your bodice?"

"It would help if you could be at least a little enthusiastic about debauching me," she said sharply, snapping her fan shut. "I thought we agreed that this was the way to get what we want from Melverley."

"At the moment," he said tightly, "the only thing I want has to do with your bodice and how it gapes just enough to make me very irritable."

"I suppose that you will find fault with either me or my bodice and that, henceforth, all your irritable moods will be laid at that particular door?" she said, dipping her shoulders forward so that her bodice gaped a little more, only in an effort to achieve their goals, of course.

"That sounds reasonable," he said, leaning forward and, she assumed, looking down her bodice to the very creamy swells of her breasts.

She had quite nice breasts with not a single freckle to be seen. She only hoped he noticed the good care she had taken of her breasts all these years, years in which no one seemed
ever
to notice her or her breasts. High time that ended.

"Blakes," she said stiffly, eyeing him coldly, "no one in this theater will ever believe I am being compromised, let alone debauched, if you don't do something which gives the appearance of being, well, debauched."

"What would you suggest, Louisa?" he said politely, still looking down her bodice with rather more discretion than the situation required. Really, this was hardly the time to be discreet. "Shall I lift your skirts, spread your legs, and dive in?"

"Blakesley!" she said, opening her fan and truly using it to cool herself. She could feel a hot blush rising from the absolute base of her breasts all the way up to her hairline. Hot sweeps of embarrassment and, yes, the smallest bit of rising passion, roared up her throat and face. She was completely certain that the actors on the stage could see her quite clearly and, worse, could read her thoughts. "That's entirely too... blunt."

"You want blunt, Louisa?" he said softly on a snarl of passion. "Look down and see how blunt I am."

Yes, well, she did look down, and there he was. Blunt and bold and pointing directly at her.

She couldn't help it. She smiled.

"Amuses you, does it?" he said.

"A little," she admitted, mostly because she sensed it would annoy him. She did not know what it was about Blakes, but she got such a thrill out of annoying him mercilessly. "I suppose it's allowed for a ruined girl to find amusement in the man who ruined her, especially in this particular fashion, on this particular point."

"Point?" he said. "Clever, aren't you, and so very safe here, in the Theatre Royal. What will you do, dear Louisa, when I've got you alone and no one can hear you scream?"

"Why, Blakesley," she said, leaning very far forward so that she was quite, quite certain he could see most, if not all, of her flawless breasts, "if no one can hear me scream, then most certainly no one will hear you."

Blakesley smiled. A little smile, a half smile that he quickly swallowed so that he could scowl at her. "And how will you make me scream, Louisa? I can't wait to hear your plans for me."

"I," she said, thinking fast and coming up with very little, "I shall kiss you."

"I've been kissed by you. I did not scream."

She didn't know what made her do it. She didn't know where the thought came from. But, for whatever reason, her gaze fell again to his very erect manhood, and she said, "It is where I shall kiss you that shall make you scream, Blakes."

It was then that Blakesley hauled her up by her waist, swearing something unintelligible, or at least a properly brought up girl would have found it unintelligible, then backed her against the back wall of their box and kissed her deeply.

It was a most satisfying conclusion to her maiden efforts to get herself debauched.

One could not but wonder precisely how long she would remain a maiden if things continued on as well as they had begun.

IT didn't take Aunt Mary very long at all to realize that Louisa was gone and that there had been a falling out of sorts concerning Louisa, Blakesley, and Melverley. Mary couldn't get any details from Eleanor, which was a point of some pride for Eleanor, but she was confident she could bludgeon them out of Amelia, a point upon which Eleanor was far less confident. Amelia could be rather soft when pushed, which only proved she was not any daughter at all of Melverley. In the Melverley household, one learned early on how to push back.