by Thea Devine
Perhaps it was admirable that he chose to defend his
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friend by issuing a warning practically the moment she stepped foot in the house, but she doubted it.
"I know that," she said stonily. "Neither am I."
The door opened just then, saving her from hearing whatever else might be on his mind, and Lady Waynflete, who had said not a word during this brief harsh exchange, motioned for the servants to set up the collapsible tables directly in front of her and Jainee, and to lay out the dishes on a nearby table which had an inlaid leather top and could bear the heat and weight of the trays.
Jeremy uncovered the salvers while the maids laid out plates and cutlery. The butler served one platter after another of ham, salmon, and chicken, cut into dice for ease of consumption; there were side dishes of rice and mashed turnip, a macaroni pudding, cranberries and olives. There was a pot of chocolate and another of coffee, and a tray of desserts: jellies, cheeses, fruit puffs and small cakes.
They ate in silence, Jainee choosing to pour a cup of chocolate and to warm her icy hands before taking a plate of chicken, cranberries and macaroni pudding, which, little sustenance though it was, was still too much for her overwrought stomach.
But the chocolate was wonderfully hot and creamy and slid down her throat with reassuring heat. She was letting Jeremy Waynflete get to her, as if he were someone who would stand in the way of the course of events.
But in fact, he too knew when he was being swept along by a tide, for when Lady Waynflete bid them good-evening, shortly after the arrival of the luggage and the house servants, including Marie, from Brighton, Jeremy went on the attack again.
"Stay a moment more, Miss Bowman," he invited her as she rose to follow his mother.
She sank back into her seat, and accepted the offer of another cup of chocolate.
“I trust the informality of the dinner did not offend,"
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Jeremy began, a premise insulting enough in itself because it inferred she was not used to even this much bounty in this kind of setting.
It was time to play his bluff and gain the advantage of him. "It was tolerable,” she said insolently. "But nevertheless, I thank you for your generous hospitality."
Only the faint twitch of a muscle in his cheek betrayed his irritation at her impertinence. He did not like free-speaking women and this one, with her galling blue gaze and her positively arrogant air fairly set his hackles up. She had been blatantly coming in Brighton; and how Nick could have been taken in, he never would know. Nor would Nick want him interfering, but Jeremy didn't see how he could admit this seductress into his mother's home and not ask questions.
"Why don’t you just tell me why Nick was so anxious to install you in my mother's house in the dead of winter and we will have done, Miss Bowman."
Jainee smiled faintly. "He must have his reasons," she said noncommittally.
"Indeed, and who would know them better than you?" Jeremy asked silkily.
He was sharp all right, Jainee thought, but he had none of Southam's presence or his power. He was obviously going to be a buzzing little fly, and she saw she would have to swat him down more than once.
She shrugged and said nothing and Jeremy went on, "Of course, no one ever knows what Nick will take it into his head to do. But I will tell you what he doesn't do is lose vast sums of money at the card tables and then foist a petticoat off on his best friend's mother on the pretext she is the indigent daughter of some old friend. You have some kind of arrangement with Nick, and frankly, I would like to know just what it is."
Well, that was lethal and straightforward; his cards were now on the table, and she still palmed the ace. Whether it was the winning card or not was something else again.
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She had to rip into him now or forever be at his mercy because she backed down. She shunted aside every explanation that had rushed into her mind in the space of one second, and recklessly, she decided to play the hand.
"What if the arrangement is exactly what you believe it is?" she asked him, shocked that her voice remained steady, calm, assured in spite of the fact she was as much as admitting she had agreed to be Southam's mistress.
He did not look shocked; he just hadn't believed that Nick would be quite so callous as to set up his goddess as a vestal virgin in his mother's house. He still couldn't conceive of it, even with his mother's own acknowledgement of it.
"I like that one," he agreed easily. "I really do. Even my own mother saw the possibility of it. But Nick don't do things like that in a public way. It really makes no sense, Miss Bowman, but —if it is the case, Nick will be damned discreet, I assure you."
"As am I," she said instantly, almost without thinking, and she saw him register that tiny moment of surprise.
But he was a gentleman too. He raised his cup to her. "Nicely done, Miss Bowman. I salute you. And I warn you. I will be watching you—"
Jainee forestalled him before he could complete the threat. "And I," she said loftily as she rose up to indicate their interview was concluded, "will be watching you."
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And hadn't Edythe Winslowe had the right of it, Jainee reflected venomously, as she was shown to her room. You couldn't let these top of the trees bluebloods roll over you; they would leave you dead for leather in a trice and laugh about it into the bargain.
Nor could she let Jeremy Waynflete's sensibilities get in the way of things. He hated her already, but he would have to stand far in line behind Southam.
Marie met her at the door. "Welcome, mademoiselle. And 93
I thank you again for recommending me to Madame Waynflete."
"De rien," Jainee said briskly, brushing aside her gratitude and pushing her way into the room.
She stopped short at the sight of the bed. The bed dominated the room the way her bargain with Southam dominated her thoughts, and with just the same forcefulness. It was there, huge and luxurious, with a mattress to sink into and lose oneself, and a canopy that was shaped like the springs of a glass coach and crowned with a plaster cornice from which draperies of the sheerest silk were appended.
"Dieu," Jainee muttered, reaching out a tentative hand to touch the coverlet which was reembroidered satin slipped over a counterpane of cotton and wool. The bedframe itself, the headboard and four reeded posts were painted white and gilded with winding twining vines reaching up to heaven and, perhaps, down to hell.
But that seemed too fanciful, even for her, and besides, underneath this massive piece of furniture was a most reassuring scallop-bordered carpet in a soft shade of blue.
Beside the bed there was a matching night-stand, and Marie had drawn up a similar matching table to the foot of the bed and thrown a red velvet cloth over, with a rosewood side chair beside.
Just opposite the bed, there was a fireplace with a meticulously detailed surround depicting classical figures, and on the breastpiece, there was a luminous landscape painted in oil.
On the far wall there was a clothes press, and drawn up by the fireplace, there was an open-armed upholstered chair covered in the same red velvet as the tablecloth with a small round tripod table by its side.
Everything in the room was beautifully made and on a gracious scale except for that bed. Jainee did not know how she was going to push herself to climb into it, let alone sleep in it.
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But she was surprised to find she spent a comfortable night, and she was aroused at dawn by Marie, who had drawn her bath and brought her coffee and laid out a selection of gowns, all freshly ironed, for her to consider.
"Did you sleep last night?" Jainee wondered, and Marie shook her head. She had been too excited, too full of the new sights and sounds, and her head too occupied with the nuances of getting along with the household staff in a way so unfamiliar to her.
Jainee had been consumed by none of these thoughts, but after her leisurely bath and a scalding cup of coffee sipped by the roaring morning fire, she considered what th
e day might bring.
As she understood it, March was still the time of year that the fashionable set secluded themselves on their country estates and town was notoriously thin of company. Which meant that with any good luck, Southam would not be back in London for months, assuming he had a country estate.
Therefore, she was unpleasantly surprised to be greeted by Lady Waynflete's fluting voice when she was only halfway down the stairs: "My dear, the very best thing — Nicholas has come to breakfast! He left Brighton shortly after we did," she continued, and Jainee's step faltered as she caught sight of him lounging negligently against the newel post of the banister, "and he and Jeremy have just come from a ride in the park and are ravenous."
"Yes," Nicholas said languidly, watching Jainee resume her steady pace down the stairs until she reached bottom and faced him directly, "I feel like I could just devour something."
"How predatory," Jainee murmured, giving him her gloved hand and never flinching from his flat matte gaze.
"As one must be when confronted by the huntress," he countered in his most reasonable tone of voice as he relinquished her hand.
"Truly, my Lord, you must always be on your guard lest I
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pounce," Jainee said with just a touch of irritation in her voice.
"And yet," Nicholas answered with an undertone as Lady Waynflete led them toward the dining room, "it will not be long before I can have at you, Diana."
"I will sharpen my claws in anticipation," she retorted and preceded him into the room.
Gracefully, he made his way to her chair to assist her in seating. "It is always wise to remember that the huntress lives for the kill," he murmured in her ear before going to the opposite side of the table to seat himself.
Jainee unfolded her napkin and then delicately removed her gloves, finger by finger before looking up at him and smiling her catlike smile.
"I can hardly wait to sink my teeth into the proposition, my Lord," she said smugly as the servants began serving the first round of the meal.
Nicholas acknowledged the smile with a sketchy salute as he accepted a cut of ham from a warmed platter placed before him. "Like as not, Diana, you will still find the end result hard to swallow."
"I would as soon choke on the expectation," she said dampingly.
"If you cross me," Nicholas said, his voice mild and deadly, "you will have none."
Well, there was no mistaking that. He was not stupid and he would be on the lookout for any sign she wanted to renege. It was fair warning, and though her expression did not change, she was thinking furiously of all the ways she would thwart him, given the chance.
She wanted to take the cut glass water pitcher and throw it at him. She wanted to stamp her foot in vexation because he seemed to be one measure ahead of her already.
"Then I will be dead in any event," she said finally, as she helped herself to a slice of veal and ham pie from one of
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two platters placed before her. "Then how would you count the cost of your expectations?"
"The same as when I began,” Nicholas said acidly, ignoring the horrified expression on Lady Waynflete's face, "ten thousand pounds for a diamond in the rough, all sharp edges and changing facets with a tongue that could cut glass.”
"And so you have chopped me to mincemeat instead," Jainee shot back.
"Before you so very kindly slice me into ribbons," he retorted. "But perhaps what is needed is a gentle reminder as to who should be grateful to whom, Diana, and who should cease slinging arrows lest her benefactor bleed to death."
"We will say no more," Lady Waynflete intervened at this point. "Such wrangling sits ill on an empty stomach.” And, she thought despairingly, made wonderful gossip in the servants' hall.
"On the contrary," Jainee said ungratefully through gritted teeth, "it positively whets my appetite.**
"And mine as well," Nicholas said coolly, "but not necessarily for food."
He watched with covert glee as his shot finally hit home; Jainee's cheeks flushed just the faintest pink, which only heightened her gorgeous coloring. She was vulnerable on the subject of their unholy bargain, and now surely out of countenance that he had alluded to it publicly, judging by the viciousness with which she attacked her veal and ham pie.
But that was all to the good; it wouldn't do to let the goddess assume that any of her barbs could pierce him; she was too quick-witted by half and cagey to boot. But more than that, she had no appreciation for what he had done for her, and he meant to make her very aware of that.
Jainee, however, had not relaxed, but none of the turmoil within her showed outwardly except for her one blatant misstep in stabbing her poor pie to death. He had noticed, but that could not be helped with her mind just boiling over 97
with the things she wanted to do to Lord Patronizing Big Britches with his smug, cocksure, overbearing male condescension.
Well, she was better now that she had gotten that moment of rage onto the table and out of her heart, and it didn't matter one whit what Lady Waynflete thought of her or how Nicholas Carradine meant to exercise his male prerogative. She was ready for him, and she would not let him goad her into losing her temper again.
But at that, she thought, she had rather sliced him up and served him rare, and when she was finally able to look up at him with some serenity in her mind and on her face, she saw that he felt exactly the same as she: that the battle was not yet fully engaged, and he could not wait until the moment they might be alone together.
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After breakfast they removed to the parlor, where a roaring fire greeted them and still more coffee and chocolate were laid to hand on a table which had been set beside the sofa.
"Here is the plan now," Lady Waynflete said, settling herself comfortably on one of the sofas and motioning for Jainee to sit next to her. "I am informed by Blexter, who keeps tight rein on such things, that we have an invitation to the Westerlys, who are having a select few in for cards in a fortnight, and that will be, I think, our first foray, assuming I can command an invitation for Jainee as well, which I shouldn't think would be a problem since she is now to all intents and purposes family. And then—" she rifled through a handful of envelopes which had been put on the table beside her, "there is—"
"I will tell you the rest," Nicholas intervened, stemming the tide of her enthusiasm ruthlessly. "She will receive an invitation, along with yours, to the Tallingers' annual winter dinner and the Ottershaws' return to town party, and I will
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make sure that the Westerlys welcome her with open arms. You need do nothing more than make sure she does us credit, Lucretia—which," he added blithely as he caught the warning combative light in Jainee's eyes, "I am certain she will. Now, Jeremy, you and I must do our utmost to be sure that she is seen in the most appropriate places around town—"
"You have windmills in your head if you think I will be a part of this," Jeremy said with bitterness etching his tone of voice.
“For God and country?" Nicholas reminded him gently.
"That's pure rot and you know it," Jeremy retorted.
"But we won't soil our soles wading in it publicly, will we?"
"I hope you drown in it," Jeremy muttered. "I will do as you want, Nick, but I don't much like it. And now you will excuse me. Mother will let me know the program and I will play the gallant under protest, and only because you ask it, Nick."
He bowed coldly to Jainee, kissed his mother's hand and left the room without further comment. Lady Waynflete shook her head commiseratingly.
"He will come around, my dear. It's just that he thinks you are an adventuress who has somehow got Nick under her thumb."
Jainee, whose intense blue gaze still rested on the closed door behind which Jeremy Waynflete had retreated, murmured, "He is right."
"How amusing," Lady Waynflete said uncertainly. "Nick?"
But Nicholas was watching Jainee and her changeless expression that focused on the doo
r and he couldn't tell for one moment what was going on behind her eyes or the brassy verification that made Lucretia look at him so accusingly.
"I believe I need to have a few moments alone with my protegee," he said finally.
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"Well, Nick-"
"My dear Lucretia, I'm not going to ravish her on the Aubusson, you know. It's damned cold, for one thing, and for another, Diana is buttoned up tighter than a miser's fist and the servants would be laying the evening fire before I could get a quarter of her clothes off of her. Now, do trust me, Lucretia, just as you always have, and let me have a few minutes to speak with . . . Jainee ... so that we may come to an understanding of her responsibilities while she is under your roof."
"Very well, Nick," Lucretia said, but her voice was cold and her eyes were no longer merry with the anticipation of the winter's events to come. "All shall be as you wish, but I must tell you, I do not appreciate your levity or your bawdy humor in the least, and I want to remind you just what a great favor I am doing you and all because of my affection for your family and your uncle Dunstan. Do you understand?"
"Yes ma'am," Nicholas said humbly, but he didn't look in the least penitent. He did not say another word until Lady Waynflete had exited the room, her face set and her posture positively reeking disapproval, and then he turned to Jainee.
"You had better check that unruly tongue of yours, Diana, and remember just where the debt and the obligation lays."
"How can I forget? It lays squarely in your bed, as you have made very plain."
"And you have heard me keep my part of the bargain: you are under the protection and sponsorship of Lady Waynflete, whose lineage and credentials are impeccable, and you now have entree into four of the most exclusive events in advance of the season. It is time now, Diana, for you to give over."
"Nonsense. You promised you would not corrupt Madame's carpet."
"Did I?" Nicholas considered it for a moment. "No, I be-
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lieve I said I wouldn't ravish you on the carpet. But there are many other possibilities to contemplate."
