The Girl with the Pearl Pin

by Lynne Connolly

“I d-didn’t mean me.”

  He loved the flush that rose to her cheeks. La Coccinelle did not hold a candle to Phoebe North. Phoebe had an intelligence and lively interest Lisette would never have imagined. He remained completely still. Either that, or lunge for Phoebe, and she wouldn’t welcome that. He had never felt more like the savage warriors in his ancestry. He’d read about them as a child, now he knew what they felt like. He liked to think he was more civilized than that, but perhaps he’d been fooling himself. Instead, he put his mind back to what they were supposed to be discussing in the time they had to wait in this horribly intimate room before they were safe to leave. “When I told Lisette—La Coccinelle—that we were done, she vowed vengeance on me. Perhaps this was it.”

  “It was the theft that brought us together, so she could hardly have caused that.”

  He nodded. “But to flaunt the jewels before me, when she knows you are living in their shadow, that would be like her. That could be the necklace she is wearing, but I cannot allow you two to meet. Do you understand?”

  She nodded. “I might be p-provincial but I am not ignorant of the way the w-world works. My father—” She stopped, biting her lip. But she glanced at him and continued. “My father had a m-mistress. The woman c-caused my mother not a little distress. Being my mother, she t-told him so. Then she d-dismissed his mistress, who was not a courtesan, but the wife of a friend.” A reminiscent smile curved her sweet lips. “In the middle of a p-public assembly. Quite c-comprehensively.”

  “Could you imagine what would have happened if I’d allowed you to meet Lisette?”

  She took a sip of brandy. “Only too vividly. She would have l-loved the encounter, wouldn’t she? And it would have ruined me. That’s t-twice you’ve saved me.”

  He finished his drink and put the glass aside. “I have every faith in you. You would have extricated yourself, I’m quite sure. For all your quiet demeanor, you are a formidable woman, are you not?” He discerned strength in her quietness. She was not abashed, she merely appeared that way, but she had an inner strength he would dearly love to see her display. Phoebe North had iron in her soul.

  “You are too good.” He regarded her, enjoying the sight. “Far too good for me, I fear.” Because she was. He could not use this woman, but he would do everything in his power to save her reputation. Even if he had to marry her.

  The notion that came so easily jolted him once he’d recognized it. But it wouldn’t come to that. She should have someone she could rely on, who would devote the rest of his life to making her happy. He couldn’t do that. He had never remained true to one woman for more than a year at a time, and what did he know about fidelity and goodness? He had watched his parents tear the estate and each other apart and turn on him if he wasn’t fast enough. He had no stable family life to take strength from. No idea what fidelity looked like. He didn’t know if he had it in him.

  The expression in her eyes if she discovered he had betrayed her would kill him.

  On the other hand, he had to marry someone, and he had met nobody he wanted more than her. But he would not humiliate her, would not treat her carelessly. And how could he be sure he wouldn’t do that? What experience did he have of fidelity and honor in an intimate relationship?

  “Would La Coccinelle have made matters d-difficult for me?” she asked, seemingly at ease now, sitting there, taking delicate sips of her brandy.

  “Undoubtedly. She would have crowed her triumph to anyone who would listen. Indeed, I fear she took that box to flaunt herself and present the comparison.”

  “I could not compare with her b-beauty.”

  He shook his head. “Do you truly believe that?”

  “Of course. I am not an accredited b-beauty, nor like to be. I don’t have that d-dazzling attractiveness.”

  “Do I detect some wistfulness?” Lifting a hand, he stroked his forefinger down one cheek, emboldened when she did not draw back, but watched him through those rich brown eyes of hers. “You should not. You are quite lovely, you know, but in a delicate, exquisite way rather than the kind of flashy beauty that attracts the uncouth.”

  “I would have c-come off worst.” She kept her gaze on his. “You know I would. And you know why.”

  He would not point out that she had not stuttered once, bar a few slight hesitations. A ridiculous sense of pleasure suffused him, that she would treat him as a friend and relax in his company. Except he wanted more than friendship. If she were in the same position as La Coccinelle, he would not have hesitated. She would be sharing his bed before the night was out. The mental vision that evoked went straight to his groin.

  “You would not have come off worst. Your wit would carry you through. And you are far more alluring.”

  She scoffed, made a sound of derision he would not accept.

  No more. He could take only so much of her gaze, the feel of her skin in his hand and her sweet perfume. Closing the few inches between them, he kissed her.

  She responded immediately and gratifyingly, opening her mouth so he could slide his tongue between her lips. Slowly, so as not to startle her, he moved close enough to curve his arms around her and tighten his hold on her waist. Still in the kiss he lifted her, enjoying the little gasp she made into his mouth, and settled her across his thighs. Her hoop was the new kind, and obligingly folded up as he pressed closer.

  Her hand cupped his face, then she traced lines against his skin with her nails, before threading her fingers into his hair and toying with the strands.

  He would have done the same, but although she wasn’t powdered, she’d had her hair put into an elaborate style he doubted he could begin to recreate if he destroyed it now. He had just enough sense left to realize that before he deepened the kiss.

  At first he supported her back with his outspread hand, but that wasn’t enough. The pleats at the back of her gown teased him, and he followed one up, tracing the center of her back where her spine would be, drawing up, seeking bare skin.

  At the top of her gown he found it. The prominent bone above her spine moved under his seeking fingers, then he explored what he could. He lifted his lips from hers, but only to kiss her cheek, and nibble his way across to her ear.

  With a sigh, she settled into his arm when he curved it around her back. She leaned her cheek on his coat, giving him tacit permission to continue. She gazed into his eyes, her own soft and accepting. Completely unable to resist, he kissed her again.

  This time she spread her hand on his chest. Even through his layers of clothing he felt that touch like a brand, inciting him to continue. He obliged, stroking her skin with more purpose, seeking a way in.

  Her evening gown did not have the fichu ladies generally sported in the daytime. Only a small frill of lace lay between Leo and paradise. But it might as well be an iron gate because she was properly laced into this gown. However, he knew his way around ladies’ clothing. He slipped his finger into the cleft between her breasts, watching a sweet flush rise in her cheeks. He kissed them, nuzzling down to her mouth once more, lingering to draw her sweet taste back. But he kept this kiss tender, slow and exploratory. He could not get too carried away. They had to leave this room somehow and face the world outside. They would have gone in for the next act by now. Col would have the sense to disguise their absence, perhaps ask for the lights at the back of the box to be extinguished. That was what he would have done.

  With regret, he finished the kiss.

  Phoebe aroused was quite a sight. The lovely flush was enhanced by the sultry gaze from heavy-lidded eyes. Her lips were plump and pink, tempted him to take more, to go further. But he could not.

  Even though they were betrothed they had not taken any steps that would make marriage inevitable. He did not want this lovely creature forced into doing anything she didn’t wish. More than that, if they ever came to a time where they would marry in truth, he wanted her choice to be untrammeled by any
thing but need.

  The notion gave him pause, brought his thoughts to a juddering halt. That was the second time since they’d entered this room that he’d found himself assuming a marriage to her, instead of accepting the match was out of the question.

  When had he considered a real marriage? Looking forward to her letters every day, letters that had gone from a polite exchange into something more intimate in a matter of days? He had considered their regular correspondence a way of discussing the affair of the necklace without too much closeness, but now he looked forward to seeing her with keen anticipation and the letters were becoming part of that need.

  “We should go,” she murmured, her voice throaty.

  “We should,” he agreed, but he made no move.

  “What will we do about the necklace? Shouldn’t you find out if it’s the real one?”

  Her question brought him back down to earth effectively, but he kept her on his lap, enjoying the closeness. “Are you suggesting that I visit her?” His mouth quirked.

  “Indeed I feel you must. If it’s ineligible for me to meet her, then you should do so.”

  Carefully, he lifted her away, and settled her back on the daybed. That small taste of her had left him trembling. He was hard, but he did not think she had noticed, so many layers of fabric had been bunched between them. “You are suggesting that I visit my former mistress? What if she wants me back?”

  A slow movement of her hand on the silk of her gown attracted his attention. He watched as she smoothed the folds into place, and resettled the robings at the front, drawing them back against the fabric. “You must do as you see fit. I am in no case to dictate your desires.”

  He caught her hand in his, holding it captive. “Oh, but you do. You dictate my desires quite thoroughly, my sweet. Or did you not know?”

  Still not looking at him, she stared at her lap, where their hands were joined. “I had thought it the normal behavior of a man. At least one who found a woman he could entice into such situations.”

  A rough laugh escaped him. “Indeed not. Many women have tried to trap me into situations like these, with one purpose in mind…”

  She shook her head. “I c-could hardly lay claim to you when I will be returning to B-Buckinghamshire soon.”

  “I see. And my interest matters so little?” Did she care for him at all?

  “No.” Finally she raised her chin and met his eyes. “But I know the w-way the world works. You m-may amuse yourself with me, but you will marry a lady who knows how to b-be a duchess.”

  Indignation rose in him. Why should she not? “I fail to discern how you consider you would not. You have a fine sense of responsibility, and I have never heard you disparage those you consider under your notice. Moreover, you have a sense of the ridiculous I find utterly enchanting. And you are beautiful.”

  She sighed. “I w-wish you would stop saying that.”

  “It’s the truth. All that is needed is for you to believe it.” Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed the knuckles. “The greatest beauties are the ones who hold themselves gracefully and believe in their beauty. Not necessarily the ones with perfect features.”

  “But…” She tailed off as he kissed her again, this time a soft kiss of—affection.

  “I will visit Lisette in the morning, no doubt discommoding her greatly since she doesn’t get up until noon. Then I’ll come to you. I will not linger, and believe me, she has no appeal to me any longer.”

  His smile was genuine, full of mirth. This innocent, sweet woman was sending him into the arms of one of the most notorious women in London. Except that Lisette wouldn’t get her arms anywhere near him. He was determined on that.

  Chapter 9

  As Leo walked into his club after a fraught meeting with La Coccinelle, he was met with a shout from the end of the room. “Ah, here’s the hero of the hour!”

  Wineglass in hand, the Earl of Marston toasted Leo as he crossed the room. Gentleman sat in the chairs set around small tables or grouped informally. The walls now held shelves, containing a collection of books and a stand at the end displayed the day’s journals. Leo glanced at the stand, wondering what had driven Mars’s accolade. No doubt he would find out. Still sore from Lisette’s outrageous demands and denials, he had wanted peace and quiet for an hour or two. That seemed less likely now.

  He lifted a brow in query. “What have I done now?” Had anyone seen him leave that assignation room with Phoebe last night? He had taken the utmost care, sending her ahead, and allowing her to return to the box a good ten minutes before he arrived, as if they had been in different places. But someone could have seen them.

  Mars poured him a glass of rich red wine, which he accepted gratefully. He took a healthy gulp, then curled his hand around the glass, threading his fingers on each side of the air twist stem and curving them around the bowl. The smooth glass felt comfortable and reassuring, which was what he needed.

  “You put La Coccinelle back on the market.” Mars grinned. “She was seen at the opera with a number of suitors. A sign she is available.”

  He suppressed his growl. News traveled fast. “As far as I knew, she was never off the market. I ended our connection two months ago, but even then she was not exclusive. She has never restricted herself to one man at a time.”

  “She was with you.” Mars gave Leo a mock toast before draining his glass. “Didn’t you know? You must have known. She declared she was devoted to you, that you are the love of her life. She has sworn she will get you back.”

  Leo took a seat. “I don’t care. She was available when I wanted her, and that was sufficient. She’s a very demanding and temperamental woman.” Extremely so. He shuddered. Having two parents who fitted the same mold, Leo had a deep dislike of that kind of disruptive behavior.

  “But beautiful and accomplished. With a different background she’d have made someone an excellent wife.”

  Leo shrugged. “She could still do that. Just not in society.” And not his. “Courtesans have made marriages before. I heard a rumor that La Perla is the wife of a country vicar these days.” Why hadn’t he chosen someone like La Perla? An intelligent and reasonable woman, unlike the infuriating Lisette, with her moods and petulance. But she was enticing, wicked in a delicious way, and witty. None of that had been enough to keep him, her tantrums and demands eventually driving him away.

  Mars sighed. “La Perla was a prime ’un. I never had the pleasure, but I would have enjoyed mounting her. It was not to be.” He brightened. “But now I have a chance with La Coccinelle.”

  “I would advise against it. She insists on so much attention, it is hardly worthwhile. Since I disposed of her services two months ago I have not employed anyone.”

  Mars leaned forward. “You’ve been celibate?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve been bored. Nobody took my fancy.” Discussing the women he bedded was nothing new in male company, but he preferred not to be as indiscreet as some. Although Mars was one of his dearest friends, he would not discuss the intimacies of his private life with him. He took another sip of the excellent wine, his mood calming. “We did well, employing Marchant to run the club. He’s been busy.”

  He glanced around. The St. James’s Club had been started with a subscription, which gave the founding members useful privileges. Clubs were all the rage at the moment, but most were men-only. Not all, though. He gave a reminiscent smile when he thought of the SSL and Phoebe’s excitement about it.

  “So have you, by all accounts. Been busy, I mean. The news of your last encounter with the lovely La Coccinelle is all over London. She is heartbroken, she declares. She needs consoling.”

  So much for his attempted change of subject. He gave an appreciative grin. “Truly? I have to give her credit for making profit off the back of our discussion. She must have another keeper by now, if not several.” Reluctantly, but yes, she had not been born with the b
enefit of a respectable family or a competence. The woman had to make a living.

  “And you were seen going into her house this morning. Have you reconciled with her?” Mars demanded.

  Leo closed his eyes and groaned. “Gossip runs faster than an arrow from a bow. No, I have not reconciled with her. Quite the opposite. We parted on bad terms.”

  Mars leaned back and crossed his feet at the ankle. “Old news. The people in the street heard the row. What was it about?”

  Damn. “Merely a piece of jewelry.”

  Mars perked up. “The Latimer diamonds? We all saw what she was wearing last night. Did Latimer have the effrontery to bestow the real necklace on her?”

  Leo could only wish that were true. Then Phoebe would be absolved from suspicion. But he’d needed to be sure before he could confirm that. And sadly, although she’d taunted him with the necklace, Lisette had not produced it or offered to show it to him.

  Although the groups of men around the room appeared to be engaged in their own conversations, Leo would bet his best pearl pin—which Phoebe still had in her possession—that he had an avid audience. He waved his hand languidly in denial. “Not at all. Another one I gave to her.”

  He doubted that would keep the gossips busy for long. They knew he’d gone after the necklace to clear his betrothed’s name. At least they would not say he had gone back to his mistress.

  Lisette’s beauty had not drawn him today, even though she had tempted him with her best tricks. Dressed in a loose morning gown fastened by a mere row of satin bows, the top one left undone, leaving her gleaming hair unbound and wearing the enticing perfume he’d had made for her had not worked. Then she had pleaded with him to take her back, promising him exclusivity, but he’d refused. His interest had been well and truly doused the last time he’d seen her, when her temper, petulance, and appalling misjudgment had finally driven him away. She’d wanted marriage. As if he could walk into court with her on his arm or take her to the ballrooms of his peers.