The Scoundrel's Secret Siren

by Daphne du Bois

  Winbourne watched irritably as Lorelei indolently considered a plate of chocolate candies on the low table, filled with dark plain truffles and chocolate disks generously sprinkled in Grecian nuts. At last leisurely selecting a truffle, Lorelei tasted it, before looking up at Winbourne. He looked rather inexplicably flushed.

  “You hope to intimidate me. But it won’t do any good. I do not find you the least bit alarming and I have every intention of helping Julia in any way that I can. That is what friends do, Lord Winbourne. Besides which, I certainly won’t pretend that I have any intention of heeding your advice on this matter.”

  Winbourne’s reply was cut off by the return of Lady Hurst and a very excited Con, who greeted him with a curtsey and barrage of youthful gratitude for so marvellous a treat as a horse spectacle. Lorelei, however, did not believe that that was the end of her quarrel with the earl.

  *

  Before the circus, the company went to dinner at a discreetly elegant establishment near Great Portland Street, where they were served with an array of fifteen delicious courses à la Française, including a clear vegetable broth which had lately become all the rage, a succulent roast with golden roast potatoes and spiced cream and tissue-thin ham in a honey glaze.

  Lorelei found herself seated next to Mr Hunter, with Julia seated next to Lord Gilmont. Mr Hunter and Julia exchanged a few very meaningful glances, but he was nothing if not a perfect gentleman and he quickly engaged Lorelei in polite conversation.

  His manner was elegant as he served her dishes and paid careful attention to her preferences. She found her assessment of him as a very intelligent and well-spoken man confirmed yet again and liked him more than ever for his gracious attentiveness despite his obvious preoccupation. She carefully avoided looking at Lord Winbourne.

  It was a fairly informal meal despite the opulent setting, and conversation flowed freely. Julia ventured to engage Mr Hunter in a discussion about the theatre while shooting Winbourne a very boldly challenging look across the table. Lorelei suspected wryly that he would blame her for this show of spirit also.

  In one of Mr Hunter’s earnest exchanges with Julia, the gentleman was overcome with sentiment and almost spilled his wine on Lorelei’s gown. She stopped the glass from toppling just in time, relieved to be spared having to go home with a damaged dress. Flushing instantly and thanking her, Mr Hunter proceeded to apologise profusely.

  Lorelei found herself laughing and dismissing his concerns. “I like you too much to remain angry at you,” she assured Mr Hunter, “even if this is my favourite gown.”

  Winbourne watched the exchange, feeling his jealousy stir at the ease of their conversation. Lorelei’s merry laugh set her lovely eyes sparkling like fine emeralds. Winbourne felt his breath catch in wonder at the beauty and the fragility of Miss Lorelei Lindon – a woman he knew in truth to be nothing like the image of the porcelain doll which her appearance suggested.

  He firmly reminded himself that she was much too tall to have a chance of attaining the virtue of perfect female beauty. It made absolutely no difference to the ardour that suddenly seemed about to consume him.

  He could not ignore the acute stab of resentment that her merriment should be directed at Hunter – an extremely dull swain at best. This did a lot to unsettle the usually impassive earl. He had sworn that he would never again feel that way for any woman. Jealousy, and all that it entailed, was a fruitless emotion and he would not allow himself to succumb to such bitter disappointment again.

  It was a very grim thought, and yet he was almost overpowered by the temptation to reach out to the golden-haired nymph before him, to pull her away from Hunter and into his own arms. To declare himself to her and to make certain that he was the only man who would ever take her to wife. It was an astonishing desire and it struck him most unexpectedly.

  Perhaps all the hours he had spent watching Lorelei’s kindness to Julia and to her own sister had left an unexpectedly lasting impression upon him. Not to mention the no-nonsense care which she had shown him after his ill-fated duel. She was possessed of a complete disregard for the icy image which he had crafted so carefully over the years. The world almost tilted as he realised that he had somehow unexpectedly fallen in love, without having even realised what was happening.

  Or perhaps it hadn’t been a process at all. Perhaps he had been quite hopelessly lost that first night they’d met on the Little Paddlington road. He had called her a ghost then, but between them it was he who had been the ghost, for very many years and without perhaps ever quite knowing it. Lorelei had laughed at him that night, and somehow brought him back to life. He marvelled that she hadn’t the faintest notion of how much her very presence moved him.

  Lorelei was surprised to notice the peculiar intensity with which the Earl of Winbourne was watching her. There was no mistaking that look, and she knew it instantly for love. She felt elated, dazed and unsure how she ought to proceed: she had yearned for his love for so very long, though it had seemed an impossible fancy. Suddenly, she recognised in it the many peculiar little glances he had given her, and the enigmatic bitter smiles.

  But it did not matter in the least.

  Winbourne was a man determined to live alone, simply because he would take no chance on love, on her. That was plain as day. If he truly felt for her as strongly as that, he had had many chances to let his feelings be known. Yet, far from declaring himself, he still attempted to distance her with his affected nonchalance.

  The hated snuffbox appeared again, as it always did, and she barely resisted snatching it from him, and tossing it into the nearest soup tureen. Certainly that would shock Mr Hunter and the rest of the company, and make a ridiculous spectacle of her. And Winbourne… He would simply give her one of his looks, and do nothing.

  She could not, after all, make him admit to feelings which he wished to ignore. And yet she felt an unavoidable longing whenever she looked at him or thought of him. Despite what reason, propriety, or common sense may dictate, there was an inevitable connection between their souls, which pulled them together when social mores dictated they ought to be utterly apart.

  She wondered what would happen when they were inevitably torn apart. Somehow she felt sure she would never stop looking for his familiar figure no matter how much time passed. And Lorelei realised in that moment that she would never marry. How could she, when all her thoughts were for a man she would never have? A man who would never admit to his own feelings, never be brave when it counted the most?

  He had imprisoned himself in a wall of ice far too well to be able to trust her and venture beyond it. And there was no way she could ever convince him that she was not that French lady who had left him for an officer – that she would never do that to him because she loved him and always would.

  “Is anything the matter, Lord Winbourne?” she asked the man politely, because she could not quite help herself. If only he gave her some sign, with his voice or his gaze, she would commend herself into his keeping forever. She watched the snuff box disappear with an elegant flick of the wrist.

  “The matter?” he asked, in the most affected bewilderment, “Why, nothing! Whatever could be wrong on such a fine night as this?”

  Her heart plummeted.

  *

  After dinner, they arrived at Astley’s. Lorelei thought that it was utterly splendid – even Julia seemed cheered, for she took a greater part in conversation, and even smiled once at something Constance said. Lorelei had often marvelled that Con had such a way of drawing people into her laughter and her conversation, getting them to forget their woes.

  They were on the subject of brothers. Lady Gilmont named hers the very best of his kind for having got them a box with such excellent views of the house. Julia complained that her own brothers could never be persuaded to escort her anywhere at all, and were generally the worst pests a sister could have.

  “My eldest brother, George, once spent a whole summer hiding out in the empty old games keeper’s cottage,” Julia t
old them as they took their box.

  “Why did he do that?” Constance asked. “It seems a peculiar thing to do – and a terrible waste of a perfectly good summer.”

  “Well,” Julia replied thoughtfully, “he claimed that he was writing poetry and attending to his bird-spotting journal. He would get very snippy whenever we did not believe him, only it was too much to credit. Mama was terribly proud, you know, to have a poet in the family, because he is my father’s heir and so would not expect to make his fortune with his pen. And so, all summer, he sat locked up in the cottage, scribbling furiously away – or so we thought!”

  “And wasn’t he?”

  “No! I doubt if he has ever written a single line of poetry in his life. George is not very literary, you know, though very sporting. Our governess had a dreadful time getting him to do anything at all! I had thought it quite suspicious, but Mama believed him, and Papa did not care so long as he could be left in peace and allowed to wear his slippers and mind his turnips. Oh! Mama is dreadfully embarrassed by the turnips, and we are never to speak of them in public. She says it isn’t suited to a peer to be digging in the dirt and getting excited over root vegetables.”

  “But what had your brother been up to?” Con prompted eagerly, full of curiosity.

  “Well! As it happens, my brother had somehow found a pig that must have escaped from a near-by farm – Mr Silas’s in fact - and had decided to train it up, so that he might somehow smuggle it into Eton with him when summer was over, and have races! It is exactly like George to think of such a dreadful thing. And I must confess, I can’t imagine how he meant to smuggle it past Mama, or to hide it at Eton, for that matter! Such a hare-brained notion. But there he was all summer, trying to train the pig, and sneaking it food when no one was watching, until Isabelle, one of my sisters, followed him and discovered the whole. Being only eight at the time, she wasted not a moment declaring it in the schoolroom, and George got quite terribly roasted for it.”

  “Oh!” said Constance in awe. She had always wondered what it would be like if she and Lorelei had brothers – she was convinced that brothers were bound to be the best kind of fun.

  “Of course, George was mostly disappointed because the pig was taken away – he never did get to hold his races, and just when he’d spent all summer training it, too. Spent the rest of his holidays moping about. He’d called it Algie, he says. Papa was most put out about having to send it back to Farmer Silas’s. Mama is still excessively sorry that in all that time George hadn’t written a single verse.”

  “What fun it would have been if he’d been allowed to keep it,” Constance said with earnest wistfulness.

  “Oh, I don’t think that it would!” Julia exclaimed. “George was utterly intolerable as a child – I hate to think how much worse he might have got had he been allowed to keep Algie.”

  Once they were seated in their box, which was very lavishly appointed, Lorelei realised how excellent their seats truly were. They were in the very centre of the house, with an unparalleled view all round. She had not been at Astley’s in many years, but it was as marvellous as she remembered.

  There was gilding, and the walls were covered in painted murals and polished mirrors. A rich curtain hid the back of the arena from view, and a smell of horses and sawdust hung in the air, promising a night of marvels. Musicians were occupied with tuning their instruments, creating a sense of anticipation in the audience.

  “How do you like equestrian drama, Miss Constance?” asked Lord Gilmont, giving Lorelei’s sister a warm smile. Constance had been watching the crowds below as they began to take their seats for the forthcoming entertainment.

  Constance, so eager to go out into Society, suddenly found herself a little shy in such august company. She blushed a little. “Oh, very much! I have not been since I was too young to remember much of it. Only, I remember that I enjoyed it excessively,” she replied artlessly.

  “You did!” Lorelei laughed. “I remember you saying to Papa that you wished to be an equestrienne yourself when you grew up.”

  “Did I? I can’t imagine having said that.”

  “You did – you liked the music, I think, and the costumes. And the audience had been very adoring,” Lorelei teased her sister.

  “Do you dislike horses, my dear?” asked Lord Gilmont.

  “Not at all! I think them very handsome creatures, and I have a very gentle one, myself. But they are very tall and I have a horror of riding faster than a trot: Lorelei utterly despairs of me. I am afraid that I would have made a terrible equestrienne. ”

  A chandelier was slowly raised, lighting the auditorium, and a bell began to ring clearly, indicating that the entertainment was about to begin. It was not long before the music started in earnest and all eyes were riveted on the story unfolding below.

  *

  Winbourne caught Lorelei alone a minute during interval, while the others stood talking in the foyer. “It is very good of you to come tonight, Miss Lindon, despite your obvious reservations about my character,” he said coolly. She had, after all, ignored him throughout dinner.

  “Fiddlesticks,” she declared, face flushing in anger and embarrassment until she was certain it was a perfect match for her burgundy gown. “If I did not wish to be here, Lord Winbourne, I assure you I would not be! I would appreciate it if you did me the honour of not treating me like a silly female who does not know her own mind.”

  Winbourne looked at her consideringly a moment. The colour of her gown, so unusual when most ladies saw fit to dress only in cream and white, made her hair look like polished gold and her skin like rich cream. Her demure pearls were certainly enough to drive his senses wild. She did not look uncertain, nor like she wished to make good her escape, though she did look as if she would have liked to give the earl a good telling off. It made him smile involuntarily, which only made the lady angrier.

  “I beg your pardon,” Lord Winbourne said. “I have made you angry, and quite accidentally this time.”

  “Yes, I had a notion you were doing it on purpose up till now,” she murmured, meeting his eyes with her own, which now brimmed with laughter. “You are quite impossible, to rile me as you do!” The entire situation suddenly seemed too absurd for her to be able to stay angry.

  “You make it very easy.” He wistfully touched one of her golden curls, which shimmered in the soft candlelight. All words were gone as their eyes met.

  A breathless look hung between them a moment – a silent communication that no words could ever hope to encompass, and then she reached out to brush his sleeve with her hand and sealed their fates with that one little gesture. His eyes flamed at the touch.

  The bell rang again, and the rest of their company returned to the box, dissipating the tension. Gilmont sat next to Lorelei and asked her what she thought of the first act, while Lord Winbourne once more assumed his expression of polite ennui.

  *

  After the main show, there followed comical interludes and musicians, some with horses, others without. Three hours later, the company emerged into the foyer, all well-pleased with the night’s entertainment and discussing the finest establishments where they might partake of a light supper.

  Lorelei was caught up in conversation with Mr Hunter, who was full of generous praise for the last comical interlude. Even as she continued her discussion with the gentleman, Lorelei was aware of the controlled rage in Winbourne’s eyes, and it gave her a jolt of excitement.

  He seemed to take it very badly every time she spoke to the man, which was utterly absurd. There was something in his gaze that put her utterly on edge. She did not think she could sit through supper with Winbourne, and so decided to take the coward’s way out and plead a headache in order to be permitted to flee.

  “Poor Lorelei – such entertainments always give my mother the headache also,” Julia said sympathetically.

  Before any of the other gentlemen could speak and offer to escort her back to the Gilmont townhouse, Winbourne volunteered for the ta
sk. Her plan had gone terribly wrong!

  Lorelei knew instant panic. Her eyes flew to his knowing ones. “I would not wish to put you out so!” she exclaimed.

  “You wouldn’t be. I have suddenly recalled that I have business at the club tonight, though I quite forgot all about it,” he drawled, still sounding bored. He was lying. She could tell. Perhaps she had spent too long watching him, but she found him surprisingly easy to read.

  “Oh, it is a great shame, but if you feel unwell, sister, then we had much better go back.” Constance looked reluctant to leave.

  “Nonsense. You had much better stay here and enjoy your evening, Miss Constance. I am quite capable of ferrying Miss Lindon to my sister’s house,” the earl said, peering at her through his quizzing glass.

  Con was both relieved and a little concerned that they were being a nuisance to the man. However, she dared not risk Lord Winbourne’s scorn, only wishing her sister to call for some laudanum and go directly to sleep, which Lorelei promised to do, suddenly looking extremely pale.

  After Lorelei had bid good night to the company and told the ladies that she would see them in the morning, apologising for the trouble, she was handed up into Winbourne’s carriage by a groom. Lorelei sensed something strange in the air and it only added to her unprecedented sense of doom.

  She did not wish to go back with the earl. It was plain to Lorelei that to be alone with Winbourne was utter madness – especially after she had read the jealousy and love on his face. She did not trust herself. Either they would quarrel, or they would do much worse and she could not bear to find herself in his arms again only to be forced to leave them for the sake of propriety. Or to be dishonoured for surrendering all to his eyes, and remaining with him. No, it was a very volatile situation indeed.

  Chapter 12

  “I am glad that we are alone, Lord Winbourne,” Lorelei stated as the carriage rattled on through the foggy London night. She had come to the conclusion that she may as well make the best of the unpleasant situation. She did not look at him, instead straightening one of her satin gloves.