"You want to know my age?" she asked in surprise. After a moment's thought she said, "I'm not sure I should tell you. A demirep's age is a professional secret."
"I'm not interested in chapter and verse," he said impatiently. "I merely want to be sure that you are over sixteen. I prefer not to take children to bed."
So he didn't like to seduce children. An interesting fact, and to his credit, since there were so many men who lacked his scruples. A lord had seduced one of Harriette Wilson's own sisters away from home when the girl was only thirteen.
"I think I have just been complimented," she said lightly. "You need have no fears on that score. I was twenty-four last June 24th."
"Midsummer Day?" he reflected. "That would explain it. You must be a fairy changeling, for you have more than mortal beauty."
Diana flushed. His matter-of-fact tone made the compliment more meaningful than any of the lavish words whispered in her ear the night before. "Thank you, my lord, but I assure you that I am quite mortal. Mundane, in fact. If you look beyond the surface, there is nothing at all unusual about me."
"But it's the surface which interests me," he murmured, his gray eyes lazily surveying her, lingering on her breasts and waist. It was the most thorough examination she had ever received, and did nothing to reduce the color in her cheeks. Well, such looks were part of her new life. She had given up the right to wax indignant at a man's insolence, though St. Aubyn's appraisal was not so much insolent as frank. Very, very frank.
"To get the surface, my lord, you must also accept the rest of me," she said in a tone between warning and amusement.
They were leaving the park, and the streets were busier now, as wagons and peddlers began their rounds. "I have a name, you know. Whenever I hear 'Lord St. Aubyn,' I think someone is looking for my father."
"And what is your given name, my lord?" Diana asked, though Madeline had already told her.
"Gervase Brandelin. I would prefer you to use that... Diana."
"I have not given you leave to use my Christian name, my lord, nor am I ready to use yours." Diana's voice was firm, but mentally she considered the name "Gervase." It had a soft romantic sound that didn't fit the hard-edged man who rode beside her. Or did he have a tender side that he showed only to intimates? As they rode into the stableyard behind her house, she decided there was only one way to find out if that were true. But not yet.
It was still early enough that the little yard was empty, the groom inside eating breakfast. Dismounting from his own horse, St. Aubyn went to Phaedra's side and reached up to help Diana down. His hands were firm on her waist as she slid off her mount, and he didn't let go even when her boots were solid on the ground. Tartly, Diana said, "I can stand without aid, my lord."
"I have no doubt of that," he said softly, his voice deep and husky. "But don't you know why men take ladies riding? It creates... opportunities."
She was mesmerized by the cool fire of his eyes as he loomed above her. His body was mere inches away, and she felt his warmth radiate through the chill morning air. He bent over to kiss her upturned face, and she permitted it, ready for another lesson in the trade she had chosen.
At first his kiss was as undemanding as the one he had given her the night before, and even so the effect was unnerving. She learned that a hard man could have soft lips. Diana closed her eyes, savoring the pleasure of what was happening and slowly working her mouth against his, tasting its contours.
Her simple response had an explosive effect on St. Aubyn, and his arms slid around her, pulling Diana close as his kiss intensified. The multiple sensations were dizzying and Diana clung to him, captivated by his explorations. She learned now how it felt to press against his muscular body, and the experience was as exciting as it was alarming. Her breasts crushed against his chest with a sweet ache that demanded freedom from the heavy riding habit.
His hand slid down her back, kneading her buttock and pulling her tight against him, and this new intimacy made Diana feel suddenly trapped, helpless in the face of his overpowering hunger. She tried to break free, but his arms held her too tightly. Pure panic set in, and Diana pushed violently at St. Aubyn, shoving at his chest with all her strength.
Releasing her immediately, he dropped his arms and stepped back, then turned away, placing both hands on the saddle of his own horse. His head was bowed and she could hear the unevenness of his breathing as she herself struggled for air, her lungs as strained as if she had been running across the moors.
Finally he turned back to her, his dark face bleak and controlled. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you." He inhaled a deep, shuddering breath. "You have a... disconcerting effect on me."
She accepted his apology with a quick nod. It had been an excellent lesson in the power of male desire. Remarkable how a simple response on her part had triggered such a reaction from him. However, she had had quite enough lessons for one day. Nervously fingering her riding whip, Diana said quietly, "Please believe that I am not trying to play the coquette. I had not expected events to move so quickly."
His composure regained, St. Aubyn made a quick, impatient gesture with his hand. "Why can't we reach an agreement right now? You know that I want you, and you are not wholly indifferent to me. Name your price. If you want an allowance, tell me how much. Or if you prefer, I will make a lump-sum settlement. But let us waste no more time on preliminaries."
As she stared at him in all his male strength and arrogance, Diana was suddenly furious. "What you see as a wasteful preliminary is essential to me," she snapped. "If that is unacceptable, find another woman. As you yourself said, at least ten percent of the women in London are for sale." Lifting the skirts of her riding habit, she marched away from him. Without looking back, she said, "And take your gift horse with you."
She was almost to her back door when the deep voice called after her, "Wait."
Turning, she watched him tether the two horses before walking over to her. His face was twisted into a scowl, but she felt that his irritation was more with himself than her. He stopped an arm's length away and said haltingly, "I'm sorry; I told you that I know nothing of women."
The clear gray eyes were apologetic as they searched hers. "Until now, there has been no real reason to learn."
Diana softened. It could not be easy for him to apologize twice in as many minutes. Though she had looked forward to holding power over a man, the reality made her uncomfortable.
Encouraged by her expression, the viscount continued, "When and if we become lovers, I promise that some of my rough impatience will disappear." With the ghost of a smile he added, "Even if ten percent of the women in London are available, I don't want them, I want you. And your beauty is no longer the only reason."
If St. Aubyn meant to be disarming, he succeeded brilliantly. Diana released the breath she hadn't known she was holding and smiled in return. "I think we shall reach an agreement in time, my lord. Only, please do not rush me too quickly. I am not a woman of the streets who might earn a hundred guineas in a day at one guinea per man."
A touch of distaste showed on his face: a fastidious man preferred not to think of such things. Raising her eyebrows, Diana said, "Do not show contempt for my less-fortunate sisters, my lord. Remember that when the Empress Messalina challenged the greatest whore in Rome to see which of them could service the most men in a night, it was the empress who won."
He actually chuckled, the lightest expression she had yet seen from him. "I've never bedded a woman educated in the classics. Have you learned anything new from Ovid and Sappho?"
Diana realized that she was getting into very dangerous territory. Primly she said, "In some areas, there is very little new to be learned."
"Are you sure, Mrs. Lindsay?" There was definitely a mischievous glint in his eyes now. "I have lived in India. They are quite imaginative. Perhaps I might even be able to teach you a thing or two, despite your professional expertise."
If only he knew just how little expertise she had! Diana was finding
this repartee more than a little alarming, so she said hastily, "I do not doubt that I can learn much from you, my lord." Extending her hand, she said, "If you will excuse me now..."
He took her hand and held it, his amusement gone and his dark face serious again. "When might I see you again? Tomorrow?"
She hesitated, trying to remember if she should seem willing or unavailable. Oh, the devil with it. "Tomorrow will do very well. Were you thinking of another morning ride?"
"I was thinking of something a little longer, perhaps a ride out to Richmond. We could make a day's expedition of it."
"I must be back before four, my lord." Geoffrey would be home from school and Diana always spent the late afternoon with him.
"Very well, Mrs. Lindsay, I shall call at ten o'clock." Still holding her hand firmly, he cocked a dark brow at her. "Do you have room for the gift horse in your mews?"
The blasted man was trying to pressure her. With less than total graciousness Diana said, "Since I shall be riding her tomorrow, she might as well stay here tonight. But she is a loan horse, not a gift horse."
St. Aubyn had the sense not to look triumphant as he bowed over her hand. "Until tomorrow, then."
His lips were a light, teasing touch that sent a shiver up Diana's right arm, leaving a memory of warmth. As she entered the house, she realized that his lordship was not at all what she had expected. Under that fearsome control lurked surprising tenderness and consideration. Would she still feel bound to him if he had turned out to be harsh through and through? Perhaps not, but she was glad that the reality of him was so much more appealing than the first terrifying impression.
Well, Diana thought with wry fatalism as she removed her riding hat, she had wanted a life more exciting than she had led in Yorkshire, and it certainly looked like she was going to get it.
Chapter 5
When Diana entered the sunny breakfast parlor, Madeline and Edith eyed her as if she were a wayward child, but they refrained from questions until she'd helped herself to the eggs, toast, and tea on the mahogany sideboard. Then Madeline asked with admirable restraint, "How was your morning ride?"
"Quite delightful." Diana smiled beatifically. "It's lovely to be up so early, before the city is stirring. Almost like being in the country again."
Knowing that her answer did not address Madeline's real concern, Diana replenished all three teacups, then replied more to the point, "Lord St. Aubyn was very gentlemanly."
Edith, who had a lively sense of humor under her dour exterior, chuckled as Madeline said with exasperation, "Of course he would be at this stage! But what happened? Did he make you any kind of offer?"
"Yes, but I told him it was premature." Diana poured milk, then stirred her tea. "He also brought a marvelous thoroughbred mare to give me. I told him that was premature as well."
Edith, who knew livestock as well as any man, was disappointed. "You turned down the mare? Pity, I would have liked to see her."
Diana tried sipping the tea, but it was still too hot. "Actually, the mare is in the stables now, but it's only temporary because we're riding out to Richmond tomorrow."
"It would appear that Lord St. Aubyn pleases you." Madeline's tone was carefully neutral.
Diana dropped her levity, knowing that Madeline's questions came from genuine concern. Gazing into her tea, she tried to summarize her impressions. "He is a moody man, but not perhaps as unfeeling as you think. I think he has been very unhappy."
Madeline said gloomily, "It's already too late, then."
Diana took a deep swallow of tea, then raised her eyes. "What do you mean?"
"Once a woman like you starts feeling sorry for a man, you're already on the way to being in love with him."
"Am I so predictable?" Diana's brows arched. "I thought I was looking for a lover, not another child to care for."
"Sympathy is the beginning of caring. Next comes the desire to heal the wounds cruel fate has caused." Madeline smiled wryly. "It's not far from there to believing that no one else can possibly love him as well as you. And then you're lost."
Diana looked mutinous, but before she could reply, Edith said, "Finish your tea and I'll look at the leaves."
Diana obediently swallowed the rest of her tea, then closed her eyes and twirled the cup gently, thinking of Gervase, Lord St. Aubyn. It was easy to visualize that taut face, the lean, muscular body, the gray eyes that were usually cool but could warm with humor,...
Hastily she opened her eyes and handed the cup to Edith, sure she'd given the tea leaves plenty of energy to work with.
Edith gazed into the delicate china cup, her scarred face solemn and her eyes drifting out of focus. She claimed a Gypsy great-grandmother, and when the spirit moved her she would offer a glimpse into the future. While the readings were officially entertainment, they were always heard with great interest.
Her voice was deeper than usual when she said, "Fate," the word drawn out and distant. After a pause that went on too long, she continued disjointedly, "Anger, a veiled face, secrets that join and divide. Lies and betrayals." Then, in a whisper, she repeated, "Lies and betrayals... and love."
Diana felt chill fingers on her spine. Though she chose to make light of Edith's words, in the past they'd been uncannily accurate. Madeline asked quietly, "Are you still sure you want to become involved with St. Aubyn?"
Before Diana could answer, Edith said in her other-worldly voice, "The lies and secrets are not all on one side." Then she shook her head and said in her pragmatic Yorkshire accent, "Whatever that means."
"I doubt it means anything at all," Diana said crisply, rising from the table. "And if neither of you has any more ominous hints or threats for me, I think I'll go throw knives."
As an exit line it wasn't bad. It was also the literal truth. When Madeline had taught Diana what a courtesan should know, the curriculum had included self-defense. Maddy always had a knife ready to hand in her reticule, in a sheath on her leg, or concealed near her bed. Three times the weapon had saved her from great unpleasantness. Once it might have saved her life; the man who threatened her had later strangled another mistress before killing himself.
The lessons had included how to grasp and how to stab. Hold it underhand and stab upward. If you stab down, you're too easy to block and the blade will glance off the shoulder or ribs and not do enough damage.
The knife-throwing lessons were intended to make Diana more comfortable with the weapon. Throwing was not usually recommended for self-defense because it left the thrower disarmed.
Even though Diana hated and feared violence, knife throwing turned out to have a hypnotic fascination. It required concentration and was a soothing activity when she felt disturbed, as she did this morning.
During her earlier years in London, Madeline had turned a long narrow attic room into a practice range. One end of the chamber was covered with soft pine boards to protect the wall, targets of various sizes and heights were fixed to it, and several swinging targets hung in front. The room was used only for knife throwing and the carpet and sparse furnishings were old, but a large window made the place bright and cheerful.
Diana and Madeline practiced here regularly, with the room kept locked the rest of the time. Edith had tried her hand at knife throwing but the sport had little interest for her.
The special knives were made by an old Syrian man who lived in East London. While shaped more or less like a normal dagger, they were made of one solid piece of steel, with no separate haft. Because of that, the weapons were balanced so that they could be thrown by holding either the blade or the hilt, a most unusual characteristic. Both women had a set of six knives, in three different sizes. The lighter knives were easier for a woman to handle and to conceal, while the heavier ones struck harder.
Diana thought with amusement how incongruous she would appear to an onlooker. She had changed to a white muslin morning gown, her hair was still primly woven back in a chignon, and she looked as ladylike as anyone could wish. Stepping up to the eight-p
ace mark, she swung her knife lightly to get the feel, then hurled it at a target.
Thunk! The blade slammed dead into the center.
Strapped to Diana's leg was the embroidered sheath Madeline had given her. Turing her back to the target, she whirled, pulling the knife free and throwing it in one motion without stopping to aim.
It landed half an inch from the first knife. For the next quarter of an hour she threw from different positions as fast as she could. If she ever needed to do this in earnest, she was unlikely to have ideal conditions.
Knives spin in midair, and part of the skill lay in learning how to hit the target with the point rather than the hilt or edge. Different distances from the target allowed for a differing number of spins; a throw that might be accurate at five or eight paces would bounce off the target if thrown from six or nine.
With time, a good knife thrower learned how hit the target every time at any distance. Diana Lindsay, for all her angelic appearance, was very, very good.
After she'ad warmed up, Diana started throwing at moving targets, which swung like pendulums and were a real challenge. Nonetheless, she hit nine out of ten in the center circle. When the door opened, she didn't turn until Madeline's amused voice said, "Are you imagining that I am the target?"
"Good Lord, Maddy, don't even joke about such a thing!" Diana went down the range to remove the six knives. It took time to wrench the two largest blades out; the heavier they were, the deeper they struck.
Walking back to Madeline, she said, "I do find this relaxing, though I'm not sure I could ever throw a knife at another person, even to save my life."
"Would you be able to throw to save Geoffrey's life?"
"Yes," Diana said without hesitation.
"If a situation ever arises where you are threatened—which, God willing, will never happen—just remember how much Geoffrey and the rest of us would miss you." Though Madeline's voice was matter-of-fact, her underlying emotion was apparent. "Save yourself first and make peace with your creator later."
Dearly Beloved Page 9
