After the play, they elected not to stay for the farce and Virginie left, allowing Rhea to take her arm while she paraded outside to her coach. Paraded being the right word. People parted to allow them through, staring as they passed, storing up the information for their cronies. No doubt the nastiest insinuations would circulate. But on the whole this meeting would help Virginie more than it would Rhea. Virginie was grateful for that.
Virginie’s mama had brought the carriage, and so Virginie gave Rhea a ride to her lodgings. The Pantheon Club. She might have guessed. D’Argento wouldn’t have let the woman alone until he had her under his care. Would Marcus visit her privately?
It was none of Virginie’s concern, not any longer, though she would have to give her body time to catch up with her mind. It still yearned for him.
She watched her footman escort Rhea into the club, and then forced a smile. Exhaustion crept on her in a great wave. “Thank you.”
“I thought it might help,” her mother said. “I visited her. Her plight touched me and I wanted to give her my sympathy. I found her in high spirits, and she told me what had happened. That the Duke of Lyndhurst had visited her and asked for her hand in marriage. He works quickly, that man, does he not? I couldn’t but express my pleasure, and she said she was surprised, because I am your mother. I said that you were an honourable woman and she could be assured that you would not interfere with her happiness. In short, I persuaded her that you would reassure her. She is foolishly in love with the duke, you know.”
That was more than Virginie could say, although even a week ago she would have claimed otherwise. She shrugged. “He has a startling attractiveness. I wish her joy of keeping him.”
Her mother patted her hand. “I’m glad to hear you say that, my dear. Do you intend to go on to another event?” The evening was early for London, barely ten.
Virginie shook her head. “I’ve done enough for one night. Let them discuss their discoveries and make up their own minds.” She didn’t have to say who “they” were. “They” were the gossips, who decided how society should behave. Virginie’s very public and cordial meeting with the Duke of Lyndhurst’s future bride would go a long way towards pacifying them. No need to push the issue. Once they had given her the cut direct, then they would find difficulty retreating from that attitude. Best to give them no opportunity to do so.
“I will go to a small assembly,” her mother said. “Three ladies have invited me to join them in Ranelagh Gardens. I will stay just long enough to let them know the good news about the duke.”
“You’re making ground.” Virginie could not be anything but glad for her mother, who still had her own battles to fight. After tonight, she would not allow any calumny to be uttered in her presence about her mother. They would come about. D’Argento’s efforts to explain the lady’s presence in his club as a hostess, not a housekeeper, and his gentle mental persuasion of a few key figures would achieve the trick.
With confidence higher than she’d known before, Virginie went home. She allowed her maid to undress her and wash the powder from her hair before she retreated gratefully to bed.
Virginie took her time rising the next day. She spent most of the late morning and early afternoon in her private sitting room, reading and catching up with the gossip. On sending out for the more scurrilous of the gossip sheets, she discovered the news of her appearance at Drury Lane Theatre the night before had spread, though it was a mere comment and a very little speculation.
The news of the Duke of Lyndhurst’s engagement would not appear until his marriage, in the more respectable journals. The gossip sheets hinted that this was less likely. Even though Miss S—, as they coyly put it, had borne two children out of wedlock, strongly suspected to be of the duke’s get.
After perusing the papers, her hands were black with newsprint, despite ordering the journals ironed before the servants brought them to her. Virginie made her way to her bedroom to wash.
On her way back, the doorbell clanged, its raucous demands echoing through the quiet house. Virginie paused at the top of the stairs, out of sight of any visitor, and heard a voice she knew she couldn’t avoid any longer.
After ordering him taken to the parlour on the ground floor, Virginie went to her room. Her maid helped her to brush her hair into a more becoming style and add a little blush to her pale cheeks. Even Venus needed a little help when she was under strain.
Going downstairs, she was aware of her heart drumming in her breast. As she nodded her thanks to the footman who opened the parlour door to her, she felt another door open, deep in her mind. As if a page had turned, her life was about to take a new turn.
Harry stood and bowed, and she offered her hand. When he took it, his heat seeped into her, and for the first time in days she felt warmth at the heart of her. Reluctant to let her hand fall, he seemed equally reluctant to let go of it.
“Virginie,” he said, his deep voice reverberating through her.
She remembered her manners. Pulling her hand away, she turned to the sideboard. “Would you like some refreshment? I have brandy, port and wine. Or I can send for tea.”
“As if I’d travelled miles to see you?” He sounded amused.
She smiled, her facial muscles remembering the motion as if she’d been frozen into haughty immobility. “You would think me churlish if I did not make the offer.”
“Never.” When she gestured to the chair by the fireplace, he helped her sit, and then took his place opposite her, propping his cane by the arm.
“I appreciate you calling,” she said.
“I think that visit at the theatre last night may have turned the tide. We immortals have been busy too.”
“I know and I appreciate your help.” More than she had before. Perhaps some of the madness had receded. She changed the position of her hands in her lap, stroking the sticks of her fan.
“Virginie, d’Argento and I think it might be best if you retreat now and let society make up its mind. By August you might think of attending a house party. Or holding one of your own.”
She found it difficult to repress her shudder. The thought of holding a gathering to which nobody came haunted her. But she could rely on the immortals. They would not abandon her. Even Kentmere, if she told him of the trouble caused by his mischief making, would come. After all, he owed her a great debt. She had enabled him to meet the love of his life. And his wife was a member of a large family. They would come.
So she was able to smile. “Yes, that is possible.”
“There is something else, Virginie.” His harsh voice softened. Grasping his cane, he got to his feet. “I cannot take the traditional position of a man about to—well, I would ask you a question. I have no words. I don’t know how to say this with any grace. Virginie, would you marry me?”
Shocked, she caught her breath, and could not find it again until her body took over its automatic in-out, in-out once more. When her heart started beating again, it came stronger, faster.
Desire thickened the air. This was the substance her goddess craved, that she lived on. It strengthened her. For that reason alone she was tempted. But the man before her—his strength, so different from Marcus’s. Where Marcus was action and fury, Harry was firm and steadfast. He stood unbending, his dark eyes revealing licks of fire when he was emotional, as now. He didn’t hide it from her, and that in itself she found a strength. He had the courage to show her some of what he felt.
When she stood, so did he, using his stick lightly for support. When she stepped forward, he opened his arms and enfolded her in them. Nothing could touch her now, not with that power around her. She lifted her head, inviting his kiss, and he didn’t disappoint her.
She let her eyes close as his lips covered hers. Bliss, and so welcome.
He took her slowly, giving her time to savour him and his unique taste. With a small sigh of surrender, she leaned against his shoulder. He was as strong as an oak tree. She had never felt as safe in her whole life as she did in his ar
ms. He held her firmly, but not tightly, supporting her with a gentleness she wouldn’t have believed possible in one so powerful. His muscles flexed against her when he shifted her so that she rested against his shoulder.
He slid his tongue into her mouth, caressing her, learning it with a thoroughness that ravished her senses. He contacted every part of her mouth, licked her and tasted her. She gave him everything. In his arms she forgot everything but him.
When he drew away, he did it gently, carefully, but he didn’t let go of her. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes.” Only when the word had escaped her lips did reason return, rushing in on her like the high tide. “That is—you can’t want this. I don’t bring you anything you don’t have already except scandal.”
His laugh reverberated through her. “You are joking, surely? I have the most beautiful woman in the world in my arms, and you can say that?”
She smiled. “I can’t be.”
“You’re Venus. I can.” He kissed her again, this time softly and sweetly.
“That’s just what I am, not who I am.” Frustration made her impatient. “That is, I can’t explain properly.”
“You’re talking to Vulcan.”
She’d almost forgotten. He was a man, Harry, vital, warm, offering her comfort, solace and something more. To her astonishment, his desire tickled her senses. She’d thought herself incapable of it, considering the trouble it had dragged her into recently. But here it was again, proving her wrong.
What was he like naked? The speculation made her mouth water. She had never seen him less than properly dressed, and she would not find out unless she agreed to become his wife.
Which she’d just done, she recalled, shock cutting through the desire. He was luring her into his kingdom. But she was her own woman, her own goddess, and she wouldn’t allow herself to be so overcome again.
“I didn’t think it would be that easy,” he said. He touched his lips to her forehead, so softly she hardly felt it.
“You would have fought for me?”
“Yes.” As always he answered her simply, without prevarication. She liked that about him. Could she do it? Could she truly?
It would mean for life, or for a mortal lifespan. Of course that didn’t have to be long. She could fabricate a “death” and move on, but she’d have to start again somewhere else as someone else. She’d enjoyed her life for the past five or more years, learning to be herself and to live with the person she was, as well as the goddess.
Even the thought chilled her. So she’d be married to this man for a long time. At the moment he represented safety, and an escape from the scandal she’d caused.
She wanted one thing clear. “Can we marry soon? Before Marcus?”
He reacted in the one way she wouldn’t have predicted. He threw back his head and laughed. “Tomorrow, if you like,” he said. His laugh had shocked her, but it acted as a cleansing torrent. Not that simple laughter would wipe out her mood or her actions, but it set her in a slightly different place.
“Not tomorrow. Too hasty. The day after?”
He grinned down at her. “Surely, yes. I’ll see about a special license tomorrow. Do you wish for a quiet ceremony? With a special license we can marry anywhere.”
“Yes. But I want enough guests to ensure the right kind of gossip.”
Another laugh. “Anybody would think you were marrying me because you wanted to escape a difficult situation, not because you’re hopelessly in love with me.”
She joined in his laughter. “Heaven forbid!”
Chapter Nine
She was not really marrying him for himself, Harry knew that, but he was desperate. He’d take her any way he could and worry about the details later. Virginie enchanted him, completely overcame him. The first time he’d seen her in the theatre her beauty had captivated him, but he wanted her so much more than that now.
She would probably run a mile if she knew how he felt. But here she was, in his arms, and she felt like heaven. They had a long road to travel. Either that or the road would fork into two in short order. But at least he could offer her sanctuary from the scandal threatening to overwhelm her. It would not drag him down. During his time in London Harry had quietly gone about his business. He’d signed some agreements, made some useful connections and let people know that while he did not visit the city often, he was a man of considerable wealth and influence.
When he’d first come it had been at d’Argento’s behest. But he was glad of it now, and not only because he’d met the woman he longed to make his wife. He’d solidified his position in society. He should come to town more often.
Not least because his mother disliked cities. Recently she had grown more irritable. When she’d asked his Aunt Cecelia to stay with her for a few weeks, he’d recollected d’Argento’s request and hurried to town.
A hasty marriage would serve his ends too. His mother would be delighted that he’d found a bride, though he was not sure she’d be as pleased with his choice.
To seal the bargain, and because he badly wanted to, he kissed Virginie again. She tasted sweet, perfect for him. He took his time, for who knew when he’d get the opportunity again? He would not force himself on her. He wanted this union to last, and he wished her happy with it.
When she chuckled, a mischievous expression entered her eyes. “What is it?” he asked her.
“The rose. We will let people assume that was no more than a lover’s tiff.”
“But you were—” Still gracing Lyndhurst’s bed, he was about to say, but thought better of it.
“I was considering leaving him. You told me to. So did d’Argento and my other fellow immortals. Society had begun to regard the affair as more scandalous than amusing. It was time, but I could not.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Putting her hand against his chest, she pushed back to meet his gaze directly. “I was ready to defy the world for him. You understand that, don’t you?”
“You mean you’ll never love again?”
“Probably not.”
He appreciated her frankness, but the words lanced his heart, cut him deeply. “There is no chance for me?”
Her pause made him soar. Only a tiny hesitation, but there, nonetheless. “No.”
He preferred to work on the pause than with the negative. “Then I will try for friendship and fondness. That will be better than the first Venus and Vulcan had, will it not?”
She nodded. “They hated each other cordially.”
“They did.”
“They also had no children.”
He had pondered on that. “We might. We are not fated to re-enact their every move. From what I understand, the legends are reappearing but in strange ways. We can try, at any rate. Perhaps we should be more human than god.”
She agreed with alacrity. He wondered at that. Venus was an arrogant, confident goddess, but Harry wasn’t sure if Virginie reflected her. The Duchesse de Clermont-Ferand, soon to become the Countess of Valsgarth, he recalled with warmth. He would take Venus because she came with Virginie. Did she make that distinction? In some, notably d’Argento, the god and the man had melded, so they were one being. That was as far as he knew, but he’d never seen a crack in that façade, or had reason to doubt his judgement. As a younger Ancient, Harry still had that to learn. So did Virginie. Perhaps they could do it together.
When she pulled away he was forced to drop his hold on her, although he could have held her all day. She felt perfect in his arms, as if made just for that purpose.
“So you mean to say that the rose was my token to you and you were playing with me?”
“Part of the courtship,” she said briskly, bending to pick up her fan which had dropped to the floor when she’d risen to her feet. She spread the delicate leaves and wafted it before her face. “We should leave soon after. Let society see us happy, and then leave.”
“I shall take you somewhere tomorrow,” he said. “To the park, perhaps, or to the theatre.”
> “I find the theatre bores me.”
It didn’t surprise him. “Then the park. In a place we can be seen together. Lovers reconciled. Do you think society will accept it?”
“With a little gentle persuasion. Let them think my affair with Marcus had run its course, and I was turning deeper affections to you.”
That was kind of her. It would cover his humiliation the night of the ball. He doubted she still had the rose, because of the way she’d treated it that night. Maybe he could make her another, once they arrived home. His main seat lay in Cheshire. They could take upwards of three days to reach it at mortal speed, and he dared not attempt anything else. He had no special gifts in that direction. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you.” With a swirl of silk, she turned back to face him, the tiny brilliants sewn on to her gown catching the sunlight, temporarily dazzling him. “You did this to save me. I can never thank you enough. I had considered returning to France in the week, but now I don’t have to. And Susanna will speak to me again.”
“Your ward?”
“She’s a minor goddess, Suadela.”
He’d heard of Suadela, the goddess of persuasion. “That depends who you ask. She is not speaking to you?”
“She disapproved strongly of my liaison with M—Lyndhurst.” He appreciated the correction. It added distance. “I agreed that she should not find herself tainted with society’s opprobrium, so she is staying with friends. I will ask her to the wedding.”
“Do you wish her to come with us to the country?”
She opened her fan once more. He was still so close, a gentle breeze stirred around his cheeks. “Is that where we’re going?”
“I think that’s wise, don’t you? We can go to my house first and I’ll introduce you to my mother.”
Her eyes widened. “Your mother?”
“Yes, I have one of those, too, but she dislikes London. She sent me here to find a bride, so the news should please her.”
“Won’t she want to attend the wedding?”
He liked the way she said that, with what appeared maidenly hesitation, even though she was a widow of thirty—and a goddess. It appealed to the side of him that longed to protect her from the slightest wind. “No,” he answered. “She will not. I will write to her, to apprise her of the news. Should we take your mother?”
Forged by Love: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 4 Page 9
