by Jo Beverley
They sang of the glory of a great bushy thatch between a wench’s legs. Chastity lacked that too. Just a modest amount of brown curls.
In Society men paid pretty compliments to soft cherry lips and shining cornflower eyes. Was this what they really wanted? If so, what had she to offer? No breasts like melons, no bulging buttocks, no thicket between her thighs.
Now they were on about kissing a rosy bum. That sounded as if someone had had a spanking.
Ah, now they were singing of more normal matters— cherry lips. Cherry nether lips… ?
She was hauled up and shoved out of the door to find they had arrived at their destination. Her hauler was Cyn and he looked vexed again. In fact, he looked in a rage.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I couldn’t think of a way not to come.”
“Nor could I,” he admitted. He dragged her close. “Listen carefully. I’m going to find you a safe spot, and when I do you’re to stay there at all costs, or I promise you, you’ll have the rosiest bum around.”
She stared at him. “Is that what that meant?”
He looked briefly heavenward. “Just keep your eyes and ears shut.” His hand shackled her arm as they went into the house.
Rood House was a handsome Jacobean construction, with leaded windows and steep gables. It was made for elegance and madrigals, but behind the carved doors, Bedlam reigned.
The gracious oak hall with its wide staircase was lit by only a couple of flaring, smoky lamps, but it was full of people. Some were felled on floor or stairs by drink and lust. Others wove before Chastity’s eyes en route to other chambers. If the shrieks, raucous singing, and discordant music were any indication, this house was the scene of a bacchanalian revel. The air was sickly-sweet with smoke, spirit fumes, and sweaty perfumes.
The noise deafened Chastity, but it was the smell that made her head spin. She swayed against Cyn, and his hold became less controlling and more supportive.
Berrisford and Gresham disappeared immediately into the throng. Heatherington smiled benignly on his revelers.
“Quite a party, eh? Your lad can go and join the festivities below.”
“No,” said Cyn. “I’d rather keep him with me.”
Heatherington gave them a distinctly strange look, but shrugged. “Come on, then. Come see our theater.”
Cyn held back. “You didn’t say this was an orgy, Heather.”
“What good party isn’t?” Their host frowned blearily at them. “Getting prissy in your old age, Cyn?”
“Merely giving thought to my uniform,” said Cyn. “It’s new. Have you a room where I can change?”
“Must have…” said Heatherington vaguely. A voluptuous redhead had attached herself to his arm and was rubbing against him. Her breasts were as good as naked, but her face was covered to just above the lush red lips by a silver mask. Her attentions enthralled their host. “Big place, this…” he muttered. “Must have room…”
It was no wonder the man couldn’t string four words together in view of the way the redhead was distracting him. Chastity swallowed a nervous giggle. If anyone groped her like that, she’d be in trouble! Strangely, the woman was vaguely familiar. Chastity looked around. About half the women were masked. This suggested they might be ladies of Society out for amorous adventure, as was said to happen at the Hell-Fire Club.
“Whoa, puss,” said their host to his tormentor, slapping her invasive hand. “Steady on there a minute.” He turned to Cyn. “Just go upstairs and help yourself. Any room you fancy. Help yourself… Help yourself to anything…” He turned to his disobedient companion, and was lost to them.
Chastity edged closer, trying to identify the woman, but Cyn hauled her away. “Into voyeurism, are you? I’ve certainly brought you to the right place then, haven’t I?”
He steered a steady course through the shifting, drunken throng despite being propositioned three times before they reached the stairs. He paused to give each female mild, postponed encouragement.
“My, you are going to be busy,” said Chastity through her teeth.
His grip on her arm tightened to the bruising point.
“All in a good cause. Don’t want anyone asking awkward questions, do we?”
They stepped over a couple who had passed out in one another’s arms, and climbed the stairs.
A young, unmasked woman was coming down. Heavy paint and many patches couldn’t hide the pockmarks on her face, but her figure was admirably curvaceous. She eased her bodice lower, which hardly seemed possible, and swayed her hips. “My, what do we have here? Two handsome lovers for Sal. Lucky me…” She licked her lips and eyed them with professional expertise. She sidled up to press against Chastity. Sour sweat and heavy perfume washed out from her body. “I love ‘em young,” she whispered. “My specialty, young ones is. Let Sally show you how, sweet.” Her hand reached out. Chastity twisted away and pressed against Cyn.
He put an arm around her.
The whore shook her head. “That way, is it? Bloody waste. Your sort are in the library, luvs.” She wandered down the stairs in search of other partners.
Cyn dragged Chastity up the stairs. “You do realize you’re ruining my reputation,” he snarled. “I’ll have to roll every woman in the house just to prove I’m not a flaming sodomite.”
Chastity glared at him. “It’s your fault we’re in this stew. You’re the one with the disreputable friends!”
He looked as if he wanted to murder her.
It was quieter above stairs, but no more decorous.
The noise from below faded and blended with bumps, groans, and shrieks from the nearby rooms. Perhaps some people hadn’t made it to the rooms, for items of clothing were scattered about. Two odd shoes littered the floor; a pair of striped stockings festooned a picture frame; a lace-trimmed cravat hung from a sconce. A goblet had been knocked over on an oak chest, and the pooled wine had dried to a sticky stain.
“How long has this been going on?” Chastity asked.
Cyn ran his hand through his hair and looked around distractedly. “God knows, but they’re on their second wind…” A noise and a blast of cold air made them both look down into the hall. A new batch of people was pushing in. “Or they just keep getting new blood,” Cyn added. “Word of this revel has probably traveled the Home Counties. One thing,” he said with a wry glance at Chastity. “It’s doubtless crippling the search. Toby’s hardly keeping his mind on it…”
Chastity could not pay attention. She was frozen with horror. One of the new arrivals was her brother, Fortitude Harleigh Ware, Lord Thornhill. She had no doubt he would recognize her in a moment, even in her disguise. Her face after all was unchanged, and he’d seen her shorn.
“What is it?” asked Cyn sharply.
At that moment they had to press together to avoid being run down by a couple—a bedraggled, masked wench fleeing a red-faced man. The wench laughed as she screamed, and did not run very fast. She ducked into a room just opposite Chastity. Her pursuer lunged after.
“Got you, you saucy tease!”
The woman, who certainly had the required breasts like melons, and was showing the fact to the whole world, fluttered her hands and batted her darkened lashes. “Oh, sir, I fear you have…”
The man unfastened his breeches and leaped at her.
Cyn slammed the door, muttering, his question clearly driven from his mind.
Chastity was dazed by the scenes around her, but it was Fort’s arrival that had her sick with fear. What in God’s name would her brother do if he found her here? Beat her? He’d more likely murder her. He’d believed that she’d invited Vernham to her bed, and raged at her for not stopping the scandal by marrying the man. If he found her in this place, and in men’s clothes…
And she had Cyn to worry about. It would come to a fight and Cyn could be no match for Fort, who was a huge, strong man, skilled with pistol and sword.
“Come on!” Cyn snapped. “Let’s find a room for you.”
Chastity did
n’t need to be dragged, but he dragged her anyway. Without a qualm, he opened every unlocked door. Every room was occupied. In most she saw just a heaving quilt—though Chastity could swear there were more than four feet at the end of one bed—but in one room she glimpsed a pair of pale pumping buttocks.
She giggled. It looked so silly.
Cyn was back to muttering.
At last he opened a door on an unoccupied room. Cyn flung her into it and shut and locked the door. He leaned against it. “Plague take the lot of ‘em,” he muttered.
Humor or hysteria bubbled up in Chastity and she collapsed, giggling, on the big, rumpled bed. When she gained control he was leaning on a corner-post smiling at her, but strangely.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “but it’s all so ridiculous.”
“It is, isn’t it?” He turned away to look around. “If I’m not mistaken, this is Heather’s own room. He said we should suit ourselves, so we have.” He flung down his portmanteau and pulled out his blue suit, brushing it off ruefully. “Jerome would have a fit to see me in such a rag, but in this company no one will care.”
“No,” said Chastity, proud of her careless tone. “It’ll doubtless be ripped off you in minutes.”
He flashed her a look but merely said, “More than likely. The harpies will be after fresh blood. They’d just love to get at you. Are you sure you don’t want to take this occasion to expand your education, lad?”
Chastity put her hands behind her head. “Hardly. It’s fertile ground for the pox.”
“Not so naive, after all,” he remarked. “The whores will at least have been guaranteed clean before they came here, though whether they’ll be that way when they leave…”
He shrugged and stripped out of his uniform, down to shirt and drawers.
“And what about the ladies?” Chastity asked, determined not to let his body distract her from her resolve.
“What about them?”
“The masked women aren’t whores, are they?”
“Depends on your definition of a whore.” He fastened the velvet breeches and put on the brocade waistcoat, smoothing it down to his thighs.
Chastity found herself distracted after all by the lithe length of him. Tears pricked at her eyes; she couldn’t for the life of her think why she was so miserable. There was Fort, of course, a complication she’d not looked for. But he frightened her; he didn’t make her heart ache.
It was Cyn who was doing that. He slipped into his coat and checked himself in the long mirror to see whether he’d please one of those whores below. Chastity supposed she could stand up and reveal that she was a woman too, but much good that would do her. In this house there were beauties to suit any taste, highborn and low, all willing and available. Chastity Ware was nothing but a freak.
Cyn knotted a soft, lacy cravat around his neck and fixed it with his sapphire pin. He nodded at his reflection. “‘Twill do, I think.”
He went to the dressing table and tidied his hair, borrowing a wide blue ribbon for his bow. He smoothed out the lace at wrists and throat, then inspected Heatherington’s pots and boxes.
He brushed on pale powder to give his face a fashionable pallor. He flicked open a patch-box and quirked a brow at Chastity. “Do you think?”
He was turning into a new creature—not hey-go-mad adventurer, not soldier, but Society creature.
“Not without powder in your hair,” said Chastity coldly.
He sighed. “Doubtless you’re right, and powdering’s so messy. Besides being the very devil to get out.” He sniffed Heatherington’s perfumes, and shook one that pleased him onto an embroidered, lace-edged handkerchief, then tucked it through a buttonhole. He put on his black shoes with high red heels and bowed to her with a flourish. “Will I do?”
Chastity swallowed. He was gorgeous. “Will anyone look before they tear your clothes off?”
He smiled slightly. “Probably not, but one has one’s standards.”
He checked the adjoining door and turned the key in the lock. “In fact, I don’t intend to become embroiled. For one thing, we both need our sleep before tomorrow’s adventure. For another, I’ve no intention of risking the pox. But I’ll have to be seen for a while. I’ll try to have a word with Toby and discover how the hunt is going. I’ll return as soon as I can.” He halted at the door to the corridor. “Lock the door and keep it locked to all except me.” He looked sharply at her. “Yes?”
Chastity raised her chin. “Yes. I assure you I have no desire to share this bed.”
“And yet there is only one, my dear Charles. I fear you’ll have to share it with me.”
Chastity had overlooked this obvious point. “I’ll sleep on the floor then.”
He smiled lazily. “I’d be offended, stripling. It’s a large bed and I don’t have lice.”
“It is a foible of mine, Lord Cyn. I sleep alone.”
“We’ll see.” With that he was gone.
Chastity flew to the door and locked it. Perhaps she wouldn’t even open it to him.
Reaction set in and she pressed her hands to her face. How the devil had she come to such a pass?
Cyn waited until he heard the lock click. At least she’d obeyed him thus far, but he placed little reliance on her doing so forever. He smiled and shook his head. Lord, she had courage, but it was being severely tried. Would she break before he could end this charade and protect her properly?
A roar from below stairs spoke of some mighty achievement. He didn’t care to speculate what. If he’d had any idea what kind of affair this was, he would have made an excuse to stay at the Angel.
Still, he felt he could relax now he had his damsel tucked safely away. He could relax too in the knowledge that no matter what had happened in the spring, she was an innocent in any way that mattered. Her reaction to this place told him that.
He wished he didn’t have to leave her. Any woman here, no matter how beautiful, held no appeal beside the fascination of his damsel. He just wanted to be done with this adventure so he could force the truth from her and plan their future. He made his way downstairs to mingle, anticipating the moment when he could return to Chastity and sanity.
Chastity wandered the bedroom restlessly. She could just imagine Cyn in the arms of one of those harpies— being groped, slobbered over, and stripped to satisfy a whore’s lust. She found her hands were fists. It wasn’t fair! Once she’d been beautiful and he wouldn’t have left her so easily.
She pulled off her wig and stood in front of the mirror. A freak. A hard-faced, bitter freak in breeches. Frantically she stripped off her male clothing and unwound the bindings around her breasts. Soon she was naked.
She gave a shuddering sigh.
She ran her hands down her body. It wasn’t a bad body. She knew she wasn’t a crowning beauty like Nerissa Trelyn, but her body wasn’t at all bad. Nerissa Trelyn, though, had glossy pale-blonde curls. She had big cow-eyes with lashes thicker than Cyn’s. She had breasts like melons, though Polite Society described them as a handsome bosom…
Chastity’s hands stilled. Nerissa Trelyn: daughter of the Bishop of Peterborough; wife of Lord Trelyn, image of propriety; Toast of London and social arbiter; one of the people who had seen Chastity in bed with Henry Vernham and condemned her.
Nerissa Trelyn was Heatherington’s seducer!
Chastity looked vaguely around. She picked up a brown satin dressing-gown and slipped it on. She curled up in a big chair by the fire and poured herself a glass of wine from a decanter there.
Could she be mistaken? she wondered as she sipped. It scarcely seemed believable and yet she was sure, mainly because of the distinctive, mellow voice. She wore a red wig over her blonde hair, but it was she. The great Lady Trelyn was here playing the whore.
Could she have recognized Chastity?
No, she’d definitely had her eyes and mind on other matters.
On the whole, Chastity wasn’t surprised that Nerissa Trelyn had lovers; the world knew she’d married Lord Trelyn for
his money, and he appeared to be a cold, dry man.
But for her to be in such a place…
And she’d had the gall to condemn Chastity Ware!
How many more were here? How many more hypocrites?
Chastity drained the glass and stood. She had to find out. She began to drag on her clothes again but paused. Her brother Fort. If she bumped into him, he’d know her.
She needed to be masked. But only the women were masked. If she dressed as a woman, with wig and mask, surely no one would recognize her. Chastity had recognized Nerissa Trelyn by her voice and so would be careful to disguise her own.
She hovered uncertainly. She wanted, quite desperately, to stay safe in his room. But she wanted, just as desperately, to confirm the unbelievable—that Nerissa Trelyn was reveling below stairs—because if it were so, there might be some way to use the information to help her own situation.
She’d do it. Just a brief and cautious foray.
Chastity flung open the doors of Lord Heatherington’s armoire, but found it contained only men’s clothing. She beat her hands together in frustration. She could doubtless assemble a female costume from the bits of clothing lying around this house, but she didn’t dare go searching.
The adjoining room. She’d go odds it belonged to a woman.
In a moment she’d turned the lock and was in. Yes! Clearly a woman’s room. Now, would the clothes fit? A glance in the armoire told her they would—not perfectly, but well enough.
She couldn’t suppress a laugh of delight at the selection of pretty gowns before her. It had been so long since she’d seen such delicious confections. She threw off the dressing-gown and pulled on a sheer white silk chemise with elbow-length sleeves edged with a double layer of foaming lace. She shivered with pleasure as it slithered over her skin, a mere veil over her body, not substantial at all.
Next, she chose a padded petticoat of white satin trimmed with yellow ribbon. She stepped into it and tied the laces at her waist. A brocade stomacher went on top, its V front coming down over the waistband of the petticoat. She had some trouble tying the laces in the back, but there was no question of summoning a servant and so she did the best she could, smiling at the memory of dressing Cyn, sighing at the thought of what it would be like to be dressed, or undressed, by him.
