by Jane Feather
Marcus climbed into his now-waiting curricle and drove home to Berkeley Square. He found his wife in the nursery.
"I have just encountered the most exquisite little rogue," he said. "But not as exquisite a little rogue as my Emma." With a soft smile he bent to pick up his daughter, clamoring at his knees. He swung the toddler into the air, and she squealed excitedly, grabbing at his nose with a dimpled fist.
Judith Devlin leaned back in her chair, cradling her infant son, smiling as she watched her husband with the little girl. Marcus was a devoted father.
"So?" she prompted, when he'd stopped playing with the child and settled her on his hip. "What about this encounter?"
Marcus bent to examine his son, who lay placidly, sucking his thumb in his mother's arm. "Edmund looks bigger today."
"Nonsense," Judith said with an indulgent laugh. "He's no bigger this morning than he was last night." She lifted her face for her husband's kiss. "Are you ever going to tell me?"
"Oh, yes. Rarely have I been so richly amused." He described the bear's rescue and, as he'd expected, the ready amusement sprang to his wife's tawny eyes. It was
a story to appeal to the unconventional, and Judith had ever been that.
"Hugo Lattimer and I came into Society at the same time," he said, setting his wriggling daughter on her feet. "But he ran with a wild set in those days… oh, that is a splendid house, Emma." He took the sheet of paper she was pressing at him.
"There's Mama." She jabbed at a stick figure. "Wiv' your horse."
"Very lifelike," he said solemnly, critically comparing his wife with the facsimile. "Anyway, lynx, I engaged that you would call upon the girl. She must be Stephen Gresham's daughter. Lattimer was much involved with his set." He grimaced. "The Greshams are bad blood, if all the rumors are true, but it's hard to imagine bad blood running in the veins of such an exquisite creature. And she struck me as quite without artifice."
"She's closer to Harriet's age," Judith said. Her sister-in-law was five years younger than herself.
Marcus shook his head. "True enough, but you know as well as I, my love, that Harriet's tastes don't run to the unconventional. She wouldn't know what to make of Miss Gresham."
Judith laughed slightly. "No, I suppose you're right. Anyway, Sebastian tells me that she's expecting again. She always suffers so badly from nausea, poor love, I don't know why they keep having babies."
"Because it suits them," Marcus said. "Your brother is even more besotted with his children than I am."
"Yes, and he spoils them abominably. And Harriet is incapable of saying no. little Charles created havoc in here yesterday, and as for young Peter…"
"Well, you're the only person Sebastian will listen to, including his wife," Marcus pointed out with perfect truth.
"I've told him," she said. "And he won't listen. I sup-
pose he wants to give them all the things he never had. A childhood spent racketing around the capitals of the Continent in the train of an impoverished gamester left out a lot."
"It didn't do either of you any harm."
"Oh, you were not always of that opinion," she said, her eyes narrowing. "There was a time when you expressed yourself most vehemently on the subject."
'A lot of water's flowed since then," her husband said equably. "If the girl's Gresham's daughter, why isn't her half brother her guardian, I wonder? Lattimer's no relation… although…"
"Although?" Judith prompted when he paused.
"Well, there was something about the way he treated her," Marcus said slowly, remembering how naturally Hugo had straightened her hat and wiped the smear on her cheek. "A rather particular intimacy…"
"Ohh…" Judith said. "What do you suspect'"
"Nothing." He shrugged. "Lattimer's all of thirty-four and the girl's barely out of the schoolroom. I expect he was being avuncular… Anyway, will you call on her?"
"I can hardly wait."
Two days later, Lady Carrington drove herself in her high-perch phaeton to Mount Street.
It was clear from the moment the door was opened to her by a sturdy man in leather britches and waistcoat, sporting two gold earrings, that she was in no ordinary household.
"Is Miss Gresham in?" She drew off her gloves, looking around the square hall. The smell of fresh paint hung in the air.
"Aye, I reckon so," the unusual butler said. "Last I knew, the lass was pesterin' that Alphonse in the
kitchen. Mind you, what we want wi' a cook, I don't know, specially one what calls 'imself some fancy Frenchie name when it's as plain as day he's no more of a Frenchie than I am. What's good enough in Lancashire ought t' be good enough 'ere, I says."
Judith was somewhat at a loss as to how to respond to this confidence, when a swinging baize door at the end of the hall flew open and a brown bundle exploded into the hall, followed by an enormous dog.
"Dante! Come here!" A slight figure whirled through the door on their heels, brandishing a wooden spoon. "You are the worst-behaved animal! Leave Demosthenes alone."
Judith jumped out of the way as the brown fur bundle lumbered past her at a surprising speed, the dog yapping at its heels.
"Miss Gresham?" she inquired.
"Yes," Chloe said distractedly. "I beg your pardon, but I must catch Demosthenes. If Hugo finds him loose in the house, there'll be terrible trouble."
"Demosthenes?" Judith said feebly. She rarely felt feeble.
"Well, Bruin's rather boring, don't you think," Chloe said, lunging for the bear cub. "Samuel, can you catch Dante?"
Samuel grunted and grabbed Dante by the collar. The dog sat down, panting. The bear had retreated beneath an inlaid console table and a pair of bright eyes gazed out from the shadows.
Judith sat down on a chair and burst into a peal of laughter. "Marcus said you were refreshing," she gasped. "But I don't believe he knows the half of it."
"Marcus?" Chloe, who was on her knees in front of the console table, looked over her shoulder.
"My husband, Lord Carrington. I understand you met him the other day."
"Oh, yes, he was kind enough to lend me his whip." Chloe dropped forward onto her hands and knees, sticking her nose under the table. "Come on, you silly animal. I only want to dress that cut."
It was at this moment that Hugo sauntered into his house through the still-open front door. Dante greeted him exuberantly, and he didn't at first see their visitor on her chair by the wall. His attention was immediately caught by Chloe's upturned rear as she peered under the table.
"What are you doing?" He swung his crop lightly at the inviting behind.
"Ouch!" Chloe backed out hastily. "I was hoping you wouldn't come back until I'd captured Demosthenes. Dante jumped at him while I was stirring the poultice in the kitchen and all hell broke loose."
"All what'"
"Oh, well you know what I mean. Oh, this is Lady Carrington. She came to call." She gestured toward Judith.
"I seem to have picked a rather inconvenient moment," Judith said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. "Sir Hugo."
"Lady Carrington." He bowed formally over her hand but his eyes twinkled at the ready laughter in the golden-brown eyes of his guest. "Sometimes I wonder if there is ever a convenient moment in this circus. Allow me to give you a glass of sherry to restore your shattered nerves." He gestured toward the library, saying over his shoulder, "Chloe, you will remove that wild animal forthwith, and if I ever catch him in the house again, it will be very much the worse for both of you."
Chloe watched the two of them disappear into the library and muttered one of Falstaff s more inventive phrases.
It was twenty minutes later before she was able to
join her guardian and his guest in the library. Lady Carrington and Hugo were laughing as she entered and seemed to be getting on famously. For some reason, this made her feel put out. She examined the visitor with more attention and saw a vibrant, beautiful woman in her mid-twenties, radiating assurance and confidence, conversing with Hugo as
if she'd known him all her life.
Hugo's public rebuke still stung, and Chloe, feeling uncomfortably young and rather grubby, had the sense that she'd wandered uninvited into an adult's domain.
"May I have a glass of sherry?"
"Of course, lass." Hugo poured her a glass and refilled Lady Carrington's. "Where's the beast?"
"In the stables." She took the glass and sipped. "I must apologize, Lady Carrington, for not welcoming you properly."
"Oh, don't apologize," Judith said, chuckling. "An escaped bear is more than sufficient explanation."
"Where's your chaperone?" Hugo inquired of his ward, explaining to Judith, "My late mother's cousin, Lady Smallwood, resides with us as Chloe's duenna."
"She's lying upon her bed with her smelling salts," Chloe said, her eyes suddenly sparkling with mischief. "I'm afraid Falstaff upset her again."
Judith demanded to know the identity of this character and left soon after, still laughing. "I am having an evening party on Thursday," she said. "You will come, both of you… and Lady Smallwood, of course."
That evening, as Judith was dressing for dinner, she remarked to her husband, "You're right about Harriet, Marcus. She won't be able to make heads or tails of Chloe Gresham. But Sebastian will enjoy her enormously. Her beauty is astonishing, of course, but it's that roguish personality that really appeals. She's completely without artifice; I don't even think she knows that she's
beautiful. I intend to make her the toast of the Season. What do you think?"
"I don't see how you can fail, if you've a mind to." Marcus took the emerald necklace from the maid, fastening it himself around the slender column of his wife's throat. "With a fortune of eighty thousand pounds and a face and figure to rival Helen of Troy, all she needs is the right patronage."
"Then she shall have it. She'll need a voucher for Al-mack's, so I'll introduce her to Sally Jersey on Thursday. She's so good-natured, she won't disapprove of Chloe's easy ways, where Princess Esterhazy might."
"I still wish I knew why Hugo Lattimer has her in charge and not Jasper Gresham." Marcus shrugged. "Did you notice anything about them?"
"Only that she can clearly twist him around her little finger," Judith said. "For all that he plays the exasperated guardian on occasion."
"Intriguing."
"Very. There's a Lady Smallwood in residence as chaperone. His late mother's cousin."
Marcus nodded. "Lattimer's mother's family were Beauchamps. Impeccable background. Lady Smallwood will have the right cachet… although I understand she's not entirely sensible."
"Since when has that mattered to Society?" Judith asked tartly.
Her husband laughed. "Never. And perhaps the less sensible she is, the more it suits Hugo and his unconventional ward."
"He certainly runs an unconventional household."
"Intriguing," Marcus said again.
"Very," Judith agreed.
Chapter 18
The girl's eyes were fixed on the shadowy vaulted ceiling. Vaguely she was aware of the warmth of candle flame on her bare breast as she lay on a bier in the center of the crypt, her body lit by altar candles ranged along the table.
A masked face hung over her, and she turned her head in weak protest as a goblet was presented to her lips.
"Don't be foolish," the man said harshly. He lifted her head with one hand and pressed the goblet against her mouth.
The girl opened her mouth and the aromatic contents were tipped down her throat. She fell back on the white pillow. The muzziness filled her head, and a great warm lethargy spread through her limbs. She had no idea how long she'd been lying naked in this shadowy cavern. She couldn't remember how many times the goblet had been pressed upon her. She had only vague memories of the pouch of gold that had changed hands in her uncle's cottage some time… a long long time… ago. Her uncle had pocketed the gold and the strange man with the black mask had taken her away.
She felt hands on her body, stroking, smoothing- pleasurable little touches that made her stir and moan. Far away in some recess of her brain she connected the drink with these strange feelings of excitement. When her thighs were drawn apart, she offered no resistance, floating now in a dream world of shadowy figures and shadowy sensations. The sharp pain that accompanied
the penetration of her body was a dream, and the swift rhythmic pounding deep within her seemed to have nothing to do with her and yet paradoxically to be intrinsic to her flesh.
Crispin closed his eyes on a surge of pleasure as he possessed the pale body, lying so still beneath him. The eyes of the others were on him, watching him in this rite of initiation under the flickering candles in the cold vault. Behind his closed eyes he saw Chloe lying beneath him, submitting, bound to his pleasure, her arrogant insolence forever subdued as he used her in front of the eager lusting eyes of the Congregation. Jasper had promised it would happen. And Jasper always kept his promises as he always made good his threats.
Jasper leaned back against a pillar, his arms folded, his eyes behind the loo mask skidding over the tableau vivant on the bier. Like his stepson, he was mentally substituting another body for the peasant girl's. Hugo Lattimer had deprived the Congregation of Elizabeth Gresham, but her daughter would make up the deficit. And there would be no interference this time. He would avenge every insult Lattimer had thrown at him by taking the girl and her fortune. Not only would Lattimer suffer the humiliation of failing to fulfill the dying wishes of the woman he had loved with such a besotted, infantile, sentimentalized love, but he would watch while the daughter took the place intended for her mother fourteen years before. And when it was over, Hugo Lattimer's blood would water the granite tombstone slabs of the crypt as Jasper avenged his father's death.
Stephen Gresham had known of Hugo's passion for his wife. He had been intending to give Elizabeth to Hugo in the crypt-a vicious gift, one that he would have found deeply satisfying. Hugo was bound by the oaths of the Congregation to absolute obedience to its
leader. He would have been forced to violate the object of his mawkish compassion and idealistic fantasies and thus would have relearned the most important lesson of the crypt: Nothing is sacred.
Instead, Hugo had broken his oath and killed the leader to whom he was bound in obedience. And the leader's son had devised the perfect punishment.
Jasper's eyes roamed around the faces surrounding the bier as they awaited their turn with the ravished virgin. His gaze lingered on the young, fresh face of Denis DeLacy. The youth's eyes were unfocused, his lips parted with eager lust. He was ready to do anything to earn his spurs in the Congregation and he had all the right qualifications for the task: youth, good looks, an accepted place in the Fashionable World, and a respectable fortune.
Jasper pushed himself away from the pillar and walked over to the young man. He tapped him on the shoulder. Denis turned immediately. His face fell as he understood that he was to be deprived of his turn on the bier. But he followed Jasper with the alacrity of an acolyte into one of the smaller chambers in the crypt.
"It was the most amazing success tonight, Samuel."
Chloe pranced into the hall as Samuel opened the door. "Lady Jersey has promised to send me a voucher for Almack's, and I didn't have to sit one dance out, and I had so many partners no one could dance more than once with me." She twirled, setting her cream silk skirts swirling.
"And it's a swelled 'ead yell be gettin' if you goes on in that fashion," Samuel remarked, closing the door.
"It is most unbecoming, dear," a very fat lady said, shivering in her cashmere shawl. "It's lovely that you
should have had so many partners, but you'll lose them all quickly if you don't behave with due modesty." "Oh, pah," muttered Chloe. "I'm most dreadfully fatigued," her chaperone said with a wheezing sigh. "Not that it wasn't a most elegant affair… most elegant, wasn't it, Hugo? Lady Car-rington certainly keeps a good table… such lobster patties, such scalloped oysters…" She passed a hand over her rotund stomach in an unconscious ge
sture of corporeal recollection. "Oh, and the trifles-did I mention the trifles-I had two dishes… or was it three?" She frowned with the utmost seriousness.
"Six," said Chloe, sotto voce.
"I beg your pardon, Chloe dear?"
"I said they were delicious," Chloe said with a sweet smile. "And the syllabubs also. You seemed to enjoy those equally, my dear ma'am."
"Oh, yes, indeed. I was forgetting the syllabubs." Lady Smallwood sighed with pleasure. "How could I have forgotten the syllabubs."
"Very easily, with everything else one was obliged to sample," Chloe said, still smiling sweetly.
"Oh, yes, there was so much to choose from. Some people consider such varied choice to be a little vulgar, but I'm not one of them."
"No," Chloe agreed.
"I do believe it shows respect for one's guests to set a good table for them."
'Tes, I'm sure you're right, Dolly." Hugo spoke up before Chloe could continue with her wicked asides. "I'm glad you were tolerably amused."
"Well, as you know, I'm not a great one for socializing… not since my dear Smallwood passed on," Lady Smallwood said with a sigh. "But I said I'd do my best for the child, and I will. You won't find me shirking my duties." She waddled toward the stairs. "Now, if you'll
excuse me, I'll retire. Come along, Chloe. You don't want to be fagged tomorrow. You'll lose your looks if you're peaky… and that would never do."
"But I'm not in the least fatigued, ma'am."
"Lady Smallwood knows best, lass," Hugo said earnestly. "Think how humiliating it would be to see your success slip away from you before you've had a chance to savor it."
Chloe put her tongue out at him but followed her chaperone's mountainous figure up the stairs.
