by Anne Stuart
"I doubt my father appreciates your sacrifice," Adrian said wryly. Etienne's abandonment of his medical career had coincided with his claiming the disputed title— the comte de Giverney would hardly have kept his surgery open, the surgery Rohan money had paid for.
"No, your father has always questioned my affection for him," Etienne said sadly. And then he brightened. "Lady Kate is bringing in new girls, including an African one. Why don't I see if we can take them with us when we rusticate. It would certainly make the time go more quickly. And I can have them ship several cases of the cognac I've just taken possession of. The time will pass in a trice.”
"Etienne, I have no desire for the time to pass quickly. No desire for African whores, cognac, or, I'm afraid, your company."
Etienne looked taken aback. "Well." he said. "I see. I had no idea my friendship had become burdensome. I'll relieve you of it..."
“Don't be tiresome, Etienne," Adrian said. "You know I love you, and there's no one I'd rather spend time with." A month ago, a week ago, that would have been true. Now, for all his polite protests, he wanted nothing more than lo get away from him. "It's simply that I want some time alone. Is that so difficult to comprehend?"
Etienne was clearly undecided as to whether he should continue to be offended or let Adrian charm him out of it. "It's not like you," he said grumpily. "And I don't believe it's good for you. The season has barely begun. If you still feel the need to rusticate in another month then I won't argue."
This was getting as tedious as everything else, and Adrian gave in. "A month," he agreed. He looked around him. "Where's that boy with the wine? My glass is empty." He managed to summon up a smile. "I'll wager a hundred pounds he doesn't come before I have to go fetch him."
"Done," said Etienne, grinning at him. "Though I might have to borrow the hundred pounds. I'm running a bit short nowadays."
"Just get the boy here sooner and you'll win the money."
"But if you lend me the hundred pounds for the wager then when I win I'll have two hundred," Etienne said, practical as always.
Adrian laughed. "So you will. Consider it done. We'll settle up tomorrow."
He didn't really want to go to the country, he thought, tossing back the glass that Etienne had seen promptly filled. He didn't want to be alone, with nothing to distract him. He didn't want to be thinking about the look on Charlotte Spenser's face when he was inside her. He didn't want to be thinking aboul any woman. He wanted to get roaring drunk, visit Lady Kate's bawdy house and work out his frustration.
Charlotte had never taken him in her mouth. There hadn't been time to talk her into that particular delight. Perhaps he could enjoy Lady Kate's specialist again. Or he could simply see if the madam had a girl with coppery hair in her exotic stable.
Faith, one wench was as good as another. He hadn't truly enjoyed those two days in his little cave, had he? It must have been the novelty of it that made it stick in his mind. If he'd had an experienced woman the time would have passed in a much more pleasant fashion.
Then again, if he'd an experienced woman he would have never activated the locked door, and he would have gotten rid of her as soon as he politely could. So perhaps his current edginess was simple boredom, the need for novelty.
He could seek out other virgins, like some of the Heavenly Host were wont to do. Or he could broaden his horizons and consider men.
No, he couldn't see the appeal.
Which brought him around to the question of Montague. After taking off in pursuit of Charlotte, he hadn't seen his old friend again. He'd looked more frail than usual, and it was difficult to tell whether the bright spots of color on his pale face were signs of fever or a lavish hand with the rouge pot. If he retired to the country for a bit he could go by way of Sussex, check on Monty to make sure he was feeling well. He hadn't been in town this season, and Adrian had the lowering feeling that Monty's London days were at an end.
As long as he didn't die. No one had died in Adrian's life, no one he truly cared about, since Charles Edward, in France, fifteen years ago. Of course, he refused to allow himself to care about anyone outside his family, and his mother and four sisters, all tended to give birth easily, without the dangers usually inherent. He already had seven nieces and nephews, and while he'd been intemperate enough to adore them, he was cheered by the fact that they were incredibly healthy little monsters. Even so, he did his best to keep his distance from his sisters and their families
He could just say to hell with Etienne, take off, and by the time he found out it would be too late to talk him out of it. But that smacked of cowardice, and Adrian had never shied away from a challenge in his life.
Besides, the nervy bastard would probably just follow him out to the country. Why Etienne seemed so intent on his company was an absolute mystery. When he'd first appeared on the London scene and attached himself to Adrian he'd been flattered by the older man's attention, not to mention completely in favor of the dangerous excesses he exposed him to.
But the delight had definitely begun to wane.
He rose, sauntering over to the faro table where Etienne seemed to have grown roots. "I find Fm unaccountably tired," he murmured. "I'm heading for an early night. Shall I see you at the ridotto tomorrow night?"
Etienne's small frown turned approving. "It will be my pleasure. Though I would think we'd find more... specialized entertainment elsewhere than Ranelagh Gardens. Things tend to be so English there."
Once again the irritation rose. "You're in England, Etienne. What do you expect?"
Another night of boredom, Adrian thought as he strolled the few blocks from the gambling club to the small house on Curzon Street he'd bought for a mistress several years ago and then moved into once she'd moved on to greener pastures. The night was cool and clear, the recent rain having washed the stink from the streets, and he was reminded of the night air in Sussex. The chapel that Monty had had constructed, the Portal of Venus.
He slashed his ebony walking stick in the air, annoyed with himself And continued determinedly onward.
Miss Charlotte Spenser sat in a large, comfortable chair in the solarium in Evangelina, the Countess of Whitmore's mansion. The greenery was abundant, the air moist and warm, and the scent of fresh spring flowers filled the air. She was drinking a cup of tea. Not the wretched stuff that Lina had been forcing down her throat by the gallons, but nice strong, black, English tea, with a little milk and a great deal of sugar. So far it was easier on the stomach than that evil brew.
It had been three weeks since the Revels of the Heavenly Host. Her twisted ankle had healed nicely, the scrapes and bruises from her tumble down the embankment were almost gone. It should have been hard to believe any of it had ever happened. It was only when her mind started to drift that the feel of his hands, his mouth his...cock, he'd called it. She could almost feel everything again, and she wanted to weep.
Charlotte Spenser wasn’t a weakling. This was hardly that traumatic—no one had to know anything about it.
But she found herself looking at hands. Lina had any number of callers, but for some reason she'd stayed home recently, and no one had spent the night with her. The gentlemen came, and she looted for hands as beautiful as Rohan's. With long, artist's fingers, deft and elegant, and narrow palms. Clever, beautiful hands.
She'd known she'd never find a man with a face that pleased her as much as Rohan's. And no one had that lithe, agile body, that almost feline grace.
But she'd hoped she'd find comparable hands.
There weren't any. The men of the ton had hands that were pale, well kept. But either their fingers were too short or their palms too squat, their fingers stubby.
She sighed. It was impossible, and she knew it.
The more time passed, the easier things would be, she promised herself. For the first week she did nothing but weep, something that alarmed poor Lina, who'd seldom seen her stalwart best friend shed a tear, much less become a total watering pot. It hadn't taken Meggie long to ferret
out the truth of how she'd spent the time in Sussex— Charlotte was unused to lying, unused to secrets and feeling too miserable to resist Meggie's efforts, and from then on Lina knew everything. It had taken all Charlotte's limited energy and threats to keep Lina from her declared revenge, with only common sense finally tempering Lina's desire to defend Charlotte. "If you make a fuss then everyone will know." Charlotte had said. "It was my choice—I wasn't forced. And the last thing I want to do is end up married to a libertine. I think he was an excellent choice to deflower me, once I decided that was an interesting idea, but anything more than that would be disastrous."
Lina had been distracted. "Just how excellent was he?"
"I'm not about to tell you. Besides, I have nothing to compare him with," Charlotte had said primly, trying not to gag on the herbal tisane Lina insisted upon her drinking.
"But you enjoyed it? He made it pleasurable? You achieved. ..rapture?”
Charlotte had felt her face flush. "Yes."
"Damn," said Lina.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Well, I'm certainly not going anywhere near him now. I consider him your property, and I would never trespass."
"He's hardly my property. Have at him," she'd said with an airy wave of her hand, almost managing to convince herself she meant it. "After all, you wanted him first."
"Now, I know that isn't true. You've been pining for him these last three years, God knows why. Admittedly he's gorgeous, but you're hardly the type to be overset by simple beauty. Why?"
Because he has sad eyes, she could have said. Because he tries so very hard to be bad. to be mean.
to be cruel, and all you have to do is look past the studied ennui to see a hurt little boy trying to emerge. And, yes, because he's bloody gorgeous.
But she said none of this. To say it out loud would burn it into her heart.
"I have no idea. But I'm done with him. Feel free to try your luck."
"No," Lina had said firmly. "Drink your tea."
Which she'd done, quite dutifully. And been rewarded, a week ago, with a few betraying drops of blood signaling the onset of her menses. Nothing had happened since then, but it was enough to ensure nothing had come of the two illicit days with him. After all, he'd.. .he'd pulled out of her, hadn't he? To ensure that nothing untoward had happened.
She'd tried to explain that to Lina but gotten hopelessly tongue-tied. "Never mind, darling," Lina had said. “I know what you mean, and I thank God he had at least that much sense. You'll still drink the tea. Accidents can happen, and nothing is ever foolproof."
And so it went. The doctor had declared her right as rain from the aftermath of her fall, and Charlotte refused to let him examine her more intimately. Nothing had happened to her that hadn't happened to most women in the world—it was hardly worthy of medical interest.
In the end it had been an all-around disastrous idea on her part, dressing up to play with the Mad Monks. She knew why she did it. Not for scientific inquiry.
it had been for Rohan—she'd been drawn to him in all his self-destructive glory. Seeing him in flagrante delicto was supposed to cure her, wasn't it?
Instead she was even more tethered. If she'd stayed a virgin she would never have known what she was missing, and this was a rare case where ignorance was bliss. Not as much bliss as carnal knowledge... but a different sort of bliss. A nice, solid, serene sort of bliss that was much lacking in Charlotte's life for the last few weeks.
The one thing that both Meggie and Lina didn't know was that she hadn't just fallen down that embankment, she'd been pushed. By one of the Mad Monks.
And she had the unbearable suspicion that it might have been Adrian himself.
Lina swept into the solarium, her full skirts dancing on their hoops. "Darling, you're not wearing that hideous old dress, are you? This is your first night out since Sussex. Surely you can look a little more lively.”
Charlotte set down her tea. "I was thinking we might wait another few days. I'm not sure that my ankle is completely healed, and I don't seem to have regained my usual energy. We can start with a walk in the park, perhaps tomorrow, instead of a ridotto at Ranelagh Gardens."
"A walk?" Lina demanded, horrified. "Sweetings, I don't walk. Besides, Ranelagh will be just the thing.
Apart from the masquerade, there will be music in the rotunda, dancing and all sorts of amusement."
"I hate masquerades. Besides, if I'm to have a domino to cover me from head to foot then why does it matter what I wear?"
"In case you wish to wander down one of the private paths with a gentleman and unmask."
"I may have lost my virtue, but I haven't become a trollop," Charlotte said sharply, and then clapped her hand over her mouth. Wandering alone down private pathways was the main reason Lina went to Ranelagh.
"Don't worry, Charlotte," Lina said, totally unperturbed. "It will take a great deal more than that for you to reach my exalted realms. Besides, I've given it up."
"Given what up?"
“Dalliance. You see before you a new woman, above such tawdry stuff as assignations and lovers. I intend to be sober and devote myself to good works.”
Charlotte looked at her in amazement. "You're joking."
Lina smiled. "A bit. But I've grown weary of bed sport. It won't harm me to give it up for the time being. So, don't worry, I won't leave your side tonight. We'll have darling old Sir Percy Wainbridge as our escort, and no importunate gentlemen will be allowed to steal either of us away."
"I still don't—"
"And I assure you that Viscount Rohan has never been seen inside the confines of Ranelagh Gardens. He much prefers the tawdrier pleasures of Vaux-hall, and even that's too tame for him. He prefers gaming hells and brothels. You don't need to worry about running into him. Does that set your mind at ease?”
“I wasn't worried about that in the slightest," Charlotte lied.
“Of course you weren't. And you'll wear that pretty green dress that you always leave hanging in your closet, and just to make you feel entirely secure we'll both powder our hair. It's out of style except for old ladies, and the tax on hair powder is ruinous, but it's just the thing for a masquerade. Do it for me, love. We need to celebrate! Your recovery and my celibacy! Cheers!"
"Cheers," Charlotte said with a singular lack of enthusiasm, and went upstairs to change.
15
It was a beautiful spring night. After a week of rain the skies had finally cleared, the moon was bright overhead and the air was soft and warm. It was a night made for lovers, Charlotte thought grimly, glad of the mask and domino. Her scowl should scare anyone away, and if Lina forgot her vow of celibacy and decided to seduce their elderly escort she could always manage an early escape.
Unfortunately, Lina showed no sign of abjuring her recent commitment. Her thick black hair was powdered but arranged neatly, with only the most demure of sapphire and diamond-studded hairpins scattered here and there. While she hadn't avoided the rouge pot completely, she'd used a far less lavish hand, and she'd abandoned beauty patches altogether. If her intent was to play down her spectacular beauty it was a failed effort. Amazingly, without the artifice she was practically incandescent.
Her gown beneath the somber black domino was even more demure than Charlotte's. For some reason, Lina had ordered a whole raft of dresses with more sedate decolletage, in softer shades than her usual bright crimson and royal blue. Instead the new perfectly matched her eyes. She was more exquisite than ever.
Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how Charlotte wanted to look at it, all that beauty was hidden by the mask and domino. With the powdered hair, she could have been mistaken for anyone, even Charlotte.
"It's a bad night," Charlotte said darkly, looking around her.
"Don't be ridiculous," Lina said. "It's glorious out—it would be a crime to spend such a night indoors."
"It's a full moon. Meggie warned me before I left. She said there's trouble afoot. Men behave badly when the moon is full."
"You need to tell that wretched girl to keep her tongue in her mouth. Besides, men behave badly no matter what.”
"Maybe we ought to go home," Charlotte said stubbornly. "There's no need to court trouble."
"You're being absurd," Lina said firmly. "We're here and we're going to enjoy ourselves. Sir Percy's going (o bespeak us an excellent supper, there's a concert in the rotunda and dancing in the pavilions. We needn't dance if you dislike it, Charlotte, but remember that no one can tell who we are. This way you can enjoy yourself without any fear of being recognized. You can flirt madly, with no consequences, and who knows, you might find you enjoy it."
Charlotte didn't even bother answering such absurdity. She was tired, her appetite was off and the last thing she wanted to do was make a fool of herself on the dance floor. All she wanted to do was go home and go to bed. And clearly Lina wasn't about to take pity on her and release her.
Sir Percy, seventy if he was a day, bowed, his own bewigged head bobbing a little low. Of all Lina's safe escorts. Sir Percy was her favorite, a consummate gentleman of the old school who found all women delightful and flirted so well that even Charlotte lost her reserve and flirted back a bit.
They moved down the well-lit paths, nodding at others in fancy dress. Some were quite recognizable, wearing outfits meant to look like those from ancient Greece or exotic China, but mainly constructed to show off the feminine figure. Most of the men made do with a simple loo mask that they could raise or lower as they willed, and the few who were in fancy dress contented themselves with an enveloping domino.
The gardens were in full regalia, with lights everywhere except the paths meant for flirtations and the lovers' maze behind them. The artificial canal was afloat with small boats meant to resemble Venetian gondolas, there were strolling minstrels in the Italian style, acrobats and jugglers and all manner of entertainment. Charlotte just wished they'd all go away.
Dinner was relatively vile, for all that the meals were famous. The best she could manage was a little bread and the blancmange, and even that didn't seem to be sitting too well. Meggie's predictions of disaster had affected her, she decided. In truth, Lina was right. It was a beautiful night, and after such a rainy spring it would be foolish not to enjoy it.
