The Naked Viscount (20 page)

“You're not going to try to tell me I can't go, are you?” Jane glared at him. “I might not have solved this puzzle, but I'm sure I can be useful once we arrive at this gathering. And you can't leave me home. It wouldn't be fair.”

“Fair has nothing to say to the matter. If I could, I would indeed leave you here. I'd lock you in your room and set Jem to guard you.” He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “But I'm very much afraid I do need your help.”

Jane grinned. “Of course you do, but I'm surprised your thick male skull allowed that thought to settle in your brain.”

Bloody hell.
He grabbed her shoulders and shook her slightly. “Jane, this is not a game. You will be forced to rub shoulders with some of the most depraved members of the
ton
and likely women—and men—from the roughest sections of London as well. You may see and hear things that no one—not a gently bred woman or the lowest slut—should see or hear.”

Jane's face paled. “Edmund, you are scaring me.”

“Good.” He did feel an acid sense of satisfaction. If she was frightened, perhaps she would be cautious, and if she was cautious, perhaps she would get out of this damnable situation in one piece. “You need to be scared.”

She lifted her chin. “And where will you be?”

He sighed. “Chained to you, my love. Chained to you.”

 

“Did you sleep well last night, Miss Parker-Roth?” Edmund's aunt Louisa looked up from her kippers and
The Morning Chronicle.

“Yes, thank you.” Blast. Jane felt her face flush. Could anyone tell just by looking at her that she was no longer a virgin?

Louisa's greyhound padded over to sniff a very embarrassing location. Jane pushed her head away.

“Diana!” Louisa said. “Behave yourself.”

Diana returned to her place by Louisa's chair. Jane fled to the buffet.

She would have stayed in her room to have chocolate and toast in solitary splendor—if she'd been solitary. But she'd wanted a bath after the night's activities, and then Lily had discovered a red stain on the back of her nightgown. Since her courses weren't due for another couple weeks, Lily was ready to call a doctor or her mother, or both, immediately. She was finally able to persuade Lily she must have cut herself—and then Lily wanted to inspect the cut. She'd put her foot down at that—and then had bolted for the breakfast room.

Oh, dear, how was Edmund going to explain the blood on his sheets?

“You do look very flushed.” Cordelia, the only other aunt in the room, took a bite of her strawberry scone and washed it down with some tea. “I don't believe it's exceptionally warm in here. Are you sure you're feeling quite the thing?”

“Yes. Yes, I'm fine.” Jane selected a few slices of toast—her stomach did not feel up to anything more substantial—and took a seat as far away from Diana as possible.

Cordelia gave her a concerned look and then shrugged, turning back to her paper. “I was just perusing the gossip column in
The Morning Post.
There's—”

Louisa snorted. “Why do you read that twaddle?”

Cordelia rolled her eyes and smiled somewhat acidly at her sister. “Because I enjoy ‘that twaddle.' I like to be au courant.”

“Pshaw!” Louisa turned to the next page of the
Chronicle.
“Who cares what the ninnyhammers of the
ton
are doing?”

“I do. And we are members of the
ton,
you know, Louisa.”

“Well, of course we are, but not
that
part of the
ton.
”

“
That
part?” Cordelia's eyebrows rose. “Which part would that part be?”

“The young and scandalous part, of course.” Louisa looked up from her reading. “
Is
there anything about us in there?”

Cordelia frowned. “No, and I find that rather surprising. I would have thought Edmund's runaway carriage would have merited a mention.”

Jane's stomach sank, and she put the piece of toast in her hand back on her plate. “Perhaps no one saw it. The park was rather deserted, and we weren't in the fashionable section.”

That comment earned
her
an eye roll. “You tore down Oxford Street—not some little byway—in great commotion, Miss Parker-Roth, and then rode back at a snail's pace with Elvira Hornsley.” She tapped the paper. “I would have thought half this column would have been about your antics, but no, there's not even the briefest mention. Very odd.”

Jane took a gulp of tea to try to moisten her throat. It was too hot; she spat it—as discreetly as possible—back into the cup. The roof of her mouth and her tongue would be sore for days. She tried to smile. “I don't believe I've ever made the gossip column before. Why should I start appearing in it now at my advanced age?”

Louisa laughed. “Even I know the answer to that question, Miss Parker-Roth—you'd not caught Edmund's eye before.”

“Exactly.” Cordelia nodded. “Edmund's sudden interest in you at the Palmerson ball was recounted in rather great detail, but since then, silence, even when you two darted out onto Easthaven's terrace the next night. I don't know what to make of it.”

Jane was afraid she did. No, she must be wrong. Satan couldn't have that much control of what happened in London that he could keep something out of the newspaper, could he? “Perhaps there was too much other, more interesting gossip.”

Cordelia stared at her for a moment, her mouth slightly agape, apparently speechless. Then she took a breath and shook her head. “Miss Parker-Roth, I know you have not lived under a rock your whole life. The possible matrimonial interests of a wealthy viscount are
always
news. I'm sure half a dozen or more young—and not so young—ladies are checking this space daily to see if they must give up their hopes of catching Edmund in parson's mousetrap.”

Louisa snorted again. “Silly chits. They don't need a newspaper to tell them he's been well and truly caught. All they need do is open their eyes and look.”

Jane was certain her face was as red as fire—it was certainly as hot. This conversation was headed in an extremely awkward direction. She had to deflect it. “Er, had you found something interesting in the paper, Miss Cordelia? I thought you were about to read aloud when I sat down.”

Cordelia's left eyebrow rose, but she forbore to comment on Jane's desperate change of topic. “Yes, actually. There was a very interesting note in the gossip column—well, on the same page.” She looked down at the paper. “Ah, here it is:
The Earl of Ardley and Miss Barnett were married yesterday at the bride's home. The happy couple sailed on the evening tide and will tour the Continent on their honeymoon. They plan to return to Town in a few weeks.
”

“The Earl of Ardley married Miss Barnett quite precipitously.” Louisa put the
Chronicle
aside. “Whyever did he do that? It's not as if he's a young buck caught up in passion, surely—he won't see fifty again. How old is she?”

“Louisa! I thought you weren't interested in hearing the
Post
's twaddle.” Cordelia smirked.

“No, I don't care to hear it, but now that I have heard it, I am curious. How old is the woman?”

“Considerably younger than Ardley—about your age, wouldn't you say, Miss Parker-Roth?”

Poor Miss Barnett—Jane had completely forgotten about her predicament. “I believe she's a year or two older than I. Perhaps twenty-five or six.”

“Ah,” Louisa said. “So that explains why she married Ardley. Her papa must have been getting desperate, as, I imagine, was she. Is she a fright, then?”

Jane bristled. How could Louisa make that assumption? There were many reasons why a woman would choose not to marry—as Louisa must surely know as she and her sisters were all unwed. And twenty-five or six was certainly not the age of desperation.

Cordelia laughed. “She does bear a striking resemblance to a horse.”

“Hmm. Ardley is no Adonis by any means, but he
is
an earl. One would think he could get a more attractive female, if he wished, so he must have wished for something else. He has an heir by his first wife, doesn't he?”

“Yes, but no wealth. The first countess managed to keep him in check,” Cordelia said, “but she died three years ago and the man has run wild ever since, gambling and whoring, spending money as if it were water. The poor heir stands to get only a mortgaged estate and debts when Ardley cocks up his toes. This marriage will solve that problem—assuming Miss Barnett can also exercise a restraining hand. Barnett is as rich as a nabob.”

Jane stared at her plate. She'd hardly touched her toast, yet she had even less appetite than when she'd sat down. Would Louisa and Cordelia and the other aunts wonder why Edmund had chosen her? She didn't have money to bring to the union and she certainly had no great beauty. He could definitely do better. Heavens, he could choose just about any unmarried woman in England. He was titled, wealthy, handsome, and young.

She cautiously took a sip of tea. It had cooled down considerably, but her mouth was still sore from her scalding drink earlier.

At least now she knew Lord Ardley would not be at the masquerade tonight. Who would be there? Satan? She shivered.

“Are you sure you're feeling all right, Miss Parker-Roth?” Cordelia was frowning at her, a look of concern in her eyes. “You were markedly flushed just a few moments ago and now you are shivering. Perhaps we should send for the doctor—or at least tell your mother.”

“Oh, no.” She definitely didn't want a doctor examining her. He might be able to tell…No, how could he? She was being silly. He'd have to look
there,
wouldn't he, to ascertain whether she was a virgin? And he would have absolutely no cause to look anywhere near that part of her anatomy for a mere chill. And Mama…She didn't want Mama looking at her too closely either. “I'm fine.”

“Perhaps you should stay home tonight and rest,” Louisa said. “Though it would be a shame to miss the theater. I'm quite looking forward to it.”

Cordelia laughed. “Oh, Louisa, you always say that and you always complain bitterly afterward about the chattering lobcocks who ruined the play for you. When will you learn that people in London go to the theater to be seen, not to see a performance.”

Louisa's brows descended into a deep vee; she looked extremely disgruntled. “Hope springs eternal, Cordelia, though you are correct; London contains a shocking quantity of fools and Philistines. I remember—”

“Excuse me.” Jane stood. She didn't care to hear another of Louisa's diatribes, and her appetite had long since fled—it was past time for her to follow. At least the aunts had presented her with the perfect excuse to stay home from this evening's excursion—Mama and the aunts' excursion, that is. “I think you are correct—I should rest.”

“You poor thing.” Cordelia patted her hand—and made Jane feel like a worm, but it couldn't be helped. She certainly couldn't announce she'd have to miss the theater because she'd be accompanying Edmund to a shockingly scandalous masquerade. “I'm not surprised you're feeling a bit out of curl. You had a terribly upsetting day yesterday.”

“Yes, well, I'm sure I will be better tomorrow.” Assuming she survived her visit to Lord Griffin's.

Ridiculous! Now she was truly letting her imagination run wild. Of
course
she'd survive the masquerade. She wasn't a character in some gothic novel. The gathering would probably turn out to be very staid, no more alarming than an evening at Almack's.

On the other hand, Clarence's sketch had certainly not depicted a scene one would ever encounter at Almack's.

“If you'll excuse me, I think I'll go sit in the garden for a little while.” If she was going into one of Satan's dens, she might be wise to enjoy the sunshine while she still could.

“How did you manage to avoid escorting the ladies to the theater?” Jane hoped her voice didn't sound as breathless as she felt. Edmund had just stepped through the connecting door into her room, his arms draped in brown cloth. It was the first she'd seen him since last night, and she felt such an astonishing mix of love, mortification, and lust, she'd swear her heart stuttered.

He dropped a kiss on her mouth. “I hid at White's all day, and then sent word I was, regrettably, unable to attend. It's far easier to deal with the aunts in abstentia.” He grinned and laid what he was carrying on her bed. “I got Lord Wenthrop, an old friend of Louisa's, to take my place. He's happy to use my box, and Louisa will be delighted to have another intellectual in attendance with whom she can critique the play.”

“Yes, I can see where she would like that.” She felt unaccountably shy and unsettled. What they had done last night had been so…momentous. And so odd. Had she dreamt it? No, she didn't have such an imagination—and the place between her legs was still slightly sore. She looked at the things on the bed rather than at Edmund.

“What is all this?” She picked up a bit of the brown cloth. Was it a sleeve?

“It's your disguise for tonight. I got it from an…associate who sometimes attends.” He lifted the fabric and shook it out. It was a robe like the man and woman in Clarence's sketch had worn. “Here, let me help you put it on.”

He held it so she could stick her arms through the sleeves and then he lifted it over her head. It dropped down to cover her completely.

“At least now no one can see I'm not wearing an evening gown. I had a hard enough time convincing Lily she didn't have to help me into my nightclothes.” And for some stupid reason, she felt herself flush. Edmund had seen her in her nightclothes—he had seen her without any clothes at all. And if truth be told, she was hoping he'd help her undress tonight.

The flush burned brighter, she was certain of it. Fortunately, Edmund's face was covered with cloth as he put his own robe on, so he couldn't see her embarrassment.

“I was afraid your robe might be too long,” he said as he emerged and straightened his costume. “Are you certain you can walk without tripping?”

“It's fine. If I have to hurry, I can pick up the front a bit.”

“Good. I hope you won't have to hurry, but it's best to be prepared.” He took her hands in his and held her gaze. “Jane, you do realize you must be very careful, don't you?”

He paused, obviously waiting for an answer. Did he think she was a complete ninny? “Yes, of course. I'll be careful.”

He squeezed her hands. “You must be. This isn't a game or a lark; it's very dangerous. If I could do it by myself, I would, but unfortunately I need your help.”

She tried not to smile. “Of course you do.”

He sounded like he was grinding his teeth. “Yes, damn it.” He let her go and picked up two black masks and a cloth bag. He handed her one of the masks. “You'll need to keep this on the entire time we're in Griffin's house. And pull your hood up so it shades your face. I don't want anyone recognizing you.”

“Yes, of course.” This could be a very long evening if Edmund was determined to be so overbearing. She followed him out of her room, through the corridor, and down the back stairs. When they got outside, Jem was waiting with a closed, anonymous carriage.

“Why aren't we taking one of your vehicles?” she asked, as she settled herself on the rented carriage's exceedingly hard squabs. They appeared to be clean, though it was hard to tell in the dim light. At least there was no unpleasant odor.

Edmund sat next to her, putting the cloth bag on his knees, and knocked on the roof to give Jem the signal to start. The carriage rocked into motion. “Because my coaches all have my crest emblazoned on the door, and the last thing I want is to advertise my presence at this dreadful gathering.”

That made sense. Secrecy was the theme for the evening. She waited for him to open the bag, but instead he leaned over to light the lamp and draw the curtains.

She'd never been alone in a closed carriage with a man before. She breathed in his scent—shaving soap, eau de cologne, and…him. It was very intimate.

What was she thinking? She'd been far more intimate with Edmund than merely sharing a closed carriage. They'd shared a bed, for God's sake—a bed
and
their bodies. She looked down at her gloves. She wasn't going to spend the entire evening blushing, was she?

Yet sitting here with him, fully clothed…perhaps she
had
dreamt last night. Her behavior had certainly borne no resemblance to her usual way of conducting herself.

She tried to sit a little straighter. She had to think about something besides bodies and beds. She looked over at Edmund. “What's in the bag?”

“You're not going to like it.” He loosened the draw-string, reached in—and pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

She scooted as far from him as she could get, which in the coach's confines wasn't very far. “What are those for?”

“The party. Give me your right hand.”

She whipped her hands behind her back. “No.”

“You have to. I wasn't joking last night when I said I'd be chained to you. It's the only way I can be certain we won't be separated.”

“Won't that look odd?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

Jane was staring at the handcuffs as if they were live snakes. “What if I have to go to the ladies' retiring room?”

He almost laughed. “I'll close my eyes.” No need to tell her there would be nothing as civilized as ladies' retiring rooms at this gathering.

Jane shuddered. “That's disgusting.”

Perhaps he should have hired an actress or a whore for the evening. He'd considered it to spare Jane's sensibilities, but such women were not well-known for their intelligence, resourcefulness, or discretion. He'd also considered slipping in through the servants' entrance or one of the windows, but Griffin guarded his house almost as well as he'd been guarding Motton House since this all started. A mouse couldn't slip into the party.

Maybe if he had an inkling where in the house to look…but he didn't. He just hoped they'd find Pan in one of Griffin's public rooms; if he and Jane had to start searching the bedrooms, Jane might never recover from the shock.
He
might never recover; more than one of the people he expected to see this evening were reputed to have some
very
odd preferences. He did hope there were no livestock on the premises.

“All right.” Jane stuck out her arm. “If there is truly no alternative.”

“I'm afraid there's not. You do not want to be caught alone tonight.” He put the manacle around her wrist. “The cuffs are thickly padded, so they shouldn't rub your skin or dig into your hands.” He snapped it closed. “How does that feel?”

She lifted her hand. “It's heavy, but otherwise I suppose it's fine.”

“Good. And it looks like your hand is thin enough you can pull it free if you need to.” That was a relief. He snapped the other manacle onto his wrist.

“I thought you said I shouldn't leave your side.” Jane was still lifting her arm and turning her hand this way and that, studying the handcuff. “Why would I need to get free?”

“If something happened to me. I'd hate for you to be chained to a deadweight.” Her gaze flew from the manacle to his face and her mouth dropped open. Hmm. Perhaps he could have chosen his words more carefully.

“Are you still trying to frighten me, Edmund? I've already promised to stay by your side and”—she lifted her arm again to show off the handcuff—“you've made certain I will.”

“I just think it's wisest to be prepared for anything that might occur.” He didn't like the feel of the handcuff on his arm—he didn't like having his movements restricted. He'd put the cuff on his left wrist to free up his right, but he'd still not be able to fight effectively with Jane locked to his side. He had the key, of course, but he couldn't very well ask an assailant to wait while he freed himself.

“I see. So do you—we—have a plan?” Jane shook her arm, making the chain rattle. “Perhaps it will work better if I pretend to be a ghost.”

He was going to throttle her—once they were free of Griffin's damn party, and after he'd taken her to bed again.

“No, we do not have a plan—at least not a detailed one. We will pretend we are there for the party; we'll stroll through all the open rooms, keeping our wits about us and our eyes open. Hopefully we'll stumble upon Pan.”

Jane raised one eyebrow in an extremely skeptical manner. “You have no idea where Lord Griffin might keep it?”

“I'm happy to say I'm not familiar with Griffin's house.”

“And men don't gossip about such things?”

“No.” There were too many other, far more scandalous things to gossip about concerning Lord Griffin's gatherings.

“I see. And when—if—we find Pan, what do we do then? Relieve him of his penis in the middle of the party?”

“We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Jane snorted. “So you haven't the vaguest idea.”

“No, that's not true. What I'm hoping will happen is we'll come upon the statue in a deserted room shortly after we arrive, remove the sketch, and leave, but I've been at this long enough to know what I hope will happen rarely does.” The coach was slowing; they were almost there. “Here, I want you to have this—just in case.” He took a smooth black cylinder out of his pocket.

“What is it?”

“A folding knife I had made to my specifications. You push this button—” He suited action to word, and the blade snapped out. Jane drew in a quick breath, jumping back. He chuckled, folded it up, and handed it to her. “Now you try it. You have to press firmly, but the button shouldn't be too stiff for you to manage.”

She took the knife from him gingerly. “I've never seen anything like this before.”

He grinned. “Let's just say I had a special need for such a tool. Can you press the button?”

“Yes.” The blade snapped out again. “It's very smooth.”

“And very sharp.” He closed it for her. “Keep it in the robe's pocket. I hope you won't have to use it, but at least you'll have it should something unforeseen occur. Now let me tie on your mask.”

She handed it to him. He made certain it was on securely and her hood was pulled down to hide her hair and as much of her face as possible; then he tied on his own mask and pulled up his hood. When the coach stopped, he opened the door, let down the—

“Ow!” Jane hit his back. “Be careful. I'm attached to you, remember?”

“Damn. I'm sorry.” He examined her wrist. This being physically linked to another person took some getting used to. “Are you all right?”

“Yes—if you ignore the fact I almost had my arm ripped off.”

“You're exaggerating.”

“I am not.”

“My lord.” Jem's voice floated down from the coach's driver's seat. “The horses are getting restless.” He coughed significantly.

Edmund glanced around. “Blast it, we're attracting some attention. Come on. We have to go. Hold on to my arm so I don't move too quickly and jerk you again.”

“All right.” Jane grasped Edmund's forearm as she maneuvered down the stairs. She glanced up when she reached the pavement. A man in a purple coat, yellow waistcoat, and elaborate wig was examining them through his quizzing glass. His companion, a very large, unattractive woman, her garish, wide-skirted dress the same shade as the man's waistcoat, giggled. She…

Jane blinked and looked more carefully. Then she leaned close to Edmund and whispered, “Is that woman…I mean, she's wearing a dress, but, well, she looks like—”

“Yes, he's a man. Don't stare.”

Jane dropped her eyes to her slippers and clung to Edmund's arm as they entered Lord Griffin's house. Edmund didn't sound at all shocked; had he seen men in dresses before? Well, it was true women had not been allowed to perform in plays even in Shakespeare's time, so perhaps men in women's clothing was not so terribly odd.

“Welcome,” someone said. “I see you are ready for the evening's devotions.” Jane stole a quick glance—Lord Griffin, dressed in hose and doublet with a huge golden codpiece, smirked at them. And by his side…

She looked down at her feet again. There was no doubt as to the gender of his companion. The woman wore a golden collar and golden slippers and nothing else. The poor thing must be freezing.

“Of course.”

Jane kept herself from looking this time. She knew it was Edmund speaking—the sound was right by her ear—but his voice was very different. It was higher and thinner, with a slight French accent.

“We must see how the spirit moves us,” he said.

Lord Griffin laughed. “Splendid. Until then, do enjoy yourselves. There are rooms upstairs if you prefer privacy, but, as you'll see, many of my guests don't. You may find yourself inspired, eh?”

Edmund laughed in a decidedly nasty fashion. She did look up then and unfortunately caught the baron's eye.

“And you, madam, are you also eager for inspiration?”

How was she supposed to answer that question?

“Your pardon,” Edmund said, still in that odd accent, “but my companion is mute. We have a wager, a game, if you will. She swears she will not make a sound all evening. I say I shall make her scream before the new day dawns.”

Lord Griffin grinned. “A delightful wager. I wish you luck in winning it.” He leaned toward Jane. “And, madam, I'm sure you know you will win most if you lose this bet, eh?”

Did Lord Griffin never clean his teeth? His breath stunk worse than Lord Wolfson's. She forced a smile and then ducked her head again.