“My dear Señorita,” the Baroness said delightedly, “you are quite the most exquisite creature in the room this night. Tomorrow you’ll be the talk of all London. Come, stand beside me and receive my guests, they’re near dying to meet you.”
A thousand greetings and polite exchanges later, the Baroness took Sirena upstairs to a tiring room where she could refresh herself before the dancing began. Baron Charles took his son by the arm and led him to the punch bowl where several elegant young ladies eyed Tyler seductively. Tyler accepted his drink and complimented the ladies with his attention in his own gallant way before joining his father at the far side of the room.
“The Dutchman must be blind,” the Baron blustered. “She’s lovely, simply lovely, eh Tyler?” he jostled his son’s arm enthusiastically, nearly spilling his punch.
“Without a doubt,” Tyler answered as he stretched his neck to see Sirena descending the stairs beside his mother. Why he felt this concern for her he could not imagine. With the formidable Baroness at her side, nothing could go amiss. “Father, look, Camilla is dragging van der Rhys to be introduced to Sirena.”
“Not to worry, my boy, she has the situation well in hand. Even my faded eyes can see that she’s every inch a lady and won’t give herself away.”
It was Regan who wore the wary look. When he met Sirena’s amused emerald eyes, his chest constricted. He felt his muscles tense when he saw how graciously she inclined her head to acknowledge the introduction. His throat closed entirely when she purred softly, “From Batavia, Mynheer van der Rhys! Someday you must tell me of the nutmeg trees which grow there. Why,” she trilled, “I’ve heard tales of women working their hands raw in the fields for their husbands. And then the ungrateful wretches leave them somewhere by the wayside when they are of no further use. Have you ever heard of anything more inhumane?” she asked of the pink-cheeked Camilla.
“Never! What a terrible thing to do. The men must be beasts!” Camilla said, properly horrified.
“Tell me, Mynheer, have you heard this tale?” Sirena asked. “I’d always heard the Dutch brought civilization to Java. Obviously, such is not the case. Don’t you agree? Excuse me, I seem to have forgotten your name.”
The Baroness hastened to refresh her guest’s memory while Camilla looked properly aghast. “I couldn’t agree with you more.”
“And you, sir?” Sirena pressed of Regan, a sly smirk at the corner of her mouth.
Regan chose his words carefully, his eyes on the creamy shoulders and voluptuous bosom revealed by the cut of Sirena’s gown. He felt light-headed and his palms were perspiring. “I believe it is said the tale you speak of involved only one woman and she was a notorious pirate in the Indies waters. A woman who was a skilled liar, a master of deceit, a murderer, and when she reformed her ways, she contented herself with her rosary.” Regan cocked his head and stared intently at Sirena. “It was said this lady professed to love the man she planted the fields for; but, when he was forced to leave Java, she refused to go with him. So you see, Señorita Córdez, he did not cast her by the wayside, she preferred not to stay with him.”
“How sad. Isn’t that a sad tale, Baroness? But it seems to me the tale goes even further. Wasn’t there something about the man stealing this woman’s fortune and then offering to pension her off with her own money?”
The cords in Regan’s neck threatened to burst. Before he could utter a reply, Sirena pressed her advantage. “Miss Langdon, have you ever heard of a more despicable act?”
“Never!” Camilla said forcefully.
“Nor I!” the Baroness interjected. “The rascal should be hanged by the neck!” She was happily enjoying every moment of this playacting.
“Exactly my thoughts on the matter,” Sirena said softly. “The end of the story is this ... lady sought out this ... gentleman and ... good heavens, I don’t wish to spoil the gentleman’s evening. I’m certain he has heard the tale so there is no point in repeating it again. Poor man, poor, poor man,” Sirena said sadly, a wicked light in her eyes, as she followed the Baroness to her next guest.
“Darling, she is a striking woman, isn’t she?” Camilla asked innocently.
Regan looked down into Camilla’s beautiful, piquant face and said harshly, “Sweetheart, she’s as striking as a viper!” His mood shattered, Regan felt his gaze trail Sirena every time she was within sight. Never once did she look his way, as far as he could tell.
All through the evening Regan stayed at Camilla’s side. Ever on his guard for Sirena to steal a moment alone with his betrothed, Regan even refused a respite in the gardens for a much wanted cheroot. If he could help it, Sirena would not get the opportunity to regale Camilla with further tales of Java and perhaps even go so far as to reveal to his sweet and very young intended that she was once Regan’s wife. Consequently, each time Sirena glanced his way, Regan was paying court to the demure flower who was to replace her.
Through the course of the evening, Sirena felt her spirits sink lower and lower. Regan appeared to absolutely dote on the girl. Sirena was reminded of how he used to dance attendance on her. He had been so loving, so tender, so attentive. When he had wanted to be, she reminded herself. Nevertheless, Regan wasn’t a man who became preoccupied with a woman unless his interest in her was sincere. And tonight Regan’s behavior was almost—her mind grappled for the word —vigilant! Down, down, her spirits sank and her heart was near to breaking. He loves her! He loves her! her heart cried. It’s true, Regan loves Camilla!
Toward the end of the evening, Regan settled himself on one of the gilt chairs placed near a huge assortment of evergreens. Camilla had obviously retired to refresh herself. As he waited for Camilla’s return, a voluptuous redhead passed him as she was led by her escort to the garden. Regan eyed the woman appreciatively as she swayed seductively and gave him a saucy smile which he returned.
Sirena, who was standing near the evergreens, watched Regan and knew in that split second that he did not love Camilla Langdon. If he had a thousand willing, beautiful women falling at his feet, Regan would have looked right through them as if they’d been carved from glass. When he loved a woman, Regan was the kind of man to whom no others existed. When they were married, after they discovered their love for one another, Regan had never had eyes for another woman. He had been completely faithful and devoted to her.
Sirena’s heart lifted, her spirits soared. There was still hope, still that chance to win him back. To make him declare his love for her. To hear him say the divorce had been a mistake. He still wanted her, still loved her!
Suddenly, Regan stood and found Sirena directly in his line of vision. “Don’t tell me you sought me out to finish your bitter little tale.”
“No,” Sirena laughed, her heart lighter than it had been in what seemed like centuries. “The tale is not yet finished. There is still a question as to how it will end.” Her voice was quiet, holding Regan in the unexpected tenderness of her tone. The moment between them seemed an eternity, as though time stood still, and they were caught forever in this instant of infinity.
Breaking through the spell she seemed to weave about him, Regan demanded, “Then why have you sought me out?”
“I came to bid you goodnight and to tell you how lovely your child bride-to-be is.” Sirena laughed lightly, knowing full well the message she read in his eyes.
Regan stood his ground when Sirena laughed. The sound seemed to settle around him like a mantle, enveloping him in emotions he had been struggling to overcome. He wanted to lash out. Those exciting cat-green eyes were laughing at him, mocking him, tormenting him. God, how he wanted her. Wanted her in his arms, his lips crushing hers.
Sirena smiled, joyously interpreting his thoughts. “Anything more than a formal handclasp would be tantamount to rape, Regan,” she laughed. “You divorced me, remember?” she taunted. “Perhaps I’ll marry again, myself. No, no, not Tyler. Perhaps someone more impressive, like that gentleman speaking with the Baroness.” She pointed discreetly.
At Regan’s shocked expression she laughed again. “Would my marriage to Lord Langdon upset you? Ah, Regan, darling, this decadent society we find ourselves in is too much for you.” A devil danced in her eyes and her mouth broke into a grin as she continued. “If I were to marry Sir Langdon, who is by the way quite enamored of me; if his pursuit of me all evening is an indication, I would then be your stepmother-in-law. It’s utterly fascinating,” she laughed once more, the rich peals making Regan quake with rage.
“Bitch!” Regan hissed between clenched teeth, as Sirena left his side in search of Tyler Sinclair.
Inside Sirena was trembling. Had she pushed Regan too far? She teased him unmercifully. It was a dangerous game she was playing and she was fully aware of the consequences should she lose. Yet she was impelled to play on. She had to make Regan aware of her. Make him feel something toward her, and if anger and rage were the first steps to opening his eyes to her then she would have to take her chances and play the game out to the last turn.
She found herself beside Tyler, pleading weariness and asking to be taken home. If he noticed a strange light dancing in the depths of Sirena’s eyes, he said nothing. But he looked at her questioningly, for only minutes before he had seen her talking with Regan and she had been animated. Now there was a flush on her ivory cheeks belying the exhaustion she claimed.
“You can’t be leaving us so soon,” Sir Langdon interrupted them as she bade her farewell to the Baron and Baroness. “The night is still young and you’ve only given me the pleasure of dancing with you once. Please, won’t you stay a while longer?” Though his words were pleasant enough, there was a silent demand behind his request.
Out of the corner of her eye, Sirena noticed Regan leading Camilla out onto the dance floor for the quadrille. Suddenly, her mind made up, Sirena smiled brightly and took Sir Langdon by his arm. “Perhaps one last dance,” she said sweetly, looking up into his handsomely craggy face.
Stephan Langdon was a tall man of fifty-five who appeared ten years younger. His slender physique bespoke the grace of an athlete and his manner was gracious and winning. A ladies’ man, Sirena thought. She studied him as they danced. His sense of fashion was indisputable, and he wore his frothy white linen and severely cut silver-gray doublet with a flair. His legs were long and well shaped and he seemed not to care for the current fashion of adorning himself with an abundance of jewelry, save for the ruby stickpin in his cravat and a simple, masculine onyx ring on his finger.
His gray eyes were warm with golden lights as they appraised her, and his mouth was full; yet there was nothing weak or feminine about it. Rather, it was well defined and curvaceously shaped beneath a well-trimmed, steel-gray mustache which was just a shade darker than his full head of hair. His arms were strong and his hands square and able. As he talked, Sirena found herself enjoying his company. Sir Stephen Langdon was well versed in the social graces and immediately put her at ease.
“Will you allow me to show you our fair city of London?” he inquired, his arm fast about her waist, his voice warm and sincere. “Nothing would give me more pleasure than to take you to Whitehall and flaunt you before the court or take you for an excursion through Saint James’ Park.”
“I would like that very much, Sir Langdon,” Sirena replied, smiling up into his face.
“Please, as a relative of the Baron and Baroness shouldn’t we find ourselves on more familiar terms? My given name is Stephan.”
“Then Stephan it will be. And please do call me Sirena.”
“Sirena—how fitting a name for you. Yet, do I detect hidden excitement behind those incredible eyes of yours?” he asked flirtatiously.
Sirena dropped her glance to the floor, not wanting to reveal just how excited she was by the plan she was forming in her mind.
“I did not mean to embarrass you, Sirena. Still, a man can find himself lost in those green depths. Certainly, I’m not the first to tell you this.”
“No, not the first,” Sirena said coyly, “yet a lady likes to hear it all the same.” The music came to an end and Sirena was amused at the petulant look on Sir Langdon’s face.
“I had hoped the music would have continued forever,” he murmured in a husky voice that, in spite of herself, Sirena found thrilling. His hand on her arm as he led her back to Tyler was gentle, yet there was a certain possessiveness that remained even after he removed it.
“I trust you will allow me to call upon you,” he said, lifting her hand and touching his lips to her fingers.
“Please do, Sir Langdon—Stephan,” she amended. “I will look forward to seeing you. But you must forgive me this night for I am very tired and must beg Tyler to see me home. Baron, Baroness,” she said to Tyler’s parents, “there is no way to thank you for the wonderful welcome you’ve so graciously extended me. Especially, you, Baroness Sinclair, for all the help you’ve been in readying a home for me. You must allow me to reciprocate your hospitality as soon as possible.”
Baroness Sinclair smiled warmly. She sincerely liked this lovely, young Spaniard and was delighted in Tyler’s obvious interest in her. “Yes, my dear,” she said in a motherly tone, “I can imagine how trying things have been for you tonight. However, there was little to be done about it, you know.” By the Baroness’ tone and expression Sirena knew she was apologizing for Regan and Camilla’s presence. “However,” the Baroness continued, “I am glad you count the Baron and me among your friends. London is a strange city.” Her expression grew guarded and warning. “Please not to take everyone at face value. There are those who are acceptable in society’s drawing rooms, dear, who are quite unacceptable under other circumstances.”
Chapter Thirteen
As soon as Tyler departed, Sirena danced her way out the back door of her house to the stables. Pulling her cloak tightly about herself to ward off the chilly, damp night, she rapped on Jacobus’ door to awaken the old man. Bleary-eyed, he answered the summons and immediately was put on his guard when he saw her.
“Aye, Capitana, what be the trouble?”
“Nothing, Jacobus. There’s something I want you to do for me. Something I can’t ask the coachman.”
“Anything, Capitana, what is it?”
“I want you to hitch up the carriage and drive me somewhere. And bring a blanket with you. I can promise you it will be a long night.”
“Aye, Capitana,” Jacobus agreed unquestioningly. “Now, if you’ll just allow me to pull on me breeches—”
“Just hurry,” Sirena laughed, “and be as quiet about it as you can. I don’t want all of London to know what I’m about.”
“Aye, Capitana,” Jacobus smiled, closing the door for privacy. The toothless seaman was amenable to anything the Capitana might suggest. Had it just been the moonlight or was the old sparkle there in her eyes again?
Through the city Jacobus drove the carriage, following the instructions his Capitana gave him. Due to a piece of luck and a bit of wrangling, she was able to discover from Tyler the address and location of Regan’s house on Lime Street. Though the fog was still dense, it had lifted some in the cool night air and the flaring links which were burning at crossroads made it possible to read street signs. Following the now familiar Thames Street, they found Regan’s office on St. Dunstan’s Hill, turned left to Eastcheapside and then over six blocks to Lime Street.
Finding the address was more difficult, but Jacobus snatched a lantern from the side of the coach and searched the housefronts until he found it.
“It’s just as you said, Capitana, but from the looks of it, there’s no one home.”
“Good! Then we’re not too late. I’ll leave breaking past the lock up to you, Jacobus. Do you think you can do it?”
“Oh, aye, Capitana. And when I’m finished there won’t be a sign to tell it’s been picked. But before I have a go at it, do you want to tell me whose home I’m breaking into?”
“Only if you’ll keep the secret. It’s Regan’s. Now, get on with it, will you. We don’t want the watch to catch
us in the act and I want to be in there before Regan returns.”
Without another word Jacobus reached under the driver’s seat and removed several tools. “One of these should do nicely,” he breathed, looking up and down Lime Street for a patrolling constable. Within a few moments he was finished. “It’s done, Capitana. Just go in and close the door fast behind you. No one will be able to tell the lock’s been tampered with. Do you want me to go with you?” he asked, fearful for Sirena’s well-being.
“No, Jacobus, I told you it would be a long night. Just pull the coach up the street a ways and wait for me there. If things go according to plan, you won’t see me till morning.”
Even in the dark Sirena thought she saw the old man blush. “Well, it will be a long night at that. Don’t think I’ll close my eyes till you’re safe in your own home,” he promised. “Besides, there’ll be no sleeping in the likes of this city. I’d wager if a man closes his eyes they’d steal the bed right out from under him, let alone something as valuable as a coach and pair.”
Into the dark house Sirena crept, her hands trembling, her heart in her throat. Her eyes already accustomed to the dark from her long ride through the city, she easily found the stairs and quietly mounted them. It had not crossed her mind until she was actually inside that Regan might have a live-in housekeeper in his employ. What a sticky mess that would be if she found herself clobbered over the head to awaken with a member of the constabulary looking down at her. Chills danced up Sirena’s spine and, breathlessly, she mounted the flight of steps.
Following the landing she came upon the master bedroom. She knew it to be Regan’s room by the aroma of bay rum and the faint but pungent smell of his cheroots. Hastily, before she could change her mind, she straightened the bedcovers and removed her clothes. Naked and trembling with anticipation, she slid beneath the covers and waited for Regan.
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