by Shana Galen
She bent to retrieve her needle and thread, both of which had fallen on the floor at some point during the kiss. The action served to hide her face and to give him a moment to open the door and depart. Which he did without even taking his leave. Horrid man. If he would only stop kissing her, she could hate him properly. For a man who supposedly hated her, he could not seem to leave her alone. Not that this surprised her. Men could profess to love one moment and fall out of love when the emotion became inconvenient. Darlington was no better or worse. He was the heir to a dukedom and could afford to be capricious. She could not. She’d made that mistake once and would never make it again.
Lily hurried back to her rooms, stumbling upon them rather than finding them. The house was large and well laid out, but her head was spinning and her thoughts jumbled. Anna was waiting for her, and she handed her maid the needle and thread. “I will repair the lace on the green gown later. Now I should hurry down. I’ll wear the black and silver.” It wasn’t the best gown for her complexion. It didn’t make her look sallow and sick like orange did, or greenish and putrid like yellow, but it didn’t brighten her coloring either. Her face was already flushed, though, and she could use toning down. This was the one night she welcomed looking pale and colorless.
When she was dressed and her hair repaired, she rushed down to the drawing room where the ladies had retired after dinner. The men were at billiards, and she knew they would not be long in joining the women now. She was rather surprised they had been this long at their port and cigars. Lily walked into the drawing room and stopped short.
Oh, no.
It was not the room that unnerved her. The room was beautifully appointed. The late duchess had obviously possessed exquisite taste. The carpets were thick and plush. She was not knowledgeable enough to know if they were Turkey or Aubusson or something else, but she felt her slippers sink comfortably into the rug. The walls were covered with elegant papers depicting Grecian urns and motifs. Portraits of the ancestral family were hung here and there, and she had enough of an eye to see that the painters had been talented. The ceilings were high and heavily molded, creating the effect of sumptuousness and openness, something the room needed, as the paneling and papers were quite dark.
The furnishings were upholstered in damasks and silks and arranged in small pairings so as to allow several groups to converse at once. A fire lit the hearth, and a large chandelier brightened the room, which glowed from the light of several lamps. The room was to Lily’s liking. The company was not.
She’d expected an assortment of widows and actresses, perhaps an opera singer or two. There was an opera singer and two widows, but there were also four other courtesans. She hesitated even to call them courtesans. They were so free with their favors as to be more akin to prostitutes. The widows, Mrs. Compton and Lady Euglin, were known as relentless seducers of young men. When a new buck arrived in Town, they were the first to sidle up to him at his inaugural ball. The opera singer, a woman whose name Lily did not remember—in the future, she would really need to stay awake during the opera—was the most chaste of all of them.
And that was saying something.
“Well,” one of the courtesans, a Mrs. Arbuckle, said upon seeing her. “If it isn’t the Countess of Copulation.” Lily knew the other courtesans of the ton had less than complimentary names for Juliette, Fallon, and her. The Countess of Copulation was one of the better ones. It was at a level with The Conjugal Countess. Some of the other C-words were not so polite. “Where are your friends, Countess?”
“Why, Mrs. Arbuckle.” Lily forced her feet to move forward, forced herself to step into the room. “I thought you were my friend.”
The courtesan smiled thinly. “Oh, I am.”
The other courtesans, by no means friendly with Mrs. Arbuckle either, tittered. No one in this room was her friend. When one’s livelihood depended on snaring a man, one could not afford to befriend other women. Juliette, Fallon, and Lily had been the exceptions. But then they were not typical courtesans.
“Are you looking for a new protector?” a courtesan with brassy blond hair, too much rouge, and several beauty marks asked. “The Earl of Sin not satisfied with just one of you in his bed?”
It was a less than subtle jab at her. The rumors had long circulated that The Three Diamonds pleasured Sinclair and one another for his enjoyment. Now that Juliette and Fallon had retired, everyone speculated that Sinclair was in search of another crop of young girls. None of it was true, but she allowed the speculation because it served her purposes. “Worried I might steal someone you have your eye on, Mrs. Fisher?”
“Not at all, Mrs. Dawson.”
Lily clenched her hands, which were hidden in her silk skirts. She hated being referred to by her surname. She always imagined her father hiding his face in shame when she, a notorious courtesan, used his family name. He had tried so very hard to distance himself from her. Dawson was a common enough name. She might have told him the effort was unnecessary.
Lily made her way across the room. She was tired and edgy, and the decanter of Madeira looked inviting. She might have preferred something stronger. Several of the women were drinking spirits, but she had a feeling the duke might be put off by that. He saw her as young and sweet. He wanted a girl to seduce. He certainly knew the rumors about her, but he either chose to ignore them or thought they would serve his purpose. After all, most men wanted a virgin in the drawing room and a tigress in the bedroom. She hoped she did not have to play the tigress.
“We all thought the Marquess of Cholmondeley would take you under his wing.”
Lily was aware of that rumor as well. Cholmondeley and she were friends, and she knew speculation that there was more between them followed her, but he was devoted to his wife. He was sort of an uncle to her—a man from whom she asked advice. She wished he were here now so she could ask his advice on the subject of the Earl of Darlington. But the man named Lord Steward of the Household, the first dignitary of the court, would never have consorted with this lot. And that was a very bad sign indeed. What did Ravenscroft have planned for this week? How much debauchery was to be expected? And how could she avoid it?
She heard voices and turned as the butler opened the drawing-room doors, admitting the duke and his friends. She caught the butler’s eye for one moment, but he looked quickly away. His look told her nothing, and she shifted nervously, hoping Ravenscroft had not yet heard about her mishap with his son. The duke entered, looking ruddy and unsteady. He was heavily in his cups, if his slanting walk was any indication. His friends followed, a motley group of libertines and old roués. Lily forced herself to take a slow breath and exhale it. These were the sort of men she always had to evade. They had nimble hands and slow minds, and they thought their titles and money, what little they hadn’t gambled away, entitled them to take whatever they wanted.
She could handle most of them, but the sight of Lord Kwirley gave her pause. He’d been pursuing Fallon, but she had rejected him in such a manner as to earn his ill will. Now he hated The Three Diamonds, and when he saw her, he smiled ominously.
Fortunately, the duke was making his way to her. “Lily, my dear! You have arrived. Finally!” He attempted to execute a bow and almost fell into her. She caught him, steadying him, and he wrapped his arm about her shoulders. She was hauled against his rather substantial girth and could smell the port oozing out of his skin. He was very, very foxed.
“I am so sorry to have missed dinner.” Lily was aware of the other women glaring at her. She was used to it and did not find ignoring them difficult. And now that her target was present, she was wholly focused on her mission.
“Did you have something to eat?” the duke asked.
“You’ll give her something to eat, won’t you, Ravenscroft?” Kwirley said, laughing loudly at his own joke. “And if you can’t satisfy her appetite, I’m sure I can.”
Lily smiled thinly. “I have not eate
n, Lord Kwirley, and I fear I am hungry for more than your little snack.”
The room erupted in laughter, and the duke patted her behind. She had won his favor but at the cost of Kwirley’s animosity. She would have to be careful of both men. “This is a lovely house,” she said, turning the subject. “I do hope your steward will give me a tour at some point.”
“I’ll give you an abbreviated tour of the most important room tonight,” Ravenscroft said. He leaned close, slobbering in her ear. “Would you like that?”
“I cannot wait,” she said. “But first a drink, perhaps?” The key now would be to make certain the duke was too intoxicated to take advantage of her presence in his bedchamber. That would give her the opportunity to have a look about. She knew what she was looking for—anything to tie the duke to the recent attempts on the lives of her fellow agents for the Crown.
Lily signaled to a footman with a tray of champagne. She took a glass and turned to Ravenscroft. “What would you like, darling?”
His gaze roved boldly over her body, making her itch. “I am not thirsty for spirits.”
“Perhaps some port, then?” she said to the footman. “You will need fortification,” she told Ravenscroft.
“Oh, ho! Will I, then?”
Lily smiled, listening to more of his innuendos and double entendres and trying not to appear bored. She had heard all of them at some point or another. Men thought they were being clever, and her task was to ensure they continued to think that way. When she was annoyed and tired, as she was now, she tried to remember the Countess of Sinclair’s advice. The countess was not a courtesan by any stretch of the imagination, but when she’d taken Juliette, Fallon, and Lily in, she’d been married for quite a number of years. She knew the male mind well enough to tutor three girls who had few options other than becoming courtesans.
Make a man feel like he is the most charming, most handsome, most amazing lover you have ever known. Do that, and he will worship you forever.
The earl certainly worshipped his wife—despite rumors to the contrary—so Lily could only assume the countess knew what she was talking about.
Suddenly, the duke’s brow furrowed, and he stared across the room. “What the deuce is he doing here?”
Lily followed the duke’s gaze and spotted Darlington at the far side of the room. He’d been cornered by the opera singer, and he looked as though he did not mind overly much. She snorted. And he had the nerve to disparage her reputation. The man had his own reputation. Everyone knew he’d never met an opera singer he didn’t like.
Lily put a hand on the duke’s arm. “He isn’t hurting anything. Tell me more about your stables.”
“Give him time,” the duke said, narrowing his bloodshot eyes. “He has become a boorish lout. Doesn’t approve of my friends, you know.”
“Doesn’t he?” Lily looked over her shoulder and caught the earl watching her. It was strange to see the father and son in close proximity. They did not resemble each other at all. Darlington and his sister must take after their mother. Where the earl had dark hair and eyes, a tall, muscular frame, and an inborn grace of movement, his father was pale and ruddy, short and stocky, and lumbered rather than walked. “I am certain he only misses his mother.”
“I don’t know why you defend him,” the duke said. “He protested quite loudly over my inviting you here.”
“That does not surprise me. He and I have not been on good terms of late.” It occurred to her that now was as good a time as any to lay the groundwork should she need to defend herself from accusations made by the butler or governess regarding what they saw earlier. “He is still in love with my friend Juliette, you see. In fact, shortly after I arrived today, he cornered me and asked after her rather forcefully. I do not think he has yet accepted the fact that she is well and truly married to the Duke of Pelham.”
The duke’s face reddened further. Lily actually became alarmed at how close to purple the man’s complexion had become. “I hope he did not hurt you.”
Lily waved a hand, eager to reassure the duke before he expired on the spot. “No, no. A puppy like him? I can snap my fingers and put him in his place.”
“And who is this puppy you speak of?” she heard a familiar voice ask behind her. She stiffened, knowing it was Darlington and cursing her inattention. If she had not been so concerned about the duke, she would have seen his son crossing the room and chosen her words accordingly.
She turned to Darlington. “No one you know, my lord.”
“Are you certain?” His brow lifted, giving him a cynical, bored look. But she saw the hard glint of anger in his eyes and knew he was not fooled. “Your list of conquests is quite substantial. Surely I know one or two.”
“My list of conquests? You should look to your own list, my lord. It is quite lengthy in its own right, and if I am not mistaken, you will soon add to it.” She nodded to the opera singer.
“Jealous, Countess?”
“Hardly.”
The duke cleared his throat, and Lily realized she’d completely forgotten that he was still standing there.
“What are you doing here, Darlington?” the duke said, slurring his son’s courtesy title. “I thought you didn’t approve.”
“I admit, Your Grace, my curiosity got the better of me. And I can scarce resist the allure of the Countess of Charm. In fact, we had an interlude earlier—”
“I’ve already discussed it with His Grace,” Lily interrupted. “The topic is stale.”
“Perhaps I can revive it.” Darlington held out his arm. “Take a turn about the room with me, won’t you, Lily?”
She was not deceived by his smile or his mild tone. She knew he was angry, and if she went with him, he would do something to make the situation worse.
“I do not think so,” the duke said, taking Lily’s arm. “I was about to give the countess a tour of the house. You shall have to excuse us.” His fingers dug painfully into her arm, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.
She could not stay, and she did not want to go. Cursing the untenable situation, Lily had no choice but to stumble along as Ravenscroft dragged her from the drawing room. No one but Darlington even noticed. She truly was alone here—and at the duke’s mercy. Thankfully, the duke stumbled and leaned heavily on her, but had he drank enough to pass out, or would she have to fight him off?
Her last sight as she departed the drawing room was Kwirley’s sneer and Darlington’s scowl.
Six
Andrew watched her go. His father leaned heavily on her, his mouth beside her ear as he whispered God knew what. Lily laughed, but Andrew knew her well enough to know it wasn’t an honest laugh. She might be fooling others into believing she was attracted to his father, but she was not fooling him. So then why was she going to the duke’s bed? Did she want the title that much? The money?
Whatever her reasoning, he found himself inexplicably furious. Quite suddenly, he wanted to lift the Ming vase from the mantel and throw it across the room. Maybe he’d hit one of the lechers in the process. Half of London would thank him. But it wouldn’t assuage his anger. Lily would still be in his father’s bed. The old duke would still be undressing her, slobbering on her, rutting with her. The old fool wouldn’t know what he had. He wouldn’t appreciate the sprinkle of freckles across her face or the sardonic arch of her brow. Lily deserved better—not that he wanted her. She was like a sister to him, though he had to admit he had never kissed his sisters like he’d kissed Lily in the storage closet.
He ran a hand through his hair, discomfited by the memory. He couldn’t quite explain what had happened earlier. He had not wanted to kiss Lily. It had been yet another scheme to alienate her from his father’s affections. But once he touched her, once he had her in his arms, all reason left him, and he could think only of how sweet she tasted and how arousing all the little mewling sounds she made were when he kissed her deeply.<
br />
But kissing her had done nothing to stop her from going to his father’s bed. He was experienced enough to know this did not mean his father would be asking her for her hand in marriage, and Andrew could find other methods to make certain this did not occur. But he did not like to think of her under his father. Or over his father… Andrew clenched his hands again. He needed a woman to take his mind off what was happening upstairs. He turned from the mantel and surveyed the room. His father had certainly amassed some of the most willing women in the entire country. He should have no problem persuading one or more to join him in bed.
Andrew leaned on the mantel and tapped his fingers on the ledge. Mrs. Arbuckle was eyeing him. She was young and pretty with plump arms and cheeks and a mass of blond ringlets. She spilled out of her gown in an impressive display of flesh. She was quite delectable, if one liked that sort of thing.
He turned his attention to the widows, Mrs. Compton and Lady Euglin. Both were currently flirting mercilessly with his father’s guests, but Andrew thought he could lure one of them away. And then, of course, there was Angelique. She was the opera singer, and he’d long admired her. She raised her brows suggestively when he caught her eye, and he started across the room. Yes, Angelique would take his mind off Lily. He’d already forgotten the courtesan.
“My lord,” Angelique said, wafting her fan slowly, seductively. “I have been waiting for you to notice me for hours, it seems.”
He bowed and kissed her hand. “You were never beneath my notice, fair Angelique. I’ve been thinking how to approach you again all evening.”
“Have you? And I’ve been thinking of all the delicious hours we might spend together, if I could only see you alone. Would you like to give me a tour of the house?”
“I’d like nothing better.” And yet he did not move to do so. Instead, he poured himself a brandy and sipped it, allowing Angelique to tease him with words and straying fingers. He should take her to his room. She was obviously more than willing. But he could not make himself do so. He did not want her. She lacked… something. Freckles across the bridge of her nose? A wild sweep of auburn hair? Laughing green eyes?
