Arrows of Desire: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 3

by Lynne Connolly

Passion infused her eyes until they sparkled. Edmund watched her, fascinated. “I’m the daughter of a baronet, a man who has chosen to restrict his life for the sake of peace. I’ve been happy there, and I wanted that.” She got to her feet. “Amidei is hardly served by having a ruined woman as a guest at his new club, and I refuse to repay his kindness to me in that way. I’ll go now. I can find an inn. I will survive this, and I don’t need your help. I’ll find a way.”

  If he hadn’t caught the slight, telltale quiver of her lip Edmund would have believed her. Maybe he was getting foolishly sentimental. It had never happened to him before, but he couldn’t bear for her to leave that way.

  “No. Please.” He sprang from his chair and reached her before she got to the door. She was already reaching for the door handle, but he caught her hand in his.

  At the touch of her warm skin a thrill went through him and he stood a little taller. “Please, don’t go. I was trying to talk matters through rather than express a preference.”

  She stared at him, eyes wide, as caught in the moment as he. “Edmund, you may have stopped loving me, but I can’t say the same. You wanted honesty. Well, here it is. This hurts too much.” Dry-eyed, she struck through to his heart. God knew what would happen if she ever cried.

  “You will not leave,” d’Argento stated. “Stay here. Be the first guest of the Pantheon Club.”

  She blinked and turned her gaze from Edmund, although she didn’t pull her hand out of his. “Thank you, but I cannot do that.”

  D’Argento stretched his arm across the back of his set. “I want a woman and an immortal, a respectable woman with her maid. You will not be disgraced, I will ensure it. London will not like this, a club for both sexes.” He laughed. “While they are oohing and aahing over that, they’ll miss the other, more important point—immortals are collecting here. Misdirection, you see? I need women to give the notion respectability. If immortals are ever to discover each other and present a united front to the Titans, then we need to know each other.”

  When Portia left him to sit, Edmund had the strangest urge to chase her down and ensure she didn’t leave him again. The emotion came from the deepest part of his nature, the unthinking part. He firmed his grip on her hand.

  Because he didn’t immediately release her, she looked back at him. He let her see his bewilderment, just for a second before he covered it with his usual insouciant carelessness. “Stay,” he said softly. “An inn is no place for you.”

  She began to shake her head before d’Argento said, “I insist,” in a voice that invited no denial.

  Immediately Edmund stood in front of her in a protective gesture that was as demonstrative as it was useless. “The lady must make up her own mind.”

  “It’s all right, Edmund.”

  Why did his name sound better when she said it? Remnants of the enchantment, Edmund concluded, anger simmering through him. None should remain, but it appeared that it did.

  “Go home, Kentmere,” said d’Argento, the sound of Edmund’s title instead of his name forming an effective distancing device. It also reminded him of what he was and what he had yet to face.

  He’d agreed with his sister that he would take the brunt of the effects of his mother’s regrettably public demise. The first impact had dissipated, but people still stared at him strangely when they gave him their condolences. Since it was a month since the scandal others had risen to take its place, but shock still reverberated around the city. He didn’t want to bring Portia into that.

  He turned to face her, ignoring d’Argento. “Remain here. I’ll go about my business and listen to the gossip. Don’t advertise your presence, but don’t conceal it either. If people ask your name, say you’re the daughter of Sir Mortimer Seaton.”

  When she would have protested, he softened his voice. “Please. D’Argento will tell you what happened to my family. I want you to take that into consideration. The decision is as much yours as mine.”

  “I know.” The corner of her mouth trembled, then stopped. Was that the beginning of a smile? “Besides, I have barely what I stand up in. The duchesse said she was coming to London, so I stole a march on her. My father kept her busy while I fled in his coach. I wanted to reach London first.”

  Edmund ignored d’Argento’s bark of laughter and his, “Oh, well done!” but he agreed with the sentiment.

  “You have taken the initiative.” He liked her for that.

  “My father will send my things to me.”

  “No need,” d’Argento said. “I’ll send for a mantua-maker in the morning and tell him that the new Duchess of Kentmere wishes for some new clothes suitable for town.”

  Groaning, Edmund faced the recalcitrant man. “I said no. She must remain hidden.”

  “I have decided.” With the susurration of fine silk, d’Argento got to his feet. “I am supporting Portia as the rightful Duchess of Kentmere. If Venus is on her way, I’m anxious to meet her, but that doesn’t mean I will side with her. Against the Titans we are all united, but apart from that, we must go where our consciences tell us. And mine says that this lady has remained true to you.”

  “You’d make this a public affair?”

  D’Argento laughed. “You think the Duchesse de Clermont-Ferrand will not? The lady has taken the highest of honours and she is most likely breathtakingly beautiful. Do you imagine she’d come to London quietly and slip in without noticing? I doubt that, my friend. She will enter with as much of a fanfare as she can manage.”

  He strolled around the chair he’d sat in. “If her grace decided to accompany you today I would deter her, because you are not ready to receive her. Do not say anything to the duchesse that cannot be denied. Make no promises, sign no documents.”

  Edmund groaned. “Too late. I signed an agreement.”

  D’Argento’s finely cut features tightened. “You’re a damned fool.”

  “I didn’t want love,” the man who was the embodiment of Eros said. “That is for others, not for me. I planned for a rational alliance. I like Susanna. I can never love her, and she appeared to want the same.” What a mess. Every time he said that he hurt her more, but he had to emphasise what she could expect if he stayed with her. And if she chose to stay with him.

  He strode to the door and bowed. “Madam, I will visit you soon. Please do nothing without telling me and I will do the same.”

  Her face seemed frozen, her expression unreadable, her mind closed to him. He could do no more tonight. He left.

  “You must fight for him,” d’Argento said after Edmund had gone. “If you truly want him, you must fight.”

  “I know.” She sat very still, her hands clasped tightly together. In the time it had taken for her host to see her husband to the door, she had set her course. Knowing she had a powerful ally helped. Anger helped too. First Edmund considered repudiating her, then he decided to order her around?

  Instead of slinking back to Dover or hiding here under a false name, she would take him on. “I will take your advice. I’ll call myself the Duchess of Kentmere, and I will behave like her. As far as I am concerned, my husband and myself had a disagreement and I moved out of the house and refused to have anything to do with him.”

  The patter of applause made her smile. “Excellent. I have a notion I’m going to enjoy this.” He bit his lip. “Ah. Allow me to send for someone who will prove an excellent ally.” He turned at the door. “If you are fully resolved on this course? There will be no turning back from this. Everyone will hear of you and your husband. You understand?”

  “Yes.” She recalled the lovely woman she’d met at the Dover ball, the perfect features, the sense of self-possession. “She will not have him.”

  “Then allow me to summon our first weapon.”

  “I have brought Madame Cyrene to you,” d’Argento said an hour later. Portia had a book in her hand, but she wasn’t reading it. She looke
d up with a smile of greeting and the smile froze on her face.

  Madame Cyrene was tall. That was Portia’s first impression. Her second was of overwhelming elegance. Never in a million years would she attain such wondrous poise. She sat up straighter and closed her book, ready to get to her feet.

  The lady studied Portia unabashedly. “I can make a great deal of you, your grace,” she said. “Put yourself in my hands and I swear London will be panting after you. They’ll have seen nothing like it since the Gunnings.”

  Portia, who knew Venus would shortly be gracing London with her presence, doubted that. “I met a lady in Dover who is planning to visit London. She will eclipse us all.”

  Madame’s eyes narrowed. “What colouring is this lady?”

  “A glorious blonde. An older lady, but magnificent.” She needed to be honest. “She has a ward who is perfectly lovely too.”

  D’Argento rubbed the back of his neck. “I have reason to believe the duchess is telling the truth.”

  It took a few seconds for Portia to recall that he was referring to her. “I can’t hope to compete. I would be foolish to attempt it.”

  Madame Cyrene said nothing for a minute or two, and then, “Could I trouble your grace to stand up?”

  Portia got to her feet.

  “Thank you. If I may speak frankly?”

  “Please do.” Portia watched the lady, fascinated, as she tilted her head to study Portia from another angle.

  Then she walked around her. “We will compete, though subtly. The trick is consistency. You have a good figure, your grace, and fine eyes. We need to concentrate on those. If the newcomers are fair-haired, then I’d suggest only wearing powder when absolutely necessary, such as at court, and then you should go against the style I will recommend and select the palest of tones. For contrast. Your complexion can bear it. Unfortunately, the recent death of your mother-in-law indicates some level of mourning, although not full mourning, as you did not know her. Black, white and shades of purple and lilac are best. However, next Season we will bring you out in your full glory. When you go without powder, choose rich, darker shades, the colour of jewellery. Rubies, sapphires, emeralds. Even darker than that.”

  Once she’d started, there was no stopping her. Portia listened, fascinated. She already did those things instinctively, but her clothes were not grand enough for town and she habitually dressed herself and even did her own hair. Today she’d had no choice but to dress in the clothes she’d travelled in. It was that or the ball gown.

  “My own things should arrive soon.”

  “They’ve arrived,” Amidei said. “I was coming to tell you when Madame came to the door. With a maid. I’ve sent them upstairs, and the maid will be busy unpacking.”

  “Very well,” Madame said. “I shall concentrate on society gowns, then…if you wish to employ me, your grace.”

  What choice did she have? She needed every weapon in her arsenal. She wasn’t going to give up without a fight. “Yes. If you can act quickly.”

  “Quicker than a streak of lightning,” said the lady, flashing an unexpected smile.

  Madame was as good as her word. When Portia went upstairs to see what her father had ordered packed for her, she found Carter and a welter of fabric, lace and what appeared like most of the gowns she’d left behind at her father’s house and at Thorncroft Grange. Her new clothes and her old ones. She couldn’t deny she found it comforting to have her old things with her, but she doubted she’d get much wear out of them in town. The others, the newer ones, she ordered laundered first.

  On going downstairs, she discovered Madame had taken over the drawing room. Two assistants waited for her, and while Carter helped Portia undress, she arranged the plethora of fabric and samples of lace that had appeared seemingly from nowhere. Portia suspected a coach outside, laden down with fabric. “Isn’t this too much?”

  Madame Cyrene smiled wickedly. “You will no doubt wish to dress as befits your station, ma’am.”

  Another idea occurred to her. “Send the bills to my husband.” Portia wished him joy of it. She would not protest at his getting the bills. After all, if not for him she wouldn’t be in this mess.

  As it was, she’d take every advantage and this lady was certainly an advantage. “Madame Cyrene, I will accept your help gladly, but I do not wish you to serve the Duchesse de Clermont-Ferrand and her ward when they come to London in a day or two.” Already Portia was planning her campaign.

  She’d had plenty of sleep and time to think, something denied her in her anxiety to reach London and her month of worry.

  Portia turned her thoughts to the arduous task of selecting new clothes. She and Madame settled on rather more than she’d planned, but that was all to the good. If they couldn’t decide between two fabrics, Portia ordered one of each. Madame had some excellent advice on the styles that would suit her best and the ways she should wear them. Portia wouldn’t have been human had she not taken great delight in choosing so many outfits all at once.

  More than she needed, but Madame shook her head when she made the remark. She had a mouth full of pins but she could still talk. Probably an essential skill of a dressmaker. “You will return to me before the Season is out, ma’am.” Dextrously she removed a pin and stuck it into the silver fabric, where her shoulder blade ended and her arm began. “You need gowns for riding in the park, for driving in the park, for the opera, for the theatre, for balls, routs, Venetian breakfasts, literary salons and afternoon visits. Not to mention—”

  “Stop, stop!” Portia exclaimed, laughing. “You have my head in a spin!”

  Not that much of a spin. After Madame had left, Portia abandoned the room to the maids and went to find Amidei. He was supervising something in the kitchens, in the basement of the building.

  When she appeared, he left the cooks to their own devices and took her upstairs to the small but charming breakfast-parlour in his suite of rooms. He had taken one side of the first floor of the building for himself, and although the rooms were decorated plainly, Portia liked them. “May I be of service?”

  “I must thank you. You’ve been deeply helpful, introducing me to Madame Cyrene. She has also promised to find me a good maid. Carter may continue as my dresser, and she has a way with ironing and pressing, but it has been borne on me that I need a highly skilled lady’s maid.”

  “No doubt Madame will obtain a healthy vail for introducing the woman to the new Duchess of Kentmere.”

  He smiled and motioned to a chair. After breakfast, the servants put away the gate-legged table and the room became a charming parlour, catching the morning sun. He had bidden Portia to make herself at home in most of the rooms of his suite. “Except for the bedrooms, of course.” Laughing, she’d agreed, but she’d wondered if the gleam in his eyes was more than humour.

  Not that she’d dream of taking a lover, as many society women did. If she were to take one, Amidei, Comte d’Argento, would make an excellent candidate. Even if Edmund didn’t remain faithful to her—the thought strangled her—she wouldn’t reciprocate. Not until they’d resolved this problem.

  “I have a plan,” she said now.

  He leaned against the back of a chair and folded his arms across his chest. He wasn’t wearing a coat, something she insisted he didn’t do if he wished it, if she was to call him Amidei. His musculature flexed with unconscious power. “Let’s see if it coincides with mine.”

  She shrugged. “If it does not, I’ll find some other way of making it work.” She traced her finger over the dark green brocade of a chair, following the elaborate twist of branches and vines. “I love Edmund still.”

  “Perhaps we should get Stretton to make you mad for a day too,” he said. She glanced up at him, an unspoken question in her eyes. “I mean it. If the enchantment was gone, how would you feel then?”

  She’d already considered that, tried to remember what she felt
like before he had enchanted her. “I was on the way before he pricked me with the arrow, but despite the way I feel about him, I won’t go back with my tail between my legs. I refuse to do that. If he graciously says he will accept me, I swear I will turn my back and walk away. However much it hurts.”

  “Well done!” Amidei smiled warmly, a glint in his eyes that indicated wickedness. “You won’t regret that. Do you want to bring him crawling?”

  “I want to make him think. At the moment he believes it’s his choice between Susanna and me, and whichever one of us he selects, we’ll come running. Of course, if he decides to claim me, I have little choice but to obey. I am his wife, after all. I will not obey without question, however. My parents would be ashamed of me if I did that.”

  She refused to wilt under his perceptive stare. “I would prefer to stay here, but if that becomes impossible, I’ll find a house and employ a companion. She will pretend to be my cousin or some such. Or I can send for one of my sisters.”

  “How will that help?” he demanded. “If you move into his house, you will have the territory. I thought you meant to force his hand by moving in with him.”

  She shook her head. “Not now. If he wants me, he must come and get me. And ask courteously.”

  Amidei applauded.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next day, Sunday, Portia dressed in some of the finery she’d bought before her wedding and went to church. She chose a rich purple gown and matching petticoat. She would ensure she was noticed. Carter accompanied her, but as her maid. She slipped into a pew just before the service began and sat bolt upright, apparently attending to every word of the tedious sermon that lasted fully an hour and a half. She knew because of the various tinklings from the repeating watches many of the parishioners owned and didn’t bother to turn off. Perhaps they wished, as she did, for the cleric to bring the sermon to a close.

  The church was a new one, airy and gracious in design, white marble and stucco, with a few marble and brass plaques marking the lives of notable residents who’d belonged to the congregation. The names intimidated her, never mind the relatives of the people who must be present. But she had only to ensure people noticed her and her job for today had concluded.