The Courtesan's Secret (38 page)

One thing was very true about Indians: they did appear most formidable.

"I don't believe that's any of your concern, Hawksworth," Mary said, showing more steel than she had in ten years. "Both of my sisters are deceased; clearly their memories are buried with them. My memories are my own. I don't care to share them with you."

Well.

Eleanor looked at Aunt Mary with more interest than she had ever done.

"It's enough that you know," Aunt Mary continued, "that I have an old acquaintance with Mr. Grey and that I am pleased,
very
pleased, to renew it."

It was the way she said
very pleased
that was astounding. It did appear that Aunt Mary might be something of a lightskirt, at least where Mr. Grey was concerned.

As far as that, seeing Mr. Grey and his sons up close, Eleanor was entirely sympathetic. They were, as a group, compelling. Individually, they might actually be irresistible.

"But if it is a question of honor," Hawksworth said, speaking to Mary and, in effect, ignoring the Greys, which Eleanor did not think quite wise of him, "I must insist upon—"

"What would you do?" Matthew asked, which really was remarkable, to interrupt a marquis that way. It simply wasn't done and certainly never by a commoner. It was becoming increasingly clear that the Greys did not think of themselves as commoners. "You have no heart for battle, even when the honor of one of your women is at stake."

"I beg your pardon?" Amelia said, staring at her brother. "What is he talking about, Hawks?"

Hawksworth looked uncomfortable; it was a look which suited him completely.

"Dutton and Blakesley dueled this morning. I took Louisa to watch," Hawksworth said, looking slightly sheepish.

"That was highly improper, Hawksworth," Aunt Mary said, which was truly remarkable as everything about Aunt Mary spanning the past twenty years was beginning to look improper. "A duel is no place for a woman."

"Or a man unwilling to fight," George said.

Upon which Hawksworth cleared his throat and said, "It wasn't my fight."

"It should have been," John Grey said, which appeared to be the final word as every man in the room fell silent after that.

"I am concerned, Mr. Grey," Aunt Mary said, "about my niece Louisa. She is not here and she should be."

"She is at the Theatre Royal, Lady Jordan," Mr. Grey answered conversationally, "being ruined by Henry Blakesley. Again."

Amelia sighed and sat down again, her hand to her brow. Hawksworth didn't seem to know what to do with himself, so he sat. He liked to sit and did so at every opportunity.

Aunt Mary, on the other hand, looked at Mr. Grey in a state of excited agitation.

"Melverley is at the Theatre Royal, I believe," she said.

"Exactly," John Grey said. "It was necessary. To move things in the right direction."

"He'll have to insist," Aunt Mary said.

"He will," Mr. Grey agreed.

Upon which, Aunt Mary sat down with what could only have been a sigh of relief.

"Oh, thank goodness for that," she said, which was something of a surprise, as most chaperones and aunts did not wish for their nieces' ruination.

"Thank Sophia," John said.

Aunt Mary looked up at John Grey, her blue eyes thoughtful and perhaps resigned.

"I suppose I must," Mary said.

BEING a duke carried with it many advantages, one of which was the ability to make things happen upon a moment's notice. That the elder daughter of Melverley had been repeatedly ruined and that one of the sons of Hyde was willing to marry the girl was the subject for not a little gossip and the speedy acquisition of a special license to marry.

Lord Henry and Lady Louisa were married, appropriately, in the yellow drawing room of Hyde House.

"I met you here, in this room, you know," Blakes whispered to Louisa just minutes after the ceremony.

"You remember where you met me?" she said. "You're just trying to convince me you're a romantic, and I'll believe many things of you, Blakes, but not that."

"It was in the yellow drawing room," he said, "two years ago at the assemblie."

"Everyone attends the Hyde House assemblie," she said, walking the short distance to the fireplace.

"You were talking to Amelia."

"I'm always talking to Amelia."

"You were wearing white." "Who doesn't?" "You were wearing white silk with a pale green sash and the

Melverley pearls." She looked up at him, completely ignoring everyone in the

room, her eyes wide with disbelief and profound appreciation. "You
are
a romantic," she said. "Only since meeting you," he said, taking her by the arm and

leading her to the door to the dressing room.

"That's a very romantic thing to say, Blakes. Are you going to make a habit of saying pretty things to me"—Louisa stopped and looked around her at the dressing room—"and are you going to make a habit of saying them in this dressing room?"

"I've developed a fondness for this room," he said. "I can see that." "I've developed a fondness for doing certain things in this

room." "Only in this room?" she said, starting to laugh. "That could be a problem, don't you think?" "Only if my parents object. And they're hardly likely to do that."

"Oh, come now, Blakes. They certainly must dislike me..." Her voice trailed off and she looked at the floor between Blakesley's feet. The mood was broken, and they knew each other too well not to know who and what had broken it.

"My father," Blakes said, lifting her chin with his hand, "is fasci

nated by you, as am I." "Oh, really, Blakesley," she said, taking a firm breath. "You know my mother," Blakes said. "It surely must be obvious

the type of woman he prefers." "Yes, well, I suppose that's possible, but your mother—" "Is old friends with Sophia Dalby," he interrupted. "You can't

think that any of this"—and he made an impatient motion with his hand—"was by chance? I'd love to know how they managed it between them. I can't see
how
it was done, but I know it
was
done. We, dear girl, have been managed, and expertly. I wish I could resent them for it. But I can't. Can you?" he asked in a soft whisper, his romantic heart laid bare.

"Not at all," she said softly in answer.

But she did not look certain of anything, least of all his declaration; Blakesley knew all of Louisa's looks and looking uncertain was surely new for her. Blakesley closed the distance between them, wanting to hold her, not wanting to see the empty ache flickering in her eyes.

"What is it?" he said softly, his arms wrapping around her narrow waist in a solid coil of love and possession. "Don't bother to lie."

"I never lie!" she snapped. "You ought to know that."

"Which I do, which is why you will tell me. What is it?"

She sighed, her ribs expanding to strain against his arms. His arms would not release her.

"My father was most exquisitely brought to heel, insisting upon our marriage," she said, her voice small and tight, almost childlike. It was most alarming. "But what brought your father to heel, Blakes? And your mother? They have been opposed to me from the start, and no matter what history ties Molly to Sophia, your mother cannot be pleased to have me in her family. She has made that more than clear more than once."

"They were in this together, I tell you—"

"Don't be absurd, Blakes," she interrupted, her voice snapping and breaking into threads of hurt. "No woman would arrange for her beloved son to marry me."

His arms tightened around her in concert with his heart. Darling, incandescent, violent Louisa, broken into bits by her father as a girl, she had refashioned herself into a woman who could withstand him. Yet she bore the scars, a tracery of brokenness, and they were what made her beautiful, like glazed and fired porcelain,

gleaming in fragile strength.

"She did," he said simply. "She has."

"She hates me."

"How very fortunate that you did not marry her, but me." Louisa squirmed in his arms, but he did not loosen his hold on her. He never would. "I love you."

"I don't believe it."

"Give me time," he said, kissing the top of her flaming red head. "You will."

That silenced her. He would not have thought it possible. Clearly, declaring oneself as a hopeless romantic with the soul of a poet was the way to subdue Louisa's will to fight. How he wished he had known that two years ago.

"What do you love about me?" she said, her face buried in his shirt, hiding from his gaze.

"You are entirely lovable," he whispered into her flaming hair. "But I am not such a fool as to categorize your assets. You would run me to ruin if you knew how foolishly and completely I love you. No, a man must have boundaries."

"How arrogant you sound, Blakes," she said softly, and he could feel her smile against his shirt, her back relaxing to arch into his. "I don't think I shall tolerate arrogance from you."

"I'm quite as certain that you shall," he said, smiling at the wall of the dressing room, of all things. "I know exactly how you shall be managed, Louisa. You shall enjoy it completely."

"You sound very certain," she whispered back, pressing her hips against his.

"I am certain of many things. For one, my parents are most pleased by you. For another, Melverley is an ass."

"Very certainly," she said, leaning into him, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist.

The silence encircled them, not an uncomfortable thing, and they clung to each other, which was entirely right. Still, one thought hovered....

"What of Dutton?" he asked, bracing his chin on the top of her head.

Louisa jerked out of his embrace, her eyes flashing in annoyance. He was as charmed by her annoyance as he ever was. "Dutton? What has he to do with anything? Do you think me a fool, to have tasted you and somehow still hungered for Dutton?"

"You did hunger for him."

"You will allow that most of the women of the ton find him fascinating," she said hotly. Before he could answer her, she said, "You will admit that he is handsome and eligible and a rake."

"All the things a woman finds irresistible," Blakes said flatly, not quite as amused as he had been.

"Precisely," Louisa said sharply. "Of course, he is very obvious about it, is he not? How could I have known that you were far more rakish than he could ever dream of being? I ask you," she said, smiling crookedly up at him, "has Dutton ever ruined a girl at the Theatre Royal?"

"Well," he said slowly, starting to smile.

"I mean, of course, a girl not already ruined in some other fashion by some other man."

"Then, no," Blakes said solemnly, "I should say not."

"He certainly is jealous of you, Blakes," she said. "I'm not a little afraid that you have set the bar entirely too high in the ways and means of ruining fine young girls, and what happens after that but that it becomes the fashion to debauch girls in dressing rooms and theaters? I daresay, you could well become legendary."

"I suppose I could live with that," he said, pulling her into his arms and leaning down to kiss her as she ought to have been kissed five minutes ago. Silly man, he required so much
prodding;
she would have to work on that with him.

He kissed her deeply, as was her preference, and her skirts were up around her waist without any prompting on her part, surely an improvement. He found her wet and hot and ready, and he did exactly as he ought to have done upon finding conditions so favorable.

He debauched her beautifully.

This time, she was able to wrap her legs around his waist, and not miss, and to kiss him and hold him to her without being restrained. Although, being restrained had its own pleasures, which she was certain she could induce Blakes to explore later. As things stood now, they were quietly debauching each other while their wedding guests waited beyond the door.

Louisa was not unaware, for she did listen to interesting rumors as avidly as the next person, that Caroline Trevelyan had been deflowered in precisely the same manner less than an hour after her marriage to Lord Ashdon. Up against a door, a dining room door, as the story went, and witnessed to a strange degree by the Duke of Calbourne. Louisa, who could admit to a healthy competition with Caroline, had
three
dukes at her wedding and was being deflowered less than
half
an hour from the last words spoken at the marriage ceremony.

By any measure, she had won. She had Blakesley, did she not?

"IT does the heart good to see a man so well matched in his passions, does it not?" Sophia said to Molly.

"There were times, I do confess, when I doubted that they'd manage it," Molly said. "I should have known you would see it done."

Sophia and Molly smiled at each other in true feminine understanding. Hyde shook his head, and said, "It was very much of a mess. I think the whole thing could have been handled without so much mud and blood all round."

"One must consider the combatants, your grace," Sophia said. "I do think that it would have been highly unlikely for Louisa to walk straight into Henry's arms. They both needed the proper motivation. How fortunate that Dutton was available and exactly the thing, not that he knows it, poor dear. I do think he has suffered a frightful blow to his confidence. And so well deserved, too."