"Flatterer. The countess's rout must have been a terrible squeeze to make such an eligible bachelor depart after such a brief stay and looking so
ennuyé.
Relax,
mon brave."
She traced the line of his jaw with one dainty finger before reaching up to pull his head down to meet her eager lips. Justin sighed and gave himself up to her caresses. The candles were guttering and the fire had sunk into embers before, exhausted, he finally emerged from their passionate embrace as they lay on the soft carpet in front of the hearth and stared up at the cherubim holding the garlands of roses across the corners of the ceiling. One hand absently stroked the flame-colored hair that fanned out across his chest, and a smile of pure satisfaction hovered about his mouth. Suzette stirred sleepily and then propped herself up on one elbow to gaze down at him.
"Feeling better now,
chéri,"
she murmured softly.
"Much better." He pulled her to him. "You are a most delightful antidote to the social rigors of the
ton,
and offer a delicious contrast to all those women bent on being hailed as incomparables."
The dancer sighed with satisfaction and lay her head back against his chest. Certainly Justin St. Clair provided his own 136
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delicious contrast
to any lover she had had before, and she certainly had had her pick of the best that England and Europe could offer. "Ah, mon
pauvre,
you are one who is hopelessly romantic, non?" Her tone was teasing as she tugged a dark lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead, but the emerald eyes looking deep into his were serious.
"I?" He sat up in mock horror. "I, the man who is dubbed a perennial bachelor, the scourge of husband-hunting damsels, romantic? How could you possibly arrive at such a corkbrained conclusion?"
"Because you are so
ennuyé
by those marriage-mad young ladies. You are
dégoûté,
which means that somehow they do not measure up to some ideal that you have. Therefore, you must hold some romantic but unattainable notion of what a woman must be." She eyed him closely as he stared intently into the fire. "I am correct,
non?"
Justin remained silent for some time, his gazed fixed on the glowing embers. At last he turned to her, his expression more somber than the dancer had ever seen. "You are a wise woman, Suzette, a wise woman."
"I know," she gave a little shrug, "which is why I do not pursue such hopeless dreams. Me, I prefer to fix my mind on those things which are attainable."
"But do you not long for true love, mademoiselle; a love so strong that it binds you to another in a union of the minds and souls, so strong that it transcends all other petty concerns?"
The dancer laughed. "You are a fool, my friend. Such things do not exist, and I am grateful that I was made aware 137
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of this at such a young age. I learned that one can not truly rely on anyone but oneself to take care of one, and I am stronger for it. Whenever I encounter someone as wonderful as you. it is a surprise of the most delightful, non? And it is a good deal better to see things this way than to be constantly disappointed in others." She gave an expressive Gallic shrug.
"But come, let us forget such weighty matters and enjoy ourselves while we may." She crooked a smile at him, as he pulled her down again on top of her and reveled in his strength and passion.
Later, as he rode home in the early morning fog, Justin could not help reflecting on his mistress's startling observation. For years, he had enjoyed beautiful women whenever he had found them, and they, if he had not become a complacent coxcomb, had thoroughly enjoyed him as well. But he had never given any thought to falling in love. However, it appeared, given his recent passionate outbursts, that perhaps all along he had been seeking, if not love, then something very special, and apparently he had not been finding it.
Why else would Lady Blanche's determined attentions have affected him so? Any other man he knew would have flirted right along with the incomparable and taken pleasure in feasting his eyes on her beautiful features and elegant figure, while relishing the envious glances of the young bucks jealous of him for capturing the admiration of the celebrated beauty. He must be all about in the head. It was not like him to be so nice about a liaison with an attractive female, and here he was actually avoiding it.
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Nevertheless, his distaste for the social machinations of the
ion,
particularly those females bent on matrimonial advancement, lingered with him to such a degree that he eschewed the haunts of the
ton
where he might fall prey to such schemes, resorting instead to the more honest companionship and bonhomie to be found at Brooks's, Gentleman Jackson's, and Tattersall's. He even took to avoiding rides in the park at the fashionable hour, choosing instead to enjoy the peace and serenity of early morning gallops when his fellow horsemen in the park were far more intent on their mounts than on the effect they were having on those around them.
Among the military men exercising their horses regularly at daybreak and a handful of serious sportsmen, he would often catch sight of a lone woman who usually avoided the others to such a degree that it took some time for Justin to recognize Lady Diana Hatherill. Although, once he had done so, it occurred to him that he should have known her immediately, even at a distance, by her magnificent animal and graceful seat.
She was the last person on earth, with the possible exception of Lady Blanche, whom he wished to encounter, representing as she had at the Countess of Axbridge's, all that was deceptive in human nature. But he could not stop himself from admiring the picture she made every morning as she cantered across the dew-washed grass, oblivious to everything but the freshness of the day and the exhilaration of the exercise.
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It was clear from the way she often leaned forward to stroke Ajax's neck, from the way his ears twitched as she appeared to address remarks to him, and from the way he responded, that the horse and his mistress enjoyed a rare degree of communication and companionship. It was also evident, from the distance the lady kept between herself and the groom, not to mention the other riders, that she wished to shun all human contact, a situation that Justin could not but find intriguing.
How had someone who seemed to revel in the solitude of the park in the early morning dealt with the gregarious Ferdie, who considered himself alone and isolated if he were stuck with only his regular trio by his side? Once again he wondered how such a match had come about. Not that the lady did not appear to be on the best of terms with her husband's friends, but it was becoming increasingly clear to Justin how very little Lady Diana and Ferdie must have had in common.
Why even she and Reginald were more alike. Had she married Ferdie with the same end in mind that Lady Blanche had? After all, it hadn't been until after Ferdie's death and the extent of his debts had been discovered—though those who had spent much time with him at the gaming tables had begun to have their suspicions—that she had begun to try to earn her own way in the world. For all Lady Diana had known when she married him, Ferdie had been a wealthy personable young man with a great deal to offer the daughter of the wellborn but impoverished Marquess of Buckland. 140
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For some inexplicable reason, Justin found himself resisting the notion that Diana had married solely to improve her worldly situation, but why he should reject this idea so, given the evidence of his own eyes, particularly at the countess's rout, was more than he could fathom. Annoyed with himself for such preoccupation, he sought to forget it all by immersing himself in business affairs, but here, too, he found his mind wandering back to Diana and her surprising presence at the Stock Exchange.
Hating himself for doing so, but in the grip of a terrible compulsion, he had mentioned the lady to Mr. James Capel, whom he had encountered one morning upon entering the exchange. A wary look had appeared in the gentleman's eye at the mention of Lady Diana, but Justin, long accustomed to eliciting valuable information from unwilling sources, was able to reassure him enough that the gentleman soon waxed enthusiastic about his unusual client.
"Yes, to be sure, she is a remarkably astute young lady indeed. Most well-informed and with the iron nerve that allows her to take the risks that are likely to offer a good return. Of course, she has been well schooled by Lady Walden, but she is quick to learn and possesses an almost masculine grasp of figures. If I could have a son gifted with such abilities, I should count myself truly fortunate." Then, alarmed that the warmth of his admiration had betrayed him into confiding too much, he caught himself quickly, "But it is getting late, and I have a most pressing appointment a few moments hence." With that brief apology, Mr. Capel hurried 141
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quickly away before he could be lured into further indiscretions.
Justin had remained thoughtful. It was a mystery, indeed, but the only way to arrive at the truth behind Lady Diana was to seek her out. He had promised to discover for her all that he could about unusual and profitable opportunities in which to invest, and he set himself to do just that, haunting the nearby coffeehouses in the hopes of picking up a useful tip. He was a well-known and respected figure among those who frequented the Exchange, and it was not long before he had accumulated enough information to justify a call in Brook Street, though he was surprised at the trepidation with which he looked forward to the visit.
At their last meeting, the understanding and trust that had previously seemed to be developing between them had somehow evaporated to be replaced by an uneasy halfflirtatious, half-antagonistic repartee that had kept them at a guarded distance. Now he was uncertain as to how to change all that, but his curiosity was far too strong to let it daunt him, and a fortnight after their encounter at the Countess of Axbridge's, he presented himself at Brook Street where he was conducted immediately to the drawing room. Much to his disappointment. Lady Walden was its only occupant. "Do sit down," she invited him. "I apologize for the slight deception. Lady Diana has gone off with Lord Beardsley, and I did wish to have a word with you myself, so I allowed you to think that she was at home."
"Alan? Here?" Justin did not even attempt to keep the astonishment from his voice.
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"Oh yes. He has been quite a frequent visitor—a bit shy perhaps, but quite a brilliant fellow. And I am delighted that he has taken to visiting Diana. Reginald is all very well, of course, but he cannot offer her the intellectual challenge that Lord Beardsley does." Lady Walden paused to observe the expression on her visitor's face. She had hoped to shake him, and she had. She could see that her great-niece's easy intercourse with his old school friend had made Justin stop to reflect on the sort of person that Diana must be. And such reflection could only redound to her niece's credit, for only her particular mixture of charm and intelligence could lure someone such as the Marquess of Hillingdon out of his reclusive ways.
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It had in fact been quite a surprise to Diana when Finchley had come to announce his lordship's presence the morning following the Countess of Axbridge's rout. Even Alan was astounded to discover himself calling on any woman, much less a woman whose acquaintance he had made only briefly the night before, but she had appeared to be so genuinely interested in the subject of astronomy and so desirous of learning more that, enthusiast that he was in that particular realm of science, he had felt compelled to bring her his very own copy of Ferguson's
Astronomy.
It wasn't until Finchley had admitted him that the enormity of the entire enterprise struck him. The Marquess of Hillingdon had never willingly conversed with a woman before in his entire life and now here he was actually seeking one out. By the time he and the butler reached the top of the stairs, Alan was frantically casting about for a means of escape, but before he could conjure up anything besides ignominious flight, Finchley had opened the doors, announcing in stentorian tones, "The Marquess of Hillingdon." Somehow the inadvertent, "Oh, my goodness!" and the frantic rustling of papers that he overheard did a great deal to put the visitor more at ease. Heretofore he had been under the apprehension that women lay in wait in their drawing rooms, transformed by toilettes that had been arranged to a level of sublime and arcane artistry, preparing themselves for the advent of hapless males such as he. Certainly the only 144
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female of his acquaintance, the Marchioness of Hillingdon, did precisely that. The notion that he had actually caught a female unawares was oddly comforting.
He was even more reassured as he stepped into the room, for its floor was awash with newspapers, journals, and books of every description. In fact, at the moment it so much resembled the floor of his own library that he was more intrigued than intimidated by its occupant.
"How nice of you to visit," Diana greeted him with a friendly smile. "I would offer you a chair, but it will take a moment." She made haste to sweep the latest edition of the
Times
off a comfortable
bergère.
At last Alan had the courage to look at her directly. She was just as unaffected and friendly as he remembered, and far less frightening, attired as she was in a simple morning dress of lemon-colored cambric muslin with a most becoming ruffled high collar of the same material. Clinging to her shoulder was a magnificent African gray parrot.