The Scoundrel's Secret Siren

by Daphne du Bois

  “Are you, Miss Lindon? I am certainly very flattered to know that.” He gave her a devious smile. “I confess my sole intention is to make certain you arrive home in one piece.”

  “How kind,” the young lady said drily. “I wish to speak to you of the matter of Julia and Mr Hunter.”

  “What a peculiar choice of subject! I own I can’t imagine why you would, when I have already told you I have not the slightest interest in my niece’s affairs.”

  You are being very cruel,” Lorelei said simply. “What’s worse, you are doing so on purpose. No doubt it would amuse you to have your niece make a run for Gretna Green.” She inhaled sharply, ready to embark on a long telling-off, when he had the audacity to calmly agree.

  “Certainly,” Winbourne said, inclining his head politely. “I find that the notion of my ineffectual niece and her lacklustre swain eloping to be a veritable comical masterpiece. If you do not find it highly ridiculous, then I am seriously concerned for your sense of humour, Miss Lindon.”

  Lorelei waved him away impatiently “Certainly it would look that way to you, but perhaps you’ll be so good as to allow that I know your niece a little better than you do yourself. Let me assure you, my lord Winbourne, that if Julia sees no other option available to her, she will bolt, though it will hurt her very much to do so. And Mr Hunter loves her enough that he will bolt with her if she asks it of him.”

  “And what is it that you wish me to do about my niece’s tendency to flight? It is in the nature of womankind to be flighty – you’ll allow I have rather personal knowledge of the fact. Certainly I am sorry to hear that my own niece is so unreliable as that. I understand my sister Bassincourt expects her to make a much better match than Mr Hunter. A ducal coronet, wasn’t it? Though I must admit there is nothing which I find unsuitable in Hunter’s character as such, if you discount a marked tendency to fall under the cat’s paw.”

  Lorelei decided to throw caution and breeding to the wind. “I do not like to bring this up, you understand, but whatever else may be between us, I did save your life, and I think perhaps you can do me this one kindness.”

  Winbourne gave her an uncharacteristic look of surprise. “Undoubtedly, my life is in your hands, Miss Lindon. Are you so very certain you wish to throw away your one kindness on such a dull, uninspiring pair? I will grant anything you like, if it is within my power.”

  Not anything, thought the young woman. Not anything, by far. She could not, after all, ask him for his love, or for his name, or to have him spend the rest of his life by her side. Such a request would be unthinkable. It would never answer to tie him to her by force, and she could not press him to admit, or even recognise, his own attachment – certainly the world would be a happier place if that were possible.

  And there was nothing else she would ask of him in all the world: she had no need of money or connections. But she did want to see her dear friend happy, even if that same bliss were to remain forever out of her reach. She thought it would do Winbourne good to get to know his niece as more than just an annoying relation or a ceaseless bore. He did not know Julia for her hidden strength or her surprising whimsy. And Julia knew him only as a cold, fashionable creature, a legend rather than a living man.

  Lorelei met the earl’s eyes squarely, despite the painful longing of her heart, and nodded.

  “Oh, yes. I am very sure. I can think of no better use for this favour you owe me than the happiness of a dear friend. There is nothing else I could ask, except that you stop being so condescending to your relations. I daresay if you did not speak to Julia with such icy poise, she would not be so utterly intimidated by the Earl of Winbourne. Your ages are not disparate enough to warrant such distance – it is an absurdity. It is fairly obvious that Lady Gilmont is the only relation you actually like.”

  “Well, my dear, we cannot all be friends with our relations – what would the world come to? One would be obliged to attend all the inane little parties and dinners, to untangle all their absurd little tragedies as you are now doing for my niece, and to tolerate a constant invasion of one’s home.” He shuddered at the thought, looking quite alarmed. “And then it is only a matter of time before one ends up in Bedlam. It is much better this way.”

  “You are being odious, and I know that you are doing it to vex me.”

  “Vex you? But it is I who am vexed by such an alarming notion. Your poor husband, Miss Lindon shall have quite the strained existence – you are bound to flood his halls with all your friends and relations, and be forever involved in helping them make sense of their own ridiculous problems. Why, he would be signing up to marry the lot of you. I dread to think it: you would still persist on this intimacy with all your relations, and spend every moment having to attend to one or another of them.”

  “Perhaps – and I should be the happier for it. I could never live in isolation,” she said fiercely.

  There was a flash of something in his eyes that was almost warmth, except she was certain it was an illusion cast by passing street lamps and the dark carriage.

  “You are a most unusual creature Miss Lindon. Lorelei. It shall be as you have asked, though only because you have asked it: I will speak to my sister. As to my niece, I am convinced you ascribe to her such a meritorious character solely because of your own amiable nature. She is a harmless girl, but an original she is not.” His eyes were blazing at her now. “Are you very certain there is nothing else you would ask of me, favour or no?”

  Lorelei felt a little short of breath. “No. No, there is nothing else,” she answered faintly.

  “Your character, then, Miss Lindon is much more worthy than my own.”

  “Careful, Lord Winbourne, or you shall set me quite to the blush,” she replied tartly.

  He gave a velvet chuckle. “I do not pretend to understand the peculiar obsession women have with securing husbands.”

  “You will find, I think, that many women have no other choice,” Lorelei said a little sharply. “Julia, however, is not trying to secure a fortune, Lord Winbourne. She has no need of a fortune. She wishes to marry the man she loves: solely that. It is all anyone can hope for in this world.”

  “Then you wish to marry?” Winbourne asked with derision. “Is it the sole hope of your life?”

  “Yes, I do. Eventually. Though matrimony would not be the sole felicity of my life. You need not laugh. I know that such a union is most unlikely and that, once married, I shall probably have to play a part for the rest of my days until there is little of me left. ”

  Winbourne looked at her as though she were the one who belonged in Bedlam. “But you wish for it all the same?”

  Lorelei looked at him contemplatively. “No, not for that. But for felicity, and a happy matrimony – I wish for something better.”

  “Better? Perfect happiness, then? You are a child, Miss Lindon. Perhaps indeed you ought to search for some suitably naïve fellow to complement your aspirations.”

  She did not react with anger as he had expected. Lorelei gave him a pitying smile that set his teeth on edge. “Does daring to hope for something more than the world would have me accept make me a child?”

  He did not reply for a moment. Lorelei took one look at Winbourne and knew that hers was a solely Pyrrhic victory. Winbourne gave her one of his slow, devastating smiles.

  “I was under the impression,” he began, “that you wished for much more out of life than that. Adventure, wasn’t it? Ghosts and such?”

  The carriage drew to a halt outside the Gilmont townhouse not a moment too soon, because the strange tension between them was becoming quite intolerable.

  Lorelei wondered if they were about to quarrel, though she could not imagine what could have made Lord Winbourne angry, if ‘angry’ was the right word. She was utterly at sixes and sevens, for she had not been particularly vitriolic to him and certainly she had not asked him to curtail his evening to accompany her home.

  She wanted very much to leave the carriage in a huff or tell him off. She had
not actually done anything to warrant his ire, or at least nothing she could point a finger at. This only served to annoy her further.

  “Miss Lindon, it seems we have arrived,” Winbourne stated politely by way of alerting her to the open door and the waiting groom. Lorelei shook herself out of her thoughts.

  “So we have.” She allowed the groom to hand her down onto the cobbled street.

  The night smelled strongly of rain. Lorelei shivered a little, as the weather had turned decidedly cooler. Her light summer cloak did little good in warming her.

  “You are cold,” Winbourne observed with what sounded perplexingly like concern. He stepped instinctively closer. “Come, we will have some chocolate at the house before I depart. My sister would not forgive me if I let you succumb to a chill. I understand the arrangement is for you to stay here?”

  Lorelei gave him a startled look, for she had been sure that he was angry.

  “Only a little chilled,” she replied politely, because she did not know what tone to take. “It is nothing.”

  “Nevertheless, we must hurry inside so that your maid may fetch you something warm to drink.”

  “I have told Nell to go to bed once she had set out my things. It isn’t worth waking her up over so trite a problem as a chill – especially at her age. I shall be just fine unassisted. I am not some milksop miss.”

  “No, you are not,” the earl replied with wonder in his voice. “Forgive me. I forget that you are a lady much in the habit of attending duels and other such unmissish pursuits.”

  “Which you must find appalling,” she said, as they reached the front door.

  “Must I? I shouldn’t think so.”

  They were let in by Lord Gilmont’s valet. Lorelei could not help but feel his bewilderment and disapproval at the arrangement. He took Lorelei’s cloak and then Winbourne’s, handing them to the waiting footman.

  “Some hot chocolate for the lady, Bertrand, and a fire in the library. I shall have a bourbon – the fine stuff Gilmont likes to squirrel away in his cabinet. And send for a maid to warm Miss Lindon’s rooms for her.”

  Bertrand could not see the look in Winbourne’s eyes when he said that, but Lorelei could and it thrilled her to the bone and frightened her all at once. Her stomach clenched with nerves and something else, a warm giddy sensation that flooded her entire being. She didn’t know what to make of it.

  “Very well, my lord.” The servant was gone in a moment.

  “Come, Miss Lindon, let us warm you up and see if you can’t thrill me with more absurdities about my niece’s marriage prospects.”

  Lorelei bristled at his imperiousness and would have given him another well-deserved set-down, only his hand alighted for the slightest moment on the small of her back as he led her towards the library and her mouth had suddenly gone dry.

  Whatever ravishment she might have expected once they were alone, Lorelei found herself sorely disappointed. Or, rather, it was only her expectations which were disappointed, because surely a lady did not hope for ravishment.

  A footman came to light the fire and Bertrand followed a short while later with the hot chocolate and a plate of biscuits, and then left them alone with the door decorously open. All the while they sat in silence, as Winbourne poured himself a snifter of bourbon.

  The fire played off his sharp features and golden hair, making him look carnal and predatory in a way that could not be at all de rigeur.

  Lorelei poured herself a delicate cup of chocolate. Her hand shook a little but she couldn’t guess why. She only knew that somehow something had shifted between them and she couldn’t seem to regain her equilibrium.

  “Won’t you have one of those chocolate biscuits you enjoy so much, Miss Lindon?” His voice was low and husky and she felt herself flush. “I recall you were very fond of them at Gilmont.”

  “Thank you, I am still quite sated from dinner.” Her voice came out formal and polite, which seemed somehow wrong.

  “Are you? Well then. And how did you enjoy the outing? You did once say I should go to Astley’s for horse spectacles. As I recall it was when we were teaching my niece to handle her horse…”

  “I enjoyed it very much, thank you. It was so good of you to invite us. You have earned my sister’s eternal devotion – she will be speaking of it for the rest of the year, no doubt.”

  “She seems a likeable child.” His voice was cool and unruffled, belying the searing way his eyes skimmed her figure.

  Lorelei’s voice shook a little. “She has always been very good, aside from when she must study her French.”

  She wondered how it was that their conversation had meandered into such banal territory, proper though it might be. Especially given his earlier display of what was unmistakably jealousy, and the way his eyes were ravenously tracing every inch of her. It was as though he was toying with her.

  She saw one of his hands tighten on the armrest of his chair and wondered if he would fly to his feet and sweep her into his arms. Lorelei’s breath caught as she pictured this scenario unfolding, and while she was very vague on the particulars, she knew in chilling realisation that she would not have the strength to refuse him.

  Instead, he drained his bourbon, rose to his feet and cleared his throat. Lorelei set aside her cup, also rising.

  “Well, Miss Lindon. I must be off to my club. I will wish you a good night: no doubt you desire to recover from your exhaustion.”

  “Oh… yes. Certainly. Of course. Thank you for escorting me here.”

  “Your servant, madam.” With a formal bow, he was gone and Lorelei was left alone in the library.

  The sudden silence was unbearably oppressive. She wished that she had not agreed to stay at Lady Gilmont’s townhouse and that she were in her own room at Russell Square. It was at least a mercy that Nell had come over to the townhouse earlier with some things for Lorelei and Constance.

  Forlorn and embarrassed, she contemplated waking Nell to attend to her after all, before deciding that that would be selfish.

  Her heart pounded furiously and she fought the definite urge to cry. Lorelei did not often cry and it felt particularly ridiculous now. What had she to cry over? What had she expected, exactly? That he would live up to his reputation and ravish her? Utter nonsense.

  She knew that, if anything, she ought to be grateful that she had escaped such a fate. Only, she didn’t feel grateful. She felt sad, rejected and angry. Lorelei focused on the anger. Miss Fallon would have soundly berated her for such an unladylike sentiment, but Lorelei thrilled in it.

  Winbourne had certainly played his game to a close: obviously he was an utter scoundrel. He had been toying with her all along. If he thought her inferior to his painted mistress, whoever she may be, than Lorelei would not dignify him with another minute of her attention.

  She swept majestically out of the room, still furious and refusing to let herself cry a single tear over the man. She could not stop him from dwelling on his past, and if that was who he was, she wanted nothing to do with him.

  “Miss Lorelei?” Nell, who had insisted that it was her duty to tend the young woman, was waiting for her in her room, with a warm nightgown. “Are you quite well?”

  Lorelei was flooded with joy at seeing the familiar, friendly face. It was as though, for a moment, she was a child again, all her problems belonging to someone else.

  “Oh. Hello, Nell. Yes, perfectly well, thank you.” Realising that she may have spoken a little too fervently to be convincing, she forced herself to calm her voice. “It is only that I feel fatigued and so I cried off to go home early. I think I would like to go to bed now.”

  Nell did not appear entirely convinced, but she obliged by helping Lorelei brush out her golden hair and change into her beautiful nightgown. She then offered to bring the lady something to help her sleep, but Lorelei politely refused the offer.

  “I only need to rest, I shall be perfectly all right presently. Thank you, Nell. Go to bed now.”

  “Good night, miss.�
�� With a brief curtsy, Nell was gone.

  Lorelei slowly made her way to her bed, her anger fallen in ashes around her, as she heaved a sad sigh. She did not know how she had ended up in such a mess. She had certainly never intended it, for what foolish girl would allow herself to fall in love with the Earl of Winbourne, known for his many lovers and icy heart?

  He was completely unable to love anyone at all. She knew that. While she had thought that she’d seen something greater in his eyes, it was obviously nothing more than the imaginings of a fanciful girl. For there was suddenly no denying it: she loved him, and had she had her wish, then she would have had his love, though it were only given her for one night.

  She was about to blow out her candle when she heard a creak in the corridor outside. Floorboards. It was nothing unusual – houses all had their sounds, after all. But something made her rise out of bed and pull her dressing gown decorously around her thin nightgown as she moved quietly across the room.

  Her heart beat a steady rhythm in her ears as she slowly opened the door.

  He was there, still wearing his cloak and an unmistakable look in his eyes.

  There was no need for words.

  Lorelei didn’t know what caused her then to draw him into the room. Some madness, obviously: a fever of the brain. She ought to have been outraged, sent him away, called for help. Anything other than draw him in. Her feelings rose within her in an inevitable tide of love and desire, which swept her off her feet and carried her in its wake.

  All the while they had not said a word, her wide eyes focused on his face, his mouth slightly open. His sensual lips were curled into a slight smile, which was as charming as it was rakish.

  “In the name of candour, Miss Lindon, I ought to tell you that I would like nothing more than to kiss you.”

  Something flared within her at those words: something she could not quite suppress. “This is a most improper conversation,” Lorelei whispered.