by Thea Devine
How did the man manipulate them so adroitly from afar?
There was no one populating the streets of London, old or young, who even remotely reminded her of her father.
It scared her a little; she had never once thought that perhaps Therese had not told her the truth of the matter. She had assumed that her mother, on her deathbed, would not lie.
But the possibility existed that the man who was her father still lived in France, had never been to England, had raised the abducted child exactly where he belonged—in his father-land.
Her imagination was running away with her, she thought, after their Saturday morning carriage ride around the park.
"The brisk air is so invigorating," Lady Waynflete said, thrusting her hands even more tightly into the folds of her cloak.
She did not mean it.
It was horribly cold the night of the Ottershaw party, and Jainee railed again about not being able to cover herself decently in that kind of weather.
"We do what fashion dictates," Lady Waynflete said righteously, but even she wore her heavy cloak over the thin silk shawl which matched her dress for the short carriage ride to the Ottershaws' townhouse.
By the time they arrived, there was already a crush of carriages and persons lined up by the front door.
"It is always like this," Lady Waynflete said, peering out of the carriage window. "One never wants to be too early and yet when one presents oneself at just past the appointed hour, one must contend with this. It will take a quarter hour just to get to the front door. I wish it were not so cold."
Nevertheless, when they finally were able to debark from the carriage, she made Jainee leave her fur-lined cape on the seat, and she did the same.
They stepped out into the icy air, and scurried inelegantly up
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the shallow front steps.
"One cannot make a dignified entrance like this," Jainee said, annoyed that she had listened to Lady Waynflete on this subject. How could it detract from a woman's appearance to enter a party enfolded in warmth, and then let it slide off of her shoulders for the perfect dramatic effect?
But then, she was always looking for the theatrical presentation. Even as they entered the reception hall, she could see in the mirrors placed all around how the overhead lights caught the silver flame of her dress and the silver ribbon wound in her hair in a glittery radiance that enveloped her as she removed her blue crepe shawl, handed it to a servant, and followed Lady Waynflete into the throng.
The house was huge, larger than the Waynflete townhouse, and crammed wall to wall with people who immediately stepped aside as they caught sight of Jainee.
It was almost biblical the way the crowd parted as she and Lady Waynflete made their way to the ballroom.
And under the rustling of movement and murmur of conversation, she heard a groundswell of whispers and she couldn't make out the words.
Across the ballroom, in the back of the crowd, Nicholas Car-radine stood moodily apart from the arriving guests, watching them all, picking up a word of conversation here and there, and then, when Jainee arrived, the sibilant sound of his worst nightmare: Lady Desire . . . look, there she is—they call her . . . she is the epitome of. . . Lady Desire . . . Lady Desire . .
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Somehow, Max Annesley found him in the crowd. "There she is, old boy. They can't stop talking about her, did you hear? Isn't she something?"
"You are something," Nicholas said darkly. "What did you do, send prompts to all the invitees? It couldn't be better if you had staged it."
"Nonsense, Nick. She's a new face and a tasty morsel to boot. The name was apt; it spread like fire."
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"Like a disease, you mean. And I know who was the carrier."
"Ah, Nick —don't let's engage in bloodletting. After all, what is the chit to you?"
"A damned nuisance," Nicholas said tartly. "And what is the chit to you?"
"God," Annesley breathed, "a damned good show is what. Have you ever known the Ottershaws' parties to be so lively? Have you seen anyone command such attention in recent memory? Look at them—the crowd is five deep; and my dear, look at the line of disappointed mothers on the sides. If there were cutlery to be had, one of them would have a knife at the beauty's throat."
"How thoughtful of the Ottershaws not to have provided food," Nicholas muttered. "On the other hand, the crowd of them look like they might eat her."
"I always thought it was noxious of these nabobs not to serve dinner, myself," Annesley said. "After all, what do they provide but space to stand around and look at persons one would just as soon not even think about, let alone have discourse with. I still am trying to understand why I even take the time to come to these events."
"You fool no one, Max; it's perfectly plain that you want to be seen and you don't give a fig if you don't see anyone."
Annesley smiled faintly. "That is as may be, but the siren of the season over there obviously wants everyone to see as much of her as possible."
Nicholas, to that point, had avoided following Jainee's progress when, in fact, he could map it in his mind. He knew every one of the fawning exquisites who abased themselves at the feet of the goddess: he didn't need to watch the travesty. But he was also sure that Diana was enjoying every foul moment of it, preening like a peacock, elegantly beguiling her unsuspecting prey.
But there was only one man who had entrance to her bedroom, and one man who would share her bed; he would kill the man who challenged his right to possess her.
"She plays games with the minds of those fops," he said at
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last. "They have no idea they are being led in circles. And then she will come in for the kill."
"I would love for her to play games with me," Annesley murmured suggestively. "Think of it —twisting and turning on her leading strings. She could tie me up anytime."
"That is ever the way with you, Max —never tongue-tied, and the best footwork this side of Prinny. You are the best at suiting action to words: you do it well, and you never have to move a muscle in the end. It's an extraordinary talent, my friend. You practically have her in your bed and you haven't moved an inch from my side."
"Ah, but look at that smile, Nick. It ain't possible she takes a man of them seriously. And they would all take her in a snap."
Now he looked, and it was there: the smile, the faint, smug smile that had drawn him in Brighton, the one he wanted to wipe off her face, and bury with harsh kisses, the one that no other man would know.
He hated the quicksilver glowing gown that caught the lights and attracted men to her like moths to a flame. He hated her surety, and the regal way she moved through the crowd.
He hated the fact he had feelings about her at all.
"Oh God," Annesley said suddenly in awe-struck tones. "Damme, Nick. Look—"
Nick swung around, pulled by the urgency in Annesley's voice.
"Oh dear, Nick —don't say no one warned you. It's the Emerlin without her momma, and she is heading straight for you."
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The evening had lost its luster about twenty minutes after she and Lady Waynflete walked into the Ottershaw ballroom.
She had never in her life seen such an assemblage in one place at one time, and for one moment, she had felt like bolting. And then the path opened up and she and Lady Waynflete had sailed into the crowd to be accosted ceaselessly by this one or that one who either knew Lady Waynflete or who wanted a precious introduction to the Beauty of the evening.
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She remembered none of the names of those to whom she had been presented; she remembered only a sea of faces and an escort of cajoling adulatory gentlemen bearing her along like a tide against the shore.
"Jainee . . . Gen-ay . . ." she heard her name resonate in soft slurring whispers all around the room. "Jainee . . ." She could have been back at Lady Truscott's, with the same fawning exquisites reaching for her hands, her arms, for any possessio
n of her that she might willingly give. The crowds were the same in the elegant townhouse or the barely respectable gaming house.
She knew what they wanted. They wanted what she had gambled away and lost to Southam, and it was now not hers to give.
The bargain was the bargain, and Southam would kill her if she found some other protector—she knew it.
Still, it was hard not to lose her heart to such flattery as surrounded her as she made her way through the ballroom, and it was easy to see that tonight, at least, she could snap her fingers and command any number of willing men to do her bidding.
This heady feeling lasted only as long as it took her to realize that the whole point of the party was the uncomfortable crush of the crowd: the success of the event was counted solely by the number of attendees and where they stood in the social hierarchy.
There was nothing else, no dinner, no refreshment save a tepid glass of champagne, no dancing, no cards, no music even. The whole of the party solely depended on the wit and conversation and the presence of certain persons of eminent standing. Everything else was secondary.
It was no surprise to her then that Lady Ottershaw was in no way pleased with the way she stormed the ballroom with a convoy of eligible men in her wake.
"My dear Lucretia—you must do something," Lady Ottershaw whispered frantically to Lady Waynflete, and Jainee overheard her.
The blasted nobility, she thought, the precious appearance-conscious rich and mighty. For one minute she considered planting herself in the center of the ballroom, commanding a chair
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(and perhaps a dais if she felt really imperial) and just lording it over the whole lot of them while Lady Ottershaw's good manners prevented her from demanding that she, the upstart outsider, vacate the premises.
It was a sweet and vengeful little daydream, quickly punctured by Lady Waynflete's urgent hand on her arm. "Come stay with me for a moment, Jainee my dear. These parties with crowds and crowds of faces make me feel faint."
She was then honor-bound to succor her protectress. She could do nothing less, and as she led Lady Waynflete to the sidelines, she saw a rush of older women pushing a host of younger, marginally attractive girls into the center of the room and the circle of men.
"I see," she murmured and Lady Waynflete heard her.
"I believe you do," she said briskly. "Come. There is a door here where we may step out and take some air."
"As you wish, my lady."
They stepped onto a stone walled portico, and Lady Waynflete heaved a sigh of relief. "I think they can stand to be without you for a few minutes."
"Or Lady Ottershaw can, at any rate," Jainee retorted before she considered the import of her words.
Lady Waynflete rounded on her. "You are an ungrateful trollop. The least you could do is show some manners. It must be perfectly obvious to you that any number of eligible young women would be here seeking to make initial contact with a desirable connection. You have never been invited to number yourself among them, and all you need do is show some grace in the situation and withdraw yourself from their number and leave the gentlemen free to at least make their acquaintance this first evening. You are not free to dominate the company of any man, Miss Bowman. You only have leave to attend the affair and then return to the place where, by the grace of my friendship for Nicholas, you have a roof over your head. Do I make myself clear?"
Jainee felt heat wash over her face. "Indeed, my lady, I cannot possibly misconstrue your meaning."
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"That is well for you, my girl. And now, I must think about rearranging my plans for this evening. I had planned to stay until the late hours, but I see it might be dangerous to do so. This party is, in effect, the first event of the season, a crucial social occasion for every mother with a marriageable daughter, the predictor of what might come. You will behave yourself, Miss Bowman, and not attract any undue notice. It would be well if you would just station yourself in the shadows and talk to no one."
She brushed a hand against Jainee's dress. "I wish we could undo this dress. How could you have deceived me into thinking it was innocuous? I am out of all patience with you, my girl, and you can be sure Nicholas will hear about this debacle."
She led the way back into the ballroom in a state of controlled anger. As they entered, they were immediately surrounded by Jainee's thwarted gallants.
"But where were you? You disappeared . . ."
"You left us at the mercy of those Friday-faced ninnies . . ."
"Not a jot of conversation among them, and those pushy mothers — "
"Come, Miss Bowman, just walk with us to—"
"Don't let him persuade you ..."
"But —where are you going?" they demanded in unison as Lady Waynflete took hold of her arm and pulled her away.
"I must find Nicholas," Lady Waynflete muttered. "This whole idea is a disaster, and is causing my dearest friend no end of embarrassment. Now, where is that obnoxious man?"
They literally raced along the sidelines where knots of people stood either conversing, or doing an elaborate quadrille from one set of guests to another; they bumped into this one here and that one there with murmured excuses nobody heard.
No one could stop Lady Waynflete from her quest, and she wrenched Jainee away from every detaining hand, and every request for an introduction.
She felt helpless with this seductress on her hands. Men swarmed around Jainee Bowman like bees around honey. They could barely take a step without someone accosting them, and, to be fair, Jainee did nothing to signal their interest.
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It was frighteningly disheartening. It was the dress, that face, those eyes, her spectacular beauty and unusual height. It was all of those things and none of thern; it was something she exuded, mystical, magical, potent.
Only Nicholas had not succumbed.
She hoped he had his wits about him tonight. She hoped she could even find him in this crowd.
Jainee saw him first, guided by some innate sense of feeling his presence close by: she didn't want to think that it was so, but she felt his eyes on her, hot and accusing. She could almost feel the heat of his anger and a depth of some deeper emotion drawing her, pulling her.
Unerringly, she swerved to the very place where he stood with Annesley —and someone else.
Someone female and fawning, curvaceous and willing.
Lady Waynflete saw him then. "Nicholas," she called, barreling into the crowd surrounding him. "Nicholas, you must — "
And then she stopped. "Oh dear, oh dear . . ." She gathered herself together and proceeded toward him again, her hand clamped around Jainee's wrist so that Jainee had no choice but to follow her.
"Dear Charlotte," she purred, pulling Jainee up close to the creature, so close that Jainee could not move without seeming incomprehensibly rude.
"Dear Jainee," she added, "here is Charlotte Emerlin, looking devastatingly lovely. I can't believe-" she broke off and began again: "Permit me to introduce Miss Bowman, who is staying with me temporarily."
Charlotte Emerlin turned and focused her steaming pale blue eyes on Jainee. "How do you do?"
Jainee was stunned. The woman was as like and unlike her as anyone could imagine. She was as dark, her skin as fair, her height more the norm, her flamboyance as studied as Jainee's was natural. And still, still, there was something the same, something smoldering and hot, looking to erupt.
Something there — something about Southam.
The woman was a pale copy of herself, and she resented terri-
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bly that she was hanging all over his arm.
Nicholas removed Charlotte Emerlin's clinging hand with no compunction at all about her feelings, his dark challenging gaze squarely on Jainee's impassive face.
"You wanted something, Lucretia?" he asked, his voice saturated with irritation.
She didn't know quite how to ask him to do something about Jainee, particularly since he didn't seem to be doing anyth
ing about Charlotte Emerlin's ill-mannered display of familiarity. "You must," she began, trying to twist her request this way and that to make it appear acceptable in company. Of course, it wouldn't work, nor would she display bad manners in making the demand outright; her words hung in the air while she sought something suitable to bridge the silence.
Jainee leapt into the breach. "Perhaps it is my lord who wants something," she said cattily, angrily, "or perhaps everything—or even everyone."
His flat black eyes positively bored into her. "I think not, Miss Bowman. I think I can say I have what I want when I want it. Unless you would care to contradict that statement?"
"It may be I would have cause," she countered, beginning to boil with anger at his arrogance. "Perhaps your lordship takes things for granted."
"Only that which is granted to me by virtue of hard bargaining, Miss Bowman. Anything beyond that does not pertain to the business at hand."
"And that seems to have the virtue of a new distraction, my lord. And perhaps a welcome one on both sides."
"Never say so, Miss Bowman. Nothing will deter me from claiming my rights in any agreement into which I enter—but my adversaries already know this," he added warily, as he became aware of Annesley listening avidly to this exchange, and Lucre-tia's puzzled expression. "Do they not, Annesley?" he snapped out suddenly.
"Indeed, Nicholas, they positively quake in their boots when they encounter you," Annesley said smoothly without missing a beat, his beatific gaze transfixed by the malevolent glitter in
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Jainee's glowing blue eyes. What was here, he wondered, in this incomprehensible conversation which the goddess would not relinquish to the superior jibes of his friend?
"Well, we may consider that my lord has warned us all that he cannot be vanquished," Jainee said, "but perhaps wiser heads know better than that."
"Wiser heads would not have undertaken such public discussions," Nicholas said calmly, and Jainee felt the sting of his anger below his words.
She reacted instantly, intuitively as always. "One cannot be wise in such company," she said lightly, meaningfully deflecting his sarcasm. "It makes one's head turn, all the flattery and adulation. I cannot meet a man but that he is not begging for my favors. Have you not found that so, Miss . . . Emerlin?"
