Lessons of Desire

by Madeline Hunter

  The mention of the Cape Colony had garnered his attention too well. She inwardly grimaced. She had always hoped that rumor was untrue, but—

  “Go on, Miss Blair.”

  “He said that while he was there, a British officer died. It was reported as from a fever but in fact he had been shot. He was found dead after going on patrol. There were suspicions regarding another officer who had accompanied him, but no evidence. Rather than impugn that other officer, a false cause of death was reported.”

  He masked his reaction very well now. She looked upon a face carved of stone. His silence turned terrible, however, quaking with the anger leaking out of him.

  “Miss Blair, if you associated that man’s story with my family, you must know the scurrilous rumor about my father, and how he is said to have had my mother’s lover posted in the Cape Colony. A place where that officer died of fever.”

  She swallowed hard. “I may have heard something to that effect once.”

  “If you did, many did. Neither Langton nor you had any difficulty adding up the references and drawing a conclusion. If you publish that section the insinuation will stand that my father paid another officer to kill my mother’s lover. The lack of names in the memoirs will not spare my father’s reputation, and he cannot defend himself from the grave.”

  “I am not convinced—”

  “Damn it, that is exactly what will happen and you know it. I demand that you remove that portion of the memoirs.”

  “Lord Elliot, I am sympathetic to your distress. Truly, I am. However, my father charged me with seeing his memoirs published, and it is my duty to do so. I have thought long and hard about this. If I remove every sentence that might be construed as dangerous or unflattering to this person or that, there will be little left.”

  He strode to her and looked down hard. “You will not publish this lie.”

  His determination was palpable. He did not require expressions of anger or verbal threats to emphasize the power he would use against her. It was just there, surrounding her, tinged by the sexual awareness that had never left this chamber, creating a mood that held all the edges of that dark instinct.

  “If it is a lie, I will consider omitting it,” she said. “If you can obtain proof that man died of fever, or if my parents’ guest recants, in this one case I will do it. For Alexia, however, not for you or Easterbrook.”

  That checked him. A slow smile formed. “For Alexia? How convenient for you. Now you can retreat without giving me a victory.”

  He understood her rather too well. She did not care for the evidence of that.

  He looked down much more kindly. Their closeness, born of his fury, became inappropriate suddenly. As his anger ebbed that other tension tightened again.

  He did not retreat the way he should. The way her raised eyebrows demanded. Instead he lifted a strand of her hair and looked at it while he gently wove it between his fingers.

  “Did your father include the name of either of these men, Miss Blair? The young diplomat at the dinner party or the officer who was suspected?”

  He did not touch her as such, but his toying with her hair implied things she should not allow to stand. Their isolation in this bedchamber, even their confrontation, had demolished the most protective formalities. The subtle tingling he created on her scalp was delicious, cajoling her to speculate about other physical excitements.

  Conquering, possessing, protecting—she did not doubt that he was prepared to be ruthless and toy with more than hair if he thought it would achieve what he wanted. Nor was she confident she could defeat the challenge should it come.

  “The young diplomat they invited to dinner was Jonathan Merriweather.”

  He looked in her eyes, suspicious again. “Merriweather is now an assistant to the British envoy here in Naples.”

  “How convenient for you.”

  His hand wound in her hair more firmly. The subtle play became controlling. “Did you journey here to speak to him? Is that why you are in Naples? Do you intend to annotate those memoirs and fill in the names and facts that your father discreetly omitted? The book will sell all the better then, and I daresay your press could use the income.”

  She purposefully took hold of the hair he held and pried his fingers off. Her indignation helped her ignore the sensation of his warm hand beneath hers, and the way his eyes reflected his awareness of her touch.

  “I expect my father’s memoirs to be popular without annotations, but I thank you for the suggestion. I am not here for that purpose, however.”

  That was a bald lie, but she felt no compunction about misleading this man. Her main interest in filling in the memoirs’ gaps did not bear on his family in any way.

  “Lord Elliot, I have come to visit the excavations and ruins to the south. I need to prepare to leave this city at once and continue my journey as I originally planned. Therefore, I must ask you, once more, to leave.”

  “Your tour will have to be delayed a few days more. I cannot allow you to go just yet.”

  She laughed. The man’s presumptions had become ridiculous. “What you would allow is of no interest to me.”

  “It is of essential interest to you. I warned that freeing you might entail conditions, and you promised to accommodate them.”

  “You said nothing about conditions when you arrived.”

  “Your warm embrace distracted me.”

  She peered at him distrustfully. “What are these conditions?”

  He slowly looked down her flowing locks, which meant he looked down most of her body. She thought she detected a possessive interest, as if he had just received a gift and judged its value.

  “Gentile Sansoni would only release you if you entered my custody. I had to accept total responsibility for you and promise to regulate your behavior.”

  Hot anger flared in her head. No wonder Lord Elliot was preening with arrogance and command all of a sudden today. “That is intolerable. I have never answered to a man. To do so would make my mother turn in her grave. I refuse to agree to this.”

  “Would you prefer to take your chances with Sansoni? It can be arranged.”

  The threat left her speechless.

  Lord Elliot did not exactly laugh as he strode to the door, but he did not hide his amusement at her dilemma either.

  “We will journey on to Pompeii together, Miss Blair, after I speak with Merriweather. Until then, you are not to leave these chambers without my escort. Oh, and there will be no Marsilios or Pietros visiting you either. I’ll be damned if you will provoke more duels while you are under my authority. I swore an oath to control you, and I expect your cooperation and obedience.”

  Authority? Control? Obedience? She was so stunned that he was gone before she found the voice to curse him.

  CHAPTER

  FOUR

  Miss Blair’s willingness to compromise on the memoirs improved Elliot’s mood. He would obtain the necessary denial from Merriweather, pack Miss Blair off on the next ship sailing west, and turn his attention to more interesting matters.

  Merriweather would undoubtedly cooperate. He better than anyone knew that Drury’s story about that officer’s death was false. Furthermore, his diplomatic career would be harmed if the whole world read that he had been indiscreet while in his cups. He would become an ally in efforts to have Miss Blair remove the incriminating paragraphs.

  Elliot discovered within the hour that the matter would not be settled as quickly as he hoped. A clerk at the British legation in the Palazzo Calabritto informed him that Merriweather had gone to Cyprus on a mission, and was not expected back for a fortnight at least.

  Elliot returned to his hotel and rearranged some of his plans. As afternoon cooled into evening he rode in a hired carriage to the Spanish Quarter to once more call on Phaedra Blair.

  Her blue eyes blazed on seeing him at her door. “What do you want now, Lord Elliot?”

  “You said that you wished to stroll along the bay this evening. I am here to escort you.”
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  “I do not require your escort.”

  “You either stroll with me or not at all. It would be a pity if you did not enjoy your freedom now that you have it.”

  She pursed her lips. Debate reflected in her eyes. “Very well, let us go now.”

  She stepped forward in anticipation of him stepping aside.

  “You forgot your hat, Miss Blair. The sun has not set and your lovely complexion will still be in danger. I am sure that you would like to avoid more of those tiny sun spots on your nose, charming though they are.”

  Her hand flew to her nose. For an instant feminine vanity conquered her pose of indifference to such silly concerns.

  “You mix false flattery with criticism most adroitly, sir.”

  “The flattery was not false. The spots are adorably girlish, but you still need a hat. I will wait while you put one on. You do own a hat, don’t you?”

  “Of course.” Exasperated, she turned on her heel and aimed for her bedchamber. “Do not follow me this time.”

  “I would never enter a lady’s bedchamber twice in one day. Like four dances at a ball, it might be misunderstood.”

  “I misunderstand little about men, Lord Elliot. They are the most transparent of creatures.”

  He expected they were, for her. She was not inexperienced. She had known where his thoughts wandered earlier today when he saw her standing next to that bed. Her unbound hair made her appear like a woman prepared for an afternoon of pleasure.

  She had not reacted with shock or modest embarrassment. There had been no virtuous indignation. Instead she just watched him while the sensual possibilities teased them both. Her expression frankly acknowledged the pull and its possibilities.

  He had never experienced anything quite like it before. She managed to taunt and reject without saying a word. You want me and I may want you but it will not happen now. It may not happen ever. I haven’t decided yet. She had to know that her manner would raise the devil in a man.

  She returned wearing a straw hat that was far more attractive than he expected. Its diagonally angled brim and silk flowers in white and blue enhanced her eyes and fair complexion. Her long, streaming hair, her lack of paint, and those tiny spots gave her a fresh, country appearance.

  Her garments marred the image. Black, lightweight, undecorated fabric swathed her from neck to toe. A sash bound her midriff but otherwise little of her shape could be seen in the voluminous, loose drapery.

  The dress provoked more speculation than she probably anticipated. It hinted at what she had told him earlier. No maid “trussed” her. She wore no corset or stays and the general forms indicated that the body so free beneath the fabric was worth imagining. High breasts, he decided, of indeterminate but admirable size, and hips feminine enough to make her waist appear quite small. Some sleight of hand on a few hooks and all would be revealed.

  “Alexia made it,” she said, seeing his admiration of the hat. “I believe she hopes to reform me. As for my dress that you are eyeing so critically, do not expect me to change it. It was not my decision that forces you to accompany an unfashionable woman in public.”

  “The appeal of the dress is growing on me. I insist you cover your hair but I will not demand that you give up all the symbols with which you challenge the world.”

  She raised her chin and sailed through the doorway. “If you are wise you will not demand anything at all.”

  Noise, drama, feathered bonnets, and colorful parasols.

  Princely wealth and abhorrent poverty and the glint of soldiers’ armor.

  London’s fashionable hour was a pale imitation to what took place in southern climates in the evening. The causeway along the Bay of Naples had filled with the city’s population. Aristocrats in fashionable dresses and coats strolled in packs between poor people loitering near the water. Tradesmen and their wives promenaded with their children.

  The evening social hour, enjoyed near the bay or in church piazzas, served important purposes in the city, as seen by the way girls of marriageable age were turned out for display. Their young, dark beauty glowed between sober-faced parents who critically assessed the men who looked twice.

  All of Naples was an opera and Phaedra Blair did not appear nearly as odd as she might have intended. Her hat made her at least half presentable, although Elliot noticed the attention she garnered with her flowing hair. He imagined the reaction when she came here her first evening, walking alone, her red locks flaming among a sea of black and brown. London had more patience with the kind of eccentricity that she displayed in her appearance.

  “Did you speak with Mr. Merriweather?”

  They were the first words she had spoken since leaving her apartment. Elliot had not forced conversation in the carriage. He did not mind the lack of it. He spent a good deal of his time in silence with his own mind as his only company. He enjoyed society up to a point, but only if hours of quiet balanced those of noise and talk.

  “He is away on a mission and not expected back for a fortnight at best.”

  He wondered if she knew that already. He was not convinced Miss Blair was so innocent in her purposes in visiting this city. If she wanted to see the ruins, another time of year would make more sense. Embarking when her journey would overlap the heat of Naples’s summer, when her press was in trouble, her partner ill, and those memoirs awaited preparation…He still suspected that quizzing Merriweather had been among her intentions here.

  “I hope that you do not expect me to delay a fortnight or more before going to Pompeii.”

  “I have decided we will visit the ruins while I await his return.”

  That appeased her. She almost appeared relieved. Perhaps she really had come only as a tourist.

  “Last spring Alexia told me that you are writing a new book, Lord Elliot. Is your visit to Pompeii connected to that?”

  “I am going to see the new excavations and learn what has been discovered in the last few years. I will be talking to the archaeologists and researching some matters for my book.”

  “Alexia said it is to be a book about everyday matters, the way people lived. How unusual. Normally history books describe the wars and politics and the deeds of great men. Even your last one did.”

  “I am aware that this book may be criticized for lack of importance. The subject interests me, however, and I can afford to indulge myself.”

  “If you think I am criticizing, you misunderstand. I believe your book will be very popular no matter what the scholars say. It should sell very well.”

  “I am not sure that my publisher agrees.”

  “Then perhaps you should find another one. I would be honored to publish it if you can bear the thought of conducting business with a woman.”

  He laughed at her shrewd expression. That press might survive after all if Miss Blair displayed such talent in flattering authors into throwing in with her.

  Her mood had improved since they began their walk. Perhaps the softening light of the low sun and the cooling breeze were the reasons. More likely Miss Blair had decided that anger would interfere with enjoying her new freedom.

  Joy sparkled in her eyes as she marched along observing the passing crowds, the boats, and the gulls. She smiled his way often with a warmth that might be misinterpreted as flirting. He did not miss the way men looked at her. The novelty of her red hair was enough to draw attention, but Miss Blair would do so in any case.

  She did not miss those looks either. She did not invite or discourage them. She took neither satisfaction nor insult either, from what Elliot could tell. She merely walked on, those black, swaying drapes revealing more than they were supposed to, confident in her difference.

  She subtly projected an aura, however. It bore the same challenge that he had felt in her chamber, only now it spoke to every man who looked too long. You want me, but I have decided it will not happen.

  She stopped to purchase a little bouquet of flowers from a girl selling posies from a box. He tried to pay for them but she waved his
coin away and paid herself. She continued on, holding the fragrant blooms to her nose.

  “Lord Elliot, I would like to make a proposition.”

  Not the one he wanted. His body tightened anyway. Her words had been chosen to tease. That only angered him because it worked.

  He shouldn’t, but…“I have seen the result of the terms you offer men in your propositions, Miss Blair, and I must decline.”

  Her expression fell. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, did I misunderstand? My apologies.”

  “What did you mean?”

  He shrugged. “I thought you were going to offer to make me one of your friends. One of those bees who buzz around the queen.”

  Her white skin flushed. Her anger carried a good dose of dismay.

  “What do you know of my friends?”

  “You may scorn polite society, but it is aware of you. Everyone knows about the daughter of Artemis Blair, and how, like her mother, she considers herself above all those stupid social rules.”

  “Your rudeness astonishes me.” Anger won out, and she stopped flustering. “You are so typical in misunderstanding my friendships, which is why I would never consider having one with such as you.”

  Oh, she would consider it. She already had. Negotiations had begun earlier today. “If I have been rude, I must apologize.”

  Her expression relaxed.

  “Although—”

  Her eyebrows shot up.

  “—if you are above stupid social rules, is it even possible for me to be rude, Miss Blair? Within the context of your beliefs, I mean. The word ‘rude’ is all about those rules, is it not? In the days ahead you will have to help me see where your subjugation to the rules begins and ends, so I do not misunderstand again.”

  Again that knowing confidence, that challenge, saturated her. “You can be certain that I will, Lord Elliot.”

  Their walk had taken them to the Riviera di Chiaia and the great villas that overlooked the bay. Miss Blair admired their beauty while she buried her thoughts behind a passive mask.