by Darcy Burke
He finally broke the silence by murmuring, "Aren't you an interesting little chameleon?"
She drew back a bit. "What do you mean?"
"Most people… How can I explain this?" He looked off towards the dark windows for a moment, and then brought his attention back to her. "Most people are consistent. Predictable. Enslaved to the habits of their own minds. The only thing predictable about you is that you will change your tactics."
"I…" Sabre didn't really know what to say to that.
"Don't worry," he said with a glimmer of a genuine smile. "It's something of a compliment."
Her expression must have amused him because the small smile broke into a grin. All of the reserve and hauteur cleared away like clouds parting to let the sun shine down. As she gazed up into his spring green eyes she felt an odd sensation, like a tiny bubble bursting in her chest. Part of her wanted to reach toward him. To trace the dimple revealed in his cheek. Another part, perhaps even a greater part, wanted to run away. It was a moment of indecision and near-panic like she had never experienced before.
"Your grace, I-"
He interrupted. "Do you like the stars?"
Her mind was surprisingly slow to track his change in topic. "I suppose?"
He took her hand and began leading her to French doors that opened to the balcony. "When I dine here, which I do often, if the night is clear I spend part of the evening stargazing."
Stepping outside she discovered that the evening had cooled off nicely. Of course, she thought, being left to walk home in a heavy velvet riding habit in the afternoon had altered her perception of the heat of the day. The balcony was stone with a semi-circle overlook to the garden. He led her to the balustrade and released her hand to grip the railing, breathing deeply of the fragrant air from the gardens below. It was indeed quite lovely here, with the stars sparkling above them and the warm glow of the candlelight in the room behind. It was charming. Intimate.
"Thank you for a lovely evening, your grace."
That turned his attention to her again. After a pause he said, "Quince."
She couldn't help the smile that bloomed on her face. "Thank you for a lovely evening, Quince."
FOURTEEN
When she smiled up at him, said his name in her light, musical voice, Quince felt himself physically sway toward her. As though his body refused to follow the orders issued by his mind. She was, to put it simply, trouble that he didn't need in his life right now. But every time he told himself to send her on her way, to have her carriage packed and ordered off his estate, he found himself hesitating. Found himself wanting to hear her voice one more time. To see her. To watch how her facile mind leapt from topic to topic. She perpetually intrigued him. Endlessly attracted him. Just now he was almost dizzy with his desire to kiss her. She would let him, he knew, still convinced that she was to be his duchess. Every moment she spent alone at his estate with him she risked her reputation. With his position and power he could undoubtedly ruin her, in fact, without fear of repercussion. It frightened him to know what he could do to this girl. What she seemed bent on inviting him to do. He broke eye contact before his instinct to lean down and cover her lips with his own overwhelmed him.
"Which is your favorite constellation?" he asked. The huskiness of his own voice surprised him.
She looked out across the horizon. "A favorite? I'm not sure I have one." She wrapped her arm around his, leaning into him. "Which is your favorite?"
Even though he knew that everything she did was calculated, she was having what was undoubtedly her desired affect on him. His thoughts were evaporating faster than he could form them, his being focused instead on the warmth of her twined against him, her soft breast pressing against his arm. He cleared his throat. "I suppose your education didn't run to astronomy." Although he regretted saying it almost immediately, he knew that most likely nothing would push her from him as quickly as questioning her intelligence. And right now pushing her away seemed imminently wise.
She surprised him by laughing. "My education runs to anything that Jack could get her hands on when we were children. The only thing that she enjoys more than learning something new is explaining it to someone else. Sadly, much of it has remained resident up here." She tapped her forehead with her free hand.
He chuckled. "So that included astronomy?"
"And associated mythology lessons in Greek." She looked out at the blanket of stars. “Jack teases me by calling me Athena, so she says I should understand all the poor souls I cast into the sky.”
"It sounds as though you were enthralled."
Sabre shrugged. "Some of it was interesting. Like Auriga there on the horizon, to symbolize the four-wheeled chariot that Erichthonius used to become King of Athens."
"Why is that interesting?"
"Erichthonius used his lameness as a motivation to create a superior weapon and take over a kingdom. How many of us use our weaknesses in such a way?"
Quince looked down into her eyes again. She seemed so earnest in that moment. So pure.
"And," she said, smiling again, "now that I've identified a constellation, hopefully to your satisfaction, what is your favorite, your grace?"
"Quince."
"Quince," she said lightly enough that it was almost a whisper.
"Do you know Lynx?"
She shook her head, looking back out to the sky. "No, I don't believe so."
"It's very faint. Identified relatively recently. It wouldn't have been one that Jack could have lectured in Greek. It's a line there," he said, pointing, "between Ursa Major and Auriga."
"How many stars is it?"
"The line is drawn with eight stars." He traced it with his finger, showing her the pattern.
She shook her head and squinted. "I'm not sure I see it."
He shifted behind her, leaning down so that his face was near hers, and sighted down his arm. "From Ursa Major if you look to the left that is the brightest star of Lynx. Right now it cascades down over Auriga, toward Camelopardalis. I can show it to you on a star map in the library."
"You may have to because I'm still not sure I see it."
Leaning so close to her, he was enveloped in her scent and heat. Her hair smelled heavenly and was still damp from her bath. Noticing that only succeeded in making him think of that damnable tub in the duchess's rooms. He had interrupted her bath that day in order to discomfit her as she had already managed to discomfit him in his own home. Instead he had only fueled his attraction to her. He hadn't really seen much, but knowing that she was naked in the tub… It had led to him thinking often of how the exchange could have progressed far differently. How it would have progressed far differently if he were more like his friend Gideon. Lord Lucifer.
Quince straightened away from her but set his hands lightly on her shoulders, knowing it would keep her in place while he gathered himself. He was not, nor would he ever want to be, a man that others would feel inspired to call Lord Lucifer.
She looked over her shoulder at him. "Somehow this entertains you? Spending nights standing on the balcony studying the stars?"
Her tone was teasing but he could tell that she truly could not feature such an activity as entertainment. "Well," he said, "I usually lounge on the balcony rather than stand, but yes. Essentially."
She looked around and spotted the chaise lounge near the windows. "I see," she said, walking towards it. She settled onto the chair and stretched out. "What you really like to do is daydream while staring at the stars." She wriggled once to find a more comfortable position. "Yes, this has distinct possibilities."
His hands felt achingly empty so he folded them together as he leaned on the railing to watch her. She was beautiful. He could stare at her in that pose for hours. If only she weren't her father's daughter. But if she weren’t Blaise Bittlesworth’s daughter, then what would he do? He had felt no desire to marry before now. Would he change everything in order to bring her into his life? Make her his duchess to keep her by his side?
She s
at up again. "It's not fair of me to monopolize the chair. Come," she said, patting the cushion next to her. "Show me how to daydream under the stars."
Quince was moving to do her bidding before he had a chance to think about it. Dangerous girl, he thought, made all the more dangerous by knowledge of her own power. She stood up as he approached and waved her hand to indicate that he should lie down in the chair. He did so while knowing it was among the riskier things he had ever done. She smiled down at him before turning and seating herself to lie along his front. Shortly she seemed to have everything arranged to her satisfaction although the two of them barely fit on the lounge together. Her head was tucked under his chin, her shoulders nestled into his chest, and she had wrapped his arms around her waist. Her bottom was pressed so intimately against him that he was afraid he wouldn't be able to breathe.
"So," she said quietly, as though she felt a more somber note was appropriate for entering into his pastime with him. "What do you see?"
At the moment his vision wasn't the sense he was most focused on. Scent, yes. Touch, God yes. And he craved tasting her like a man dying in the desert craves water. But she wanted to know what he saw. He cleared his throat and focused on the night sky above.
"One of the clues that I have is up there, if I can just figure it out."
"Really? How is that?"
"My father had a group he ran with when he was younger. He would tell me stories about them. They did some quite… inappropriate things in their time. And when he would talk about them it was never by name, he would refer to them with an animal. It took me a long time before I realized what I was seeing in the late spring. All four of them, lined up." He raised a hand to point at the stars above. "Leo, the Lion. That was my father. Ursa, the Bear. Draco, the Dragon. And Cygnus, the Swan. If someone has reason to be concerned about papers my father kept, it is probably one of them."
"If your father was the Lion, who are the rest of them?"
"I don't know." Quince paused for a moment, wondering how Miss Bittlesworth would take his next bit of insight. Or if she might already know. "I only know that one of them is your father. But not which one."
She was silent so long he feared he had indeed offended her. But she hadn’t moved, not even an inch. They were both silent for long minutes, pressed together in a delicious intimacy of touch.
Finally Miss Bittlesworth spoke again, her tone remote. "Tell me some of the stories and I can tell you which one is my father."
Quince made a noise somewhere between a snort and a chuckle. "They are hardly stories fit for a young lady."
She curled her fingers around his hand and squeezed. "Yes," she said drily. "I'm obviously easily shocked."
Bold as she thought she was, he didn't want to give her the details of the group's sordid excursions. Instead he thought to sketch their characters. "Leo, the Lion, was their leader. At least that was how he told it. As I've never heard any of the stories from the others I don't know for certain they felt that way. But to hear my father, he was their inspiration and their organizer. If you had met him you would know it would be a role he would relish. He enjoyed control. In his final years he lost his iron grasp on affairs, but his pride kept him from admitting that. Something from which the duchy is still recovering." He pointed to the sky above. "Next is Ursa, the Bear. He sounded a brute of a man. Arrogant, entirely self-concerned. Then Draco. Cruel and vindictive. And lastly Cygnus. Vain and secretive."
They were quiet for awhile, staring up at the stars, and finally Miss Bittlesworth asked, "Is that all?"
"All that I want to say."
She gave an unladylike groan. "You've described over half the men at the George and Vulture on any particular night."
"What do you know about the men at the George and Vulture?"
"Society events get quite boring, but there is always a conversation of interest at the G and V."
"I find myself shocked at you, Miss Bittlesworth."
"Sabre," she corrected. "And if you find yourself shocked then you obviously haven't been paying attention."
"How often do you find yourself at the George and Vulture?"
"As often as I can slip away. Which has been not at all since my return from Italy. My only regret of staying with my brother is that he keeps a closer eye on me than my parents do."
"Yes, he's obviously been very diligent, seeing as how his sister has hied off to a man's house for a seduction."
She was quiet longer than he expected her to be. "He thinks I'm at Jack's."
"Well, at least you didn't try to convince me that you aren't here to seduce me."
She wriggled until she had turned over, propping herself up on an elbow to look down at him. The candlelight from their dining table cast a warm glow through the window and he could see the sincerity in her eyes. "You'll find I'm not one to be coy."
He stroked her cheek. Softer than rose petals. "I don't think that's true."
She gave him a guarded look. "What makes you say that?"
He smiled. "Because, my little chameleon, I think you would do, or say, whatever is needed to achieve your goals."
"You make me sound woefully untrustworthy."
"That depends on your motivation."
She gave him an angelic smile. "I have only the best of motivations, I assure you." She turned over again, nestling back into his embrace. "Now, really tell me about these men, if you please. I can't help you without facts, information."
“From that sketch you can’t tell which one was your father?”
She was silent for a moment. “He could be any of them,” she said solemnly.
Quince could sense the gravity of her statement. The viscount was as unpleasant a man to his daughter as he was to others. "I don't want to tell you about them,” he said. “I don't like to think about them myself."
"Yes, you seem able to avoid most everything you don't want to think about."
"You don't approve."
"Not in the least. We'll open that letter before the night is out. But first, tell me some of these stories."
He laced his fingers through hers as he thought. He didn't want to tell her, but it was also true that he hadn't yet figured out the connection on his own. For years his father had regaled him with those tales at the supper table. Stories that Quince had never wanted to hear, and that he certainly had never thought would be significant. He had done his best not to listen, to forget. But now it was time to try to remember, if only to divine which of his father's friends would be the most alarmed at the idea of documents surfacing. Which one would not hesitate to use blackmail as a means to an end. The vindictive dragon? The self-centered bear? Or the secretive swan?
"Don't say I didn't warn you," he began. He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts, his fingers playing over the velvety softness of the back of her hand. "The stories that my father particularly liked to tell concerned the parties that he hosted for The Four. That's what they called themselves, The Four. He would load them up into a windowless carriage that he drove himself, never taking the same route, and bring them to a special cellar out in the woods. They would bring all the food and drink themselves because no servants were allowed to know the location. And they would bring women. Whores. Blindfolded and bound." He stopped stroking her hand for a moment, lost in the disgust of the memory. "That was his favorite part, I think. That the women were bound. He liked it if they fought of if they begged, so long as they were bound and unable to... unable to stop him."
Miss Bittlesworth's voice was subdued but steady as she asked, "What of the other lords?"
"Draco... Once he started drinking he would beat the girls. He enjoyed making them scream. Choking them." He sighed. Remembering the stories was painful. And he certainly couldn't tell Miss Bittlesworth the sort of details that his father had thought nothing of sharing. "Cygnus was... probably the least offensive of The Four. He only liked to... engage multiple women at once. Ursa, the Bear, was brutal and enjoyed some very distasteful acts. Often with wo
men but also boys and young girls. He sounded beastly.” Quince tried to repress the details that flitted through his mind, far worse than anything he had hinted at. “Are there any you would rule out as your father?"
Miss Bittlesworth was silent for a long moment and finally said, "No. And it sounds like a Hellfire Club."
Quince was disquieted that she found none of the descriptions to be out of character for her own sire. What had she seen of the man? And her knowledge of these activities was also disturbing. "What do you know of Hellfire Clubs?"
"I go to the G and V to hear the soldiers talk of battles in the war. But I hear other things. Horrible things. It makes me wonder why men have one face they show ladies and another that they only show in a place like that."
"You would prefer that they consistently show their baser nature?"
"No, indeed. It's not even something I would expect to change. But it makes me curious. It also makes me wonder how difficult it might be for us to reconcile your stories with the men as we know them in Society."
"In Society, yes, but it's apparent they can't hope to step foot in the G and V without you knowing of it."
She giggled. "It's not quite that bad, I assure you."
"I feel certain that at any moment you will tell me you are the proprietor."
"No. But the man knows me. Or at least knows me as the little fat boy, Gaston."
Quince laughed. "Little fat boy?"
"Yes, if I wear enough padding to disguise myself I'm quite the chubby little boy. The loose clothes of the serving class don't help at all, may I add."
"You didn't seem particularly masculine at the duel."
"No, those are the clothes that I wear when we duel at home. Out in the country."
"Your parents truly do not pay attention to your whereabouts, do they?"
"So long as I arrive at supper on time there aren't any issues."
"Even I am starting to worry about how you spend your time."
