The Scoundrel's Secret Siren

by Daphne du Bois

  “You look nervous, Miss Lindon,” her partner said confidentially, with a great show of kindness obvious in his voice. “Are you uneasy about the figures? It is understandable – you are very young. Do not worry! You need only look to me and my actions will guide you.”

  Lorelei thought of dancing a whole set with the man and barely stopped herself from wincing. With great force of will, she bit back a rejoinder, smiling instead. “You are very gracious, Mr Farringdon, thank you. I shall do my best not to put you to the blush.” He seemed entirely unaffected by her irony, however.

  “Such a lovely young lady as yourself, and dressed as you are in cream and gold? Why, perish the thought, my dear! We make a most refulgent pair.”

  They began the steps of the stately dance, and just when they were in the process of circling the room, Lorelei chanced to look up over the couple in front of her. She met a pair of very amused dark eyes.

  Winbourne was unmistakably watching her and, she realised with great ire, he was just as unmistakably laughing at her predicament. The masked man could not possibly have been anyone else. His broad shoulders gave him away, and his dark eyes could not be disguised by his black domino mask. Why was it, she wondered, that he was always laughing at her?

  She could not in all propriety give him a glare across the room, and had to content herself with pointedly looking away from him, instead. It was not half as satisfying.

  “And how are you enjoying town, Miss Lindon?” Mr Farthingdon asked.

  “Very much, thank you. The Season is full of such wonderful entertainment. I think I like the picnics best. And the dancing.”

  “Ah, yes. I imagine it must all be quite overwhelming – such a large city.”

  “Not at all,” she replied trying to keep the tartness out of her voice. “I have lived most of my life in cities. London, mostly, and Bath, when papa could stand it. He dislikes Bath but he particularly cannot bear the country. It is merely that one does not attend many events when one is too young for a coming-out.”

  Mr Farthingdon did not appear to be paying her response any heed. “It is no wonder, of course! Such a young thing as yourself must be very quickly overwhelmed. But your greatest occasion is yet to come – you have not yet been presented!”

  She could not help but feel that, with the way her partner strutted the steps, the whole room must have been watching them. Feeling utterly ridiculous, Lorelei was very grateful when the dance called for partners to cross over and change.

  By the end of the set, she was certain that her flush could be seen across the room. She was finding it very difficult to remain civil.

  “Why, you did very well indeed, my dear,” Mr Farthingdon complimented Lorelei, before leaving her with Julia and excusing himself to claim the hand of another young lady for the next country dance.

  “What a tiresome, silly man!” Lorelei exclaimed to her friend. “Do you know, I don’t believe he listened to a word I said, merely prattled on with kindly advice which he felt to be of great value to such a silly green girl as myself.”

  “You are a very green girl, Miss Lindon. Though perhaps you ought to abstain from taking advice from Farthingdon, of all people,” said Winbourne’s cool voice next to her. Lorelei’s head snapped up in surprise.

  “Uncle Winbourne! Good evening!” squeaked Julia, who was always a touch unsettled by his cool manner and sudden appearances.

  “Julia. That wreath in your hair suits you remarkably well. Ah, I see young Evans coming to solicit you for La Rosalinde.”

  Winbourne was quite correct, for, in a moment, Lady Julia was asked to dance by a nervous gangly youth. She departed with the assurances that the earl would keep her friend company. They watched couples take their places for the popular reel. Lady Jersey herself was leading the set, having introduced the dance at Almack’s just a few weeks previously.

  “Well, Miss Lindon. I would have asked you to dance also, but you might view that as a rescue, and you found my rescue so objectionable last time that I dare not offend,” he said with a slight bow.

  Lorelei met his challenging look with one of her own. There was something about being hidden behind a mask that gave her a whole new reserve of bravery and daring. He might be unmistakable, even in disguise, but she was just another of any number of fair-haired women at the party.

  “A rescue, Lord Winbourne?” she asked, with daring humour.

  “Indeed. From being a wallflower. It is as much as any gentleman might do, is it not?”

  Her wide, expressive eyes sparkled at him. “Well, how kind you are. But I think I would much prefer some fresh air. It is always so very warm at these assemblies. Or perhaps some of those dreary refreshments I have been warned about.” Eloise had described the insipid punch and dry sandwiches that were a staple of Almack’s at some length earlier in the evening.

  “I very much doubt you want any of those. Perhaps you will permit me to accompany you to a window seat on the upstairs gallery?”

  Suddenly, his voice was not at all cold, but full of the heated passion she remembered from their night-time encounter. Lorelei felt her breath catch at the burning way his eyes held hers. Despite herself, she accepted his elbow in the middle of Almack’s, a known bastion of propriety, and allowed him to lead her to a secluded window alcove, where the cool fresh air coming from the courtyard outside did nothing to clear her suddenly spinning head.

  She knew she ought to have refused, to have stayed as far away from the man as she could without making herself glaringly obvious to all of polite Society. And yet, she found she was helpless to resist.

  Lorelei was somewhat bewildered – this was not a situation she was used to and she did not know how to behave.

  “I refuse to consider that a rescue – I might have walked here myself,” she said primly, though just a hint of flirtation had slipped into her voice quite of its own volition. “And you need not be so beastly about Mr Farthingdon – he was kind enough to say we looked refulgent together.”

  The ubiquitous snuff box appeared again, and an eyebrow lifted imperiously at her. Lorelei suddenly found the studied carelessness of the gesture mildly irritating.

  “Refulgent? How fustian of him, but then I am not surprised. He is always tiresome – his verses are known throughout Society to be utterly atrocious, if you will credit it.” He chuckled low in his chest and she was suddenly aware of how close to her he was.

  She allowed herself a moment inhale his scent: it was spicy and masculine, and entirely unlike the cloying French perfume favoured by George Farthingdon. Somehow, it felt familiar and oddly right to be so near him.

  “And I don’t disagree with you on your first point either – you might very well have walked here by yourself,” he acknowledged. “We both know you to be a very intrepid young woman, Miss Lindon. Lorelei.”

  Her name came out as a low whisper that made her shiver. It was a stolen liberty – they were not so well acquainted (at least not in any way that could be acknowledged, she reminded herself) and she had never allowed him the use of her given name.

  “In all civility, I would like the pendant back,” she whispered, removing her mask. The disguise made her feel silly at such a moment.

  “Would you, Lorelei? But I am not at all certain I wish to give it back. I have such… delicious memories of its acquisition.” His hand reached up, scandalously touching a slender shoulder as he drew even nearer.

  As do I, she thought, before catching herself, scolding herself mentally for being so fast, and glaring at him instead. She had half a mind to push him away, but the thought of touching his chest sent a thrill through her and she knew she was better off keeping her hands to herself.

  “It is a great disadvantage to me, sir,” Lorelei said angrily, “that I was brought up a lady, else I would not waste a moment telling you exactly my opinion of your game.”

  Winbourne had the gall to look affronted. “Game, madam? That is most unjust. Why, it is I who have been led astray by a waif I met on a ro
ad at night. But in the light it seems that you are not all a waif.”

  His eyes trailed over her figure with obvious enjoyment. Lorelei was scandalised: she did not know this sensual creature she always became in his presence – a veritable wanton!

  “Lorelei,” he said her name again, as if savouring a fine chocolate, letting it melt on his tongue. “A siren, isn’t it? From the classics. Then I was right, that fortuitous night on the road. How unexpectedly accurate: my siren. I wonder, will you lure me to my doom as your sisters have done so many hapless, besotted men before me?”

  His voice had dropped to a whisper that did all sorts of maddening things to her nerves. Before Lorelei could reply, or even think, his lips came down on hers: hot, pliant and demanding. Forgotten, her mask slipped out of her hand and fell to the floor.

  Hidden in their little alcove, in a world of their own, Lorelei felt his hands grasp her waist and yank her towards him with a swift confidence that turned her knees to water. She felt his touch through her gown, circling her waist as though appropriating her with a single touch. Lorelei was lost in the kiss, clutching the lapels of his coat for dear life as sinful sensation swirled through her trembling body. She was no longer completely in control of her actions.

  All the unspoken things came crashing down around them, expressed not in words but in searing touch and desperate kisses: the memory of that night, that kiss in a world not quite real, the breathless moments that thickened the air whenever their eyes met.

  She might have stood there forever, flush against him, encircled by his arms and ravished by his mouth. She might have yielded completely, surrendered her very soul.

  “Winbourne, is that you over there?” an amused masculine voice exclaimed. “For shame!”

  With a gasp, Lorelei broke the embrace. As a full understanding of the impropriety of their situation washed over her, sweeping away the last vestiges of passion, she buried her flaming face in her gloved hands, shielded from the curious eyes of the other gentleman by Winbourne’s powerful build.

  Unlike the delightful Miss Lindon, Alastair was not embarrassed in the least. Still shielding her from view, he turned to face the other gentleman with an impassive look in his eyes and a note of long-suffering annoyance in his voice. “Good evening, Orby. Of what possible assistance could I be to you?”

  The other gentleman chuckled. “I had every intention of seeing whether you fancied a game of cards with Vernon Huxley, but I can see you are much better occupied. Well, don’t go throwing your back out – I shan’t tell, though I’d watch out in case one of our esteemed hostesses should happen upon you. There’ll be no getting out of that one, my good fellow, even for you. But I’ll leave you alone now, excuse me. Good evening, miss.”

  Lorelei squeaked from where she was hidden behind the earl.

  In a moment, they were alone again. Lorelei could not meet the dark, unreadable eyes of the Earl of Winbourne. She was completely mortified. Her face felt on fire in a most indelicate way. Her lips still tingled tenderly from his ardent kisses. She lifted a tremulous hand to her mouth as she finally dared to stare up at him.

  “You need not worry, Miss Lindon. Orby is not the sort to indulge in gossip, and he had not seen your face.” His voice was as impassive as his face.

  “I think,” she began in an uneven voice, “that you must think me a very infamous sort of female, Lord Winbourne. However, despite what my current behaviour may suggest, I am not usually so lacking in delicacy. I am sorry that I should have brought you so close to social mortification – I would not be the cause of your expulsion from Society, nor burden you with my reputation. Excuse me, I had much better re-join Lady Hurst.”

  Without waiting for his reply, Lorelei was gone from the alcove, grateful that Nell’s clever skills in securing her coiffure saved her the mortification of mussed hair.

  Winbourne stared after her, astonished. He had never encountered a woman who so potently combined innocence and wantonness. He had certainly never met one who apologised for compromising his honour. He admired her departing figure until it was out of sight, then his gaze fell down to the golden mask on the floor. Scooping it up off the floor, he followed the lady in his brisk, powerful stride.

  “Miss Lindon!”

  She froze in place despite herself as Winbourne caught up with her. He was still masked. Her eyes sought out his. The ghost of his kiss hung between them.

  “You forgot your mask.” He extended the object to her, and she quickly accepted it, her head full of confusion at the way his eyes scanned her face. “It is certainly more original than losing one’s fan. I am told the chance of inadvertently dropping or forgetting a fan is greater if the fan is modest and its owner is not.”

  Then, with a bow, he was gone and she was left to dance, make polite conversation, and then be led into supper by a gracious young viscount, all the while doing her best not to seek out that familiar figure in the crowd, nor to remember how powerful his shoulders had felt under her fingers.

  Alastair’s own eyes followed her with the sort of languid carelessness which none could possibly mistake for affection, or anything more than a distant acquaintance.

  It was a very long night for them both.

  Chapter 5

  The following afternoon presented further complications for Lorelei, this time in the form of a fitting for her presentation gown. She stood in the fitting room of the finest modiste in England, surrounded by a flurry of women pinning, fluttering and desperately searching for trim.

  “It is a great shame we cannot send for a gown from Paris, as my mama did with my own gown, but there simply isn’t time, my dear!” Lady Hurst told Lorelei regretfully.

  “You are much too kind. Why, I am certain that a London gown will be a creation of unparalleled loveliness.” She had not reckoned on the heavy fabric or the panniers, which had been perfectly common in Lady Hurst’s day, but which Lorelei herself had never worn.

  “It is such a cumbersome, old-fashioned thing!” Con giggled when Lady Hurst briefly left the room with the army of dressmakers to examine some silks. “Like digging through mama’s old trunks down in Ledley. However will you walk in it?”

  Lorelei tried taking a step, and the dress swayed around her alarmingly, making her look quite ridiculous. She joined Constance in her giggles, quite unable to maintain proper composure. “Oh, Con, I just don’t know. I shall have to practice, I expect – it is not unlike when Papa was teaching me to drive that curricle.”

  “I hope they won’t make you wear some frightful, dusty, old wig – else you may end up looking a cake in front of the queen and the princess!”

  Lorelei heartily agreed with her sister, but Lady Hurst, coming back with the chosen bolt of gold silk, said nothing of wigs and dismissed the practical concerns of walking by explaining that she would master the art in no time at all, if only she dedicated herself to it. As she thought of the hours that lay ahead, walking around Lady Hurst’s townhouse in the unwieldy gown, the young lady wondered if she wanted to be presented after all, and if she wouldn’t prefer instead to retire demurely to Bath or some such quiet place, and end her days a tolerably well-off eccentric spinster.

  Later, Constance talked them into visiting the British Museum, where there was an exhibition of pretty vases from Ancient Greece, and they had a pleasant, if quiet, afternoon of wandering around the exhibits.

  Lorelei really did very much enjoy the company of her younger sister. She worried sometimes that if she were to marry some dull fellow with a love of the country, she would find herself buried alive in some far-away country seat for half the year and never see Constance grow into the marvellous young lady she would become. And how cruel for Constance to lose her older sister, having already lost a mother.

  With that in mind, she was somewhat reluctant to begin preparations for her visit to Gilmont, though Lady Hurst had promised her sister endless amusements to help keep her mind off Lorelei’s absence.

  Quite unexpectedly, as though it h
ad purposely snuck up on her amidst all the activities that filled one’s day in town, Lorelei’s presentation day came at last. She had spent many hours practising moving around in her heavy gown, which had arrived a week prior, and she was very nervous as they set out for the queen’s drawing room. She did not think she could bear it if she were to trip in front of the queen, the princess and the other ladies.

  Lorelei was not the only lady to be presented that day: she recognised the Dawlish sisters, Lisa and Camille, who were sponsored by their mother, Lady Riverham. Camille looked about ready to faint and Lisa wore a look of determination. The queen spoke to them a moment and kissed their cheeks before moving on to the next lady.

  Later, Lorelei could not remember what the queen had said to her when it was her turn – something polite and gracious, followed by an enquiry after Lord Ledley, to which Lorelei had replied in her most genteel tones. The princess had inclined her head with an amiable smile and added well-wishes for Lorelei’s Season.

  Lady Hurst had stood as her sponsor, and after they returned to their carriage, she generously praised Lorelei on her fine conduct. Lorelei was filled with a warm glow at having earned the lady’s approval. She would have been mortified if she had in any way embarrassed her benefactress. Lorelei briefly wondered what her own mother would have thought of her presentation, but Lady Hurst had filled the maternal role so well over the years that Lorelei did not much dwell on this wistful thought.

  She was certainly glad to have the elaborate gown off as soon as she returned home and even allowed Con to try it on so long as she were careful, causing much merriment for both sisters.

  *

  On the evening before she set out for Gilmont, Lorelei was restless and fidgety. Lady Hurst saw her obvious discontent and Constance, who was always very aware of her sister’s moods, pleaded to be told what was bothering her. Lorelei’s usually calm temperament was suddenly replaced by a mild distress, and she was quite unable to properly attend to her sister’s conversation.